an in-process, open-source novel
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Performing, Trix becomes divine. I mean it literally. She is the god and goddess, timeless, encompassing the sexiness of both sexes and the beauty of all races. Her body can do anything. She wields herself in unexpected, breathtaking and compelling ways. She moves like water.

When Trix sings, ideas enter our consciousness while we marvel at the artistry of her crisp and sultry voice. She captivates a crowd, captures and embodies the music, and I radiate in her glow from behind my guitar. When my voice joins with hers, I express and soar as I rarely can on my own. With her, I am a performer, not just a guitarist who happens to be on stage with the band. I am part of her show, and that is powerful.

When she's not performing? Well, I'm not sure even she has seen that. It's not a distinction she would make.

I remember when I first saw her, watching me from across a crowded room. Was it only a week ago?
Preview: Last Friday Night

Twenty minutes in line felt like eternity before the bouncers waved us in. As we stepped through the door, pounding music shifted abruptly from muted to mind-blowing. I felt a pang when no one asked for my ID. My twenty-fifth birthday loomed large, just one week away. Somehow finding myself at this mid-point ate at me.

The club was Chris' idea. Things felt pretty fresh and raw between us - we'd wanted to be together for awhile, but had only recently admitted it. I had left another man for him, and that made things a bit squirmy. Worse, I'd arrived in the city three days before to share his small apartment, and we hadn't even dated yet. From fantasy to serious in a quick series of romance-charged moves, without any nods to the reality and scariness of joining our lives. So here we were.

He'd suggested this chic club, when I'd have rathered stay in or go somewhere quiet - or maybe I just felt like a tag-along on his life. Regardless, I was in the mood to secretly disdain his choice, and smugly did so. Just like him to choose the kind of pulsing, noisy joint where artists, ruffians and musicians hang with rich kids and other wannabes, so everyone feels very cool and cultured. That's how he wanted me to see him.

Three guys waved and hooted at Chris from the other side of the room. Appreciating recognition, he smiled big and headed that direction, leading me by the arm. But I wanted to dance. I tugged his hand, shimmying backwards towards the floor, trying my best to be enticing. Chris shook he head and pointed to the guys, as if I hadn't seen them. I puckered my brows and shook my head with a smile, but it wasn't enough - he hesitated. I've never had much patience for hesitation. I dropped his hand and spun into the crowd.

I had my choice of partners out there, but I couldn't seem to get into it, turning from one hot, moist body to the next until finally, I danced with the music itself. I closed my eyes, the bass line pounding through me and my arms and torso flowing with the melody. Typical club fare suited me fine, steady and upbeat, no thought or analysis required. I let my body be with time and space and sound in the moment. I breathed in the smells of sweat and perfume, flesh and want, while lights danced over my eyelids. My body let my spirit take over and it felt like sweet release.