She sat at the bar and watched him. He was the one in the ripped red t-shirt who was presently being trampled in the mosh-pit. The music was pounding. The sound of bodies body-slamming into each other the impact resonating throughout the club. He held his own. She thought he was insanely sexy. Falling and getting up again. Catapulting into backs and faces. Arms. Hands. Legs. Feet. Slam-slam-slam. It was madness. Like watching crazed gladiators. The strongest would survive.

He stood up and raised his hands to the ceiling and began to laugh. She had to know who he was. There was something about him. Sliding off the bar stool she stared him down. He felt it. Turning, their eyes met. He followed her into the night. They never got last names but days later he received an envelope in the mail. Opening it he smiled and then threw his head back and laughed like he’d never laughed before. He thought he’d seen it all. But not this. A Pantygram? The tiniest lacy red thongs slipped into his hands. Very nice. But a Pantygram? Who was this girl? Reading the card he began to realize the adventure had just begun…

Tuesday, January 26th, 2010