I arrived late, as always.
Not to be seen — but to be felt.
The room was already pulsing.

Red velvet, mirrors that remember things, voices thick with champagne and caviar and tension.

Some danced. Some watched.
Some didn’t know which they preferred.

I leaned back, lit a cigarette I wouldn’t finish, and let the music crawl between my legs.
A girl in sequins undressed only with her eyes.
A man asked if I was real. I laughed.

sexperimental