Somehow, the thrill of lust unfullfillable is all the greater.

Tonight she wore black-marble chopsticks in her dark hair. Her brown eyes have a certain Asian cast to them, even though she is entirely Northern European, and her skin was geisha-pale. She was slender, beautiful, with a dancer's build and grace. We have been friendly acquantances for years, but tonight I think we became friends. A trust was forged, despite the dogs of lust.

She said she trusted me; she did not trust the other fellow she was giving a ride home to, even though Darryl (despite being one of the legendary residents of Freak Manor) is quite honorable. To be known as a gentleman is a matter of tremendous pride for me; to hear her say it stroked my ego even as I resolved to live up to my reputation.

Yet... that perfection, that grace, is so very difficult to resist. After talking and dancing for hours, losing ourselves in the pounding insanity of industrial music, the meeting of eyes and the faint touch on the shoulder... it sets you afire.

We ended up playing tablero at Freak Manor for several hours after we left the nightclub; we talked and laughed and talked some more. I had to avoid her eyes; I didn't want to be caught staring. It's so damned hard, to be utterly besotted and to keep from showing it. But I am an excellent actor, and I learned my skills of social interaction and manipulation from the best.

That dance floor, though, listening to seductive Duran Duran songs and curving tightly... oh my. Somehow I doubt this is the end of this particular story...

Updated July 2016: Well. It took fifteen years of not being able to forget about her. But no, it turns out, it wasn't the end. And I am so happy right now I can't even tell you.

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