Gorillas in the mist

My friends were allowed in, too, their personalities having been judging sufficiently perky.

I surveyed the surroundings. A dance floor had been set up in the middle of the common room. There was even a DJ; clearly not a professional, just one of the brothers who had somehow acquired some equipment.

There were half a dozen or so girls on the dance floor. No boys, I noticed. This was not a place for slow dancing with your boyfriend. No, the girls were there to put their goods on display. And the boys watched from the corner. It was weirld hazy inside. They must have set up a fog machine.

As I watched, one of the brothers made his move. He strode up behind a cute little brunette, put his hands on her hips, and began grinding his package vigorously on her backside. She looked surprised at first, then she looked around at the other dancers. Looking for help, perhaps? Or maybe just to is any of them were judging her.

The brother grew ever bolder. He moved one hand upwards to her chest, the other up her skirt. She looked down meekly as she tried to continue some semblance of her dance. It wasn't easy with the guy hanging all over her, and soon she stopped even trying and just let herself be groped. Before long the hunter pulled his captured prey into the mists...

I was shocked by the primal directness of the display. I knew that I had to talk to one of the dancers, to get their side of the story. But to do so I would have to enter the dance floor and risk being dragged off into the mists myself...

Did I dare put my Person-Allie-ty on the line for journalism? Or did I chicken out and make Jessie do it?