Woozy Wonderland

One

Mixxy's Bar, as I soon discover after being harassed by my best friend Jo for the past week until I agreed to let her drag me here at midnight in the bitter cold, is some worn down, dusty old Victorian era pub that smells like old perfume turned hip and modern, a haven of partying for the youth of today - by which I mean, they replaced some of the old tables with less rotten ones and have a decade old radio on the windowsill which plays mid century pop music. Nevertheless, a group of people from my university can always be found getting wasted here for some reason.

Jo made me come here because I apparently "don't have enough fun" and I need to "stop being so serious for a while." I didn't know how to tell her I really don't give a fuck.

I stumble in, pushed through the creaky door by some over excited teenagers and examine my surroundings, grateful to be sheltered from the icy rain outside. The wallpaper, which sports an intricate vintage floral pattern in faded pink, is peeling off, revealing the sickly yellow plaster beneath, and the battered oak floorboards are covered in sawdust. It does indeed smell like old perfume, though blended with the pungent odour of cheap alcohol and sweat.

I wade my way through the dancing bodies around me towards the bar where Jo is ordering a glass of beer each for us. She seems to know her way around like the back of her hand and feel quite at home here, smiling at the bartender like an old friend.

"Aman, hurry up!" She laughs, her braids jumping about her face as she turns her head in giddiness.

"Isn't this place fun?" She asks, unironically.

"Oh please," I grumpily reply, trying to get comfortable in one of the wobbly barstools here, "I feel like I'm at some sort of vintage orgy."

She gives me a funny look and slides me my beer, bringing her own to her smirking lips. I don't know what type it is, if there are different types of beer, I don't know shit about beer, but it tastes bitter the first sip. Oddly sweet the second sip, but still bitter. The third sip, some drunk guy belting out the lyrics to "Son of a Preacher Man" barges into me from behind and I choke on it for a second, so not particularly pleasant.

Whatever the taste of these drinks, somehow I'm downing a couple more, not sure what exactly they are, until I'm absolutely pissed out of my mind.

Suddenly Jo and I are flailing about like ragdolls on the dance floor to "Hey Jude", shouting nonsense at the people around us who give us mixed reactions, either flirting or picking a fight with everyone there, you name it, we're drunk as hell and we're not being quiet about it. I'm having the time of my life toppling over antique dining chairs and grabbing at the creepy paintings of old white people on the walls, and I think I'm about to collapse until a pair of warm hands grabs me by the waist and my head is flung forwards towards a face obscured by the guy's hair, a sea of wispy dark curls.

His lips form a slight, suggestive smirk. They're a full and inviting rosy pink against glowing mahogany skin, and I'm drawn towards him like I'm in a trance by some weird scent of fruity cologne.

"H - hey..." His voice is coarse. Deep. Sweet. A million things.

I keep my neck craned upwards, wanting to keep his eyes locked onto mine, and my shaky hands rise to his arms, gripping around the muscle. His hands find my waist, and they're so firm yet so soft and warm, gosh he's warm, it rises and flows up my body, stroking my stomach tenderly, flooding my chest and making my heart beat so quickly I feel like it's going to burst. And suddenly my face is blushing as he brings my eyes closer to his lips, and I feel like I'm going to vomit all over him but I don't mind it at the same time.

"You look lost."

What?

You'd think this ruined the mood but I only become more intrigued as to what slips off of his drunken tongue. My eyes widen in confusion, and I stumble a little but he has me safe in his arms. I fling my own around his neck to keep my balance as we sway to the blaring music. It's hot. The smell of his cologne is blended with the stench of sweat and lust, and people keep pushing us around the room into others, and sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating, but I don't want to be anywhere else. I'm already mystified by every word that his delicate lips form around.

"Y... you- you wa-" my untied shoelaces trip me up and I fall face first into his chest. I don't move.

"Want something... from this."

I don't say anything. We continue swaying to booming music woozily while I wait impatiently to hear his voice again.

"I saw you complaining earlier." We're a little more settled down now. More comfortable. I can focus on exploring every inch of his inviting body with my shaking hands while listening to him instead of trying to keep my balance. "You didn't want to be here," his breath tickles my cheeks as he keep our mouths close and speaks. "You want this to turn into something worth... worthwhile." I am now familiar with the shape of his hands brushing against my sides, but they still inject a prickly warmth into me which feels like fireworks against the inside of my skin. "Because you..." I can feel his heartbeat soft and stimulating against my heaving chest, "don't like wasting time."

"But, no matter," his eyes light up softly as he says this, causing mine to flare wide open in surprise, "there's always something in store for a thrill seeker like you."

I let him pull my body into his kiss. I let his lips move slowly against mine, massaging them with his warmth. I let him make me throw my balance all over again as I close every space between our lustful bodies and embrace every moment of every fiery sensation of his touch. I can feel it flood into my face which must be a startling red, sweat trickling down my cheeks as I am engulfed by the raging storm of his affection.

Holy shit, I didn't expect this.

Soon enough we're tumbling over black-out drunk, idle bodies on the dusty floor crashing into some antique olive green armchair whose battered springs squeak when we land, sinking deeper into each other's kiss. I have forgotten about Jo, I don't know where we are anymore, I can barely remember my own name, and none of that matter because for now, my fickle self and the stranger at the bar are eternally lost in our own little universe. Until the morning, which will bring its inevitable end, but that feels like a distant idea which I am unsure is even possible.