I'm sitting in the middle of a darkened room, legs spread apart so I can sit backwards on the chair. The room is far from crowded, but there are a couple of people here. I came for the band.
I detect a subtle odor in the air around me and realize that it is the salty sweet scent of my arousal. I smile a little to myself, amused, and I wonder if anyone around me can smell it - and if they can if they know what it is. There's no one close, though, so I doubt it.
A voice breathing words in my ear and a hand on my neck startle me. The words are low, gentle and comforting, but beneath the niceties I detect an edge to them, reflecting a hardness and air of command that takes my breath away. I dare not look around, as the hand is applying a pressure to my neck that suggests its owner wants me as I am - looking forward, paying attention to the band. My mind reels; there's a band?!?
Yes, there's a band. My eyes see them and my ears cannot escape noticing their beat. But my body and mind are focused on that hand and on that voice. Deep and seductive and penetrating, I'm hypnotized. What are the words, what is that voice telling me? Whatever it is skips completely over conscious thought, burying itself somewhere in my chaotic psyche.
The hand withdraws and my body leans after it, longing for its touch again. The voice is growling in my ear, and this does reach my awareness: "No! Don't turn around."
Twenty minutes later I dare to look behind me. Of all the faces, which is my intimate stranger?

I thouroughly enjoyed the band tonight. Even sort of asked out the drummer. Happy Mother's Day to me.
Laters