Something appropriate

You stand before the mic stand, lifting your weapon to show the yellow tape around the chord so Corey knows which one to unmute. Your back to the mirrored wall that extends beyond the DJ booth, your hat tilted down to shadow your eyes. You take a deep breath and a sip of your beer as the first two bars of the song play, then moving behind the beat just a hair, follow the trailing chord and do your best to channel the late Bradley Delp...

Now I'm not like this, I’m really kinda shy
But I get this feelin’ whenever you walk by
I don’t wanna down you, I wanna make you high
If you could see a way to me
C'mon and let me try
Let me take ya home tonight...

The crowd seems to appreciate your efforts, but they’re not who this is for. You lock eyes with Melissa on each repetition of the chorus, and do your best to gaze soulfully at her on the instrumental breaks. If the numbers flying by in your peripheral vision are any indication you’re succeeding.

You swing into the bridge, your eyes locked with hers, her plush lips parted to make her look almost surprised...

I don't wanna make excuses
I don't wanna lie
I just gotta get loose
With you tonight
Let me take ya home tonight, Mama now it's alright
Let me take ya home tonight
I’ll show ya sweet delight

Finally reaching the triumphant breakdown you roll into the howling wail that was Boston’s trademark and drive the song to its powerful conclusion.

Sweating, you soak in the applause as you replace the mic and make your way back to your seat. Just as you arrive at the table, Corey calls for Melissa. She crosses close to you and her fingertips brush your wrist as she leans in and whispers, “I just might.”

She kisses you on the cheek and makes her way to the stage. She definitely looks the part of the old ‘20’s torch singer, and her musical choice falls right into line; the slow repeated syncopated rimshots that underscore “Fever” start up. Women are the eternal mystery that man must forever ponder. A woman can be beautiful or plain, but when they hit the exact right groove they turn into sex incarnate, and damn, but this woman could make a dead bishop sit up and kick out a stained glass window.

She’s giving just as good as she got too, every line is directed at you. Every single purr. She’s turned up the wattage so high it takes everything you’ve got to not just take her right there on the floor in front of everyone.

She finishes to her own wave of applause, and comes rushing back to the table, grabbing you hand and half dragging you from your seat, “I wanna dance!”

The Boardroom is pretty much everything you dreaded it would be, old hip hop and new dubstep **** your ears and the DJ, a kid who looks young enough to be your son, waves his hands around maniacally and takes hits off a two liter of Mountain Dew. The loud music strips you of your favored arsenal of words and reduces you to simply responding physically.

You’re fairly coordinated; you have to be in your line of work, scaling buildings requires quite a bit of dexterity, so you can at least fake dancing. Melissa, however, is another story. She’s no Chrissy (but really, who is?) but she gets the job done, translating that heat from the song into body heat with her motion. A couple songs in she’s grinding against you, her shoulders undulating against your chest as her ass rubs your crotch, and you decide to up the ante, make her put her money where her mouth is so to speak. You activate DOOMCOCK! and let her feel it creeping up her butt crack.

She starts grinding all the harder on you, and you can actually see her pulse start to race even more in the flashing disco lights.

She’s primed. Time to go for broke. What, here? Shut up pussy! I’m Lawrence Welk! He’s getting better, isn’t he?

You lean in and kiss her. Hard.

She kisses back, still moving against you, and you start moving toward the front of the club, toward the unlit shadows near the underused restrooms there.

You crash through the door to the ladies room, unable to keep your hands off each other, but you still retain the presence of mind to drag a trash can in front of the door. She’s already stripped off her black thong by the time you turn around and your hands lock on her slim waist to hoist her up onto the sink, while her tiny but strong fingers unzip your black slacks. It’s the work of seconds for you to hike up her red dress and enter her...

And everything goes black...

Quest completed: Would You Could You On A Boat?

(AN: Don’t bother looking for a karaoke version of “Let Me Take You Home Tonight” by Boston. I was a KJ for three years and I fucking searched for it. It don’t exist. Also if anyone can tell me how to kill the automatic double space in the return carriage of the RTE, I’d be much obliged.

~W)