The very apparent smell of vanilla and coconut companied by the kind of light's that would cause seizures abrasively kicked my frontal cortex as I entered the Rhino of spearement sin. In the distance there was that red curtain. The red curtain where the unknown happened. I remember telling Paco "I don't want that" as Daughters of the devil scoured and pranced and scouted their next business transaction.

Drinks slid away while cigarettes came dangerously close to charring delicates. Countless green Washington's littered the foreground as I nervously released gaseous portions of my bowels. Eye contacts near and far. Eye contracts near and far. Primal instincts, sweat and toxic smoke permeated the air. Then it happened and I was asked to step behind the red curtain. That red curtain.

I followed her in to a small half square with the approximate area that was a third of me lengthwise. She said she is studying psychology to which I responded, "psychoanalyze me right now." I had thought we were trying to get to know one another under this sapphire and power red ambience as the bass made my thin pants vibrantly dance.

There was a sudden silence then immediately a warm sensation was caressing vigorously upon where what should have been a statement of my own manhood. "Do you prefer tits or ass?" You never answered my question.
"Luckily I have both." Followed by more motions of fluidity around what should have been.

I sat back and said that this was my first time, and so did she to which I yelled YOURE A LIAR, mostly not because I was angry; it's difficult to hear under the pressure of one's own bewilderment inside this human cubie where personalities are stuffed away for later programs.

Silence broke again as more jugular apparatuses were forced upon my brow followed by words I couldn't understand due to the sound reduction of these perfect blossoms. Grinding, luscious fat in the wonderful shape of ovals muffled my voice trying to pronounce a simple word. No

"Yes" is what she cheered and so commenced more voluptuous actions that degraded my faith in humanity, nay, womanity. These opposite genders prowl and feast off of the insecurities and fantasies of men; and they say feminism is a fight for women's rights and to halt the wrongful sexual image dedicated by "us", to these beings. Who's rights are they really fighting for?

No. I said. Yet it happened. I was in composition with bussoms playing some foreign song of flesh and fabric where a conversation was attempting to take place. A minaje twa of her, myself nd comprehension. I don't understand what was happening. How could anyone be turned on by this? What is her real story? Where do I put my hands? Should I be masturbating right now? Is she masturbating now? Why can't I just say a fucking sentence that you listen to? Why would you tell me you're a student and that you're "new to this" when I can obviously see the scars of your second born kin showing your age and bad decisions?

"Youre unbreakable aren't you? I bet I could be as rough as I want and you could overwhelm me." She wouldn't be wrong there yet I remained confused and befuddled by the twitching leg of the man in the parallel partition. Is he dying right now? What am I suppose to feel when everything naught, dirty, confined, confused, flashy, loud and glittery is simultaneously stimulating every sense?

I remember apologizing and telling the now clearly 40 year old woman with just a little botax and some attractive scars on her face that the same friend whom offered this dance of disaster would finish paying for whatever I couldn't but I would handle the tip. She kissed me and strangely strutted away as if I had done something wrong.

It's a soothing notion to finally experience what goes on behind that red curtain at the vanilla companied seizure shows. She came back and I again apologized for the complex she definitely developed.