𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑋𝑜𝑛𝑒

𝐼

It's 1995, and the club is dimly lit, with flashes of neon slicing through the hazy air. The floor is packed with bodies swaying in sync with the rhythm. You're in the middle of it all, the crowd around you pulsing with energy. Women of all types are everywhere, a stunning mix of races and styles, like a living collage of femininity. There's a blonde to your left, her hair short and sleek like Toni Braxton's iconic cut, and to your right, a Latina woman with fiery red lipstick, her curls bouncing as she dances. Asian women in chic mini dresses glide past, while a Black woman with a cascade of box braids moves to the beat in front of you.

Everyone is dressed for the night, tight skirts, cropped tops, and bold patterns, the kind of edgy glam that screams mid 90s. The air is electric, filled with perfume, sweat, and the thrill of being in a space where you can be free.

The DJ drops Madonna's "Vogue," and the room shifts into a different gear. Hands go up in unison, and the girls around you strike their poses, some exaggerated and dramatic, others subtle and cool. You can't help but get swept up in it too, letting the beat move you as you throw a glance over your shoulder, catching the eye of a brunette with piercing eyes. She's mouthing the words to the song, her gaze locked on you for a second before she spins away, disappearing into the sea of bodies.

This club isn't just any club, it's exclusive. Girls who like girls fill the floor, and while there are a few men in the crowd, they're only the gay ones. They blend in seamlessly, part of the rhythm of this world, cheering the women on as they let loose. The space is safe, wild, and uninhibited. You're just one girl in the crowd, but at this moment, you feel like you're part of something bigger, part of this vibrant, hidden universe where everyone is here for the same reason, to dance, to express, to be free.

The club was alive, the men in their tight clothes voguing with flair, moving in ways that blended strength with grace. They were in their element here, where the women embraced them without judgment. This place was more than a dance floor, it was a kaleidoscope of personalities and experiences, a chaotic, thrilling circus every night. The unexpected was always around the corner, and I lived for it.

That night, the unexpected found me. A warmth pressed gently against my back as I moved to the beat. The stranger behind me danced with an effortless grace, her presence like a whisper, never crossing any lines. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. The rhythm of her movements, synchronized with mine, was intimate yet respectful. Then, I heard her voice, soft as a feather tickling my ear. "You look good. I like the way you dance."

Her voice sent a shiver down my spine, soft yet commanding, and I felt a pull of curiosity. I needed to see her face, to put an image to that sound that had instantly drawn me in. I turned my head, still moving with the music, and when our eyes met, my breath caught in my throat. My eyes widened, my mouth slightly parted in shock.

She was unmistakable. The face I had seen a thousand times on TV, in music videos, in my dreams. Janet Jackson. She danced with a playful smile, but then she raised a finger to her lips, urging me to keep it quiet, and I swallowed hard. This was surreal, like a fantasy I never thought could become reality.

"Either you're Janet Jackson," I managed to say with a nervous giggle, "or you look a lot like her."

She didn't respond to that, but instead leaned closer, her breath warm against my skin. "I want to bring you back to my hotel, if you have the time," she said, her voice slipping past my defenses like silk.

My mind raced. Tomorrow, I had work early, but none of that seemed to matter right now. This was Janet Jackson. She was my celebrity crush, the one I used to dream about, hoping against hope that she was like me. And here she was, at a gay club, asking me to leave with her.

Was I dreaming? I'd taken a nap before coming out tonight, and for a second, I wondered if this was all part of some wild fantasy I hadn't woken up from.

"What do you say?" she teased, her lips so close to my ear, her voice a tantalizing tease that made my heart pound.

"I'll go anywhere with you," I answered, unable to resist.

She took my hand, her fingers lacing with mine, soft yet firm. The simple touch sent a wave of excitement through me. I followed her, weaving through the crowd of women, none of them giving us a second glance. My eyes darted around, half expecting someone to stop us, to recognize her, but no one seemed to notice. Janet kept her head low, leading me through the throng like it was any other night. But for me, this was anything but ordinary.

This was the start of something wild, something I'd only ever dared to dream.

I knew it was real when Janet led me through the back of the club, a way I'd never noticed before. It wasn't the usual exit, and that alone made it clear she'd done this before, slipping out of sight, away from the crowd. The alley behind the club was dimly lit, with only a few flickering streetlights casting long shadows over the ground. A garbage bin sat near the wall, and two cars were parked nearby, probably belonging to the club staff.

Standing by one of the cars was a massive man in all black, his bald head gleaming under the sparse light. He looked like Vin Diesel, all muscle and silent authority. He locked eyes with Janet as we approached, then shifted his gaze toward me, sizing me up. There was no doubt he was her bodyguard. With a nod, he led us both toward a sleek, blacked out limousine that was waiting in the shadows. Everything about the scene screamed discretion.

The bodyguard opened the door with a practiced motion, stepping aside so Janet could enter. But instead of getting in first, she gestured for me to go ahead. I paused for a second, taking in the surreal moment, then slid into the limo. The seats were luxurious black leather, soft and spacious, the kind of comfort you could sink into.

As Janet followed me in, I got my first real, unhurried look at her. Her short hair was perfectly styled, with sharp bangs framing her face. She wore black tinted sunglasses, even in the dim light, and her entire outfit was a sleek ensemble of black tight pants, a leather jacket that hugged her figure just right, and boots that completed the look. She was the epitome of cool, effortlessly pulling off that mysterious allure she was known for.

She closed the door behind her, and for a moment, the world outside disappeared. The inside of the limo was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine. Janet sat next to me, so close our legs brushed. Slowly, she removed her sunglasses, revealing those deep, mesmerizing eyes I had only ever seen on TV and magazine covers. Up close, she was even more stunning than I'd imagined, her beauty almost too much to take in all at once.

I tried to keep my cool, but inside I was buzzing with disbelief. This wasn't a dream. Janet Jackson was sitting next to me in a limousine, and the night was just beginning.