smoking cigarettes. Others suck on Blow Pops or pacifiers.
We pay our ten dollars apiece to a pierced and tattooed bouncer typeâwho surprisingly doesnât ask to see any IDâand head inside.
Flashing lights and pounding techno beats grab hold of my senses the moment I step through the doors. Everywhere I look there are sweaty bodies moving and gyrating in time to the music. The whole place radiates a kind of energy, almost as if itâs alive.
Wow. All I can say is wow.
âCome on, letâs dance!â Starr urges, grabbing my free hand. Sean laughs and releases my other hand as Iâm dragged away. We head out onto the middle of the warehouse floor.
As the music pounds into my brain, I lose my self-conscious inhibitions and allow myself to be carried away by it all. The techno enters my ears and drips through my entire body until I am alive with the sound and one with the rhythm.
I look around at the other dancers. Some sway slowly to the beat, others dance at an excited pace. There are black kids, white kids, Asian kids, Spanish kids. Ravers, goths, jocks, preps, hippies, stoners. Rich kids, poor kids, kids wearing major bling, kids wearing plastic jewelry. Beautiful, ugly, fat, skinny. All dancing as one, all entranced by the DJâs spell.
Itâs like in this place no one gives a care about your social standing. The amount of money you have or donât have. Who you are, who you hang with, who you avoid like the plague. When youâre here, when youâre dancing, this is your family. A family who doesnât ask what grades you get in school. Or what you want to be when you grow up. All that matters to this family is the here and now.
I feel hot breath on the back of my neck and turn around to find Sean behind me. He snakes his hands around my waist and together we trance out to the beat.
 You know when youâre listening to your iPod and a song comes on thatâs so beautiful it gives you chills and you want to cry and laugh all at the same time? Dancing with Sean is like that, multiplied by about three thousand. His fingers scorch my bare waist and his eyes set wildfires ablaze in my insides. Iâm completely blown away and loving every minute of it.
This has got to be so much better than some candlelit, quiet dinner for two. Better than snuggling by a blazing fire and feeding peeled grapes to one another. Better than walking barefoot down the ocean shore at dusk. Better than any romantic movie cliché you can possibly think of. Itâs alive and free and brave and wonderful.
After about half an hour of bliss, I realize Iâm dying of thirst, all my bodyâs fluids having sweated out of me. I pantomime a drinking motion to Sean. He nods and leads me by the elbow off the crowded dance floor and into a smaller side room. Here, a second DJ spins soothing, chill-out music that greatly contrasts in tempo to whatâs being played in the main area. Multicolored, fluffy pillows have been strewn across the floor and a juice bar takes up one wall.
We order orange smoothies and retreat to a pillowed corner of the room with our drinks. There are only a few other people around, vegging out, not paying attention to us. I sip my smoothie, rejoicing as the icy relief travels down my parched throat.
âYum,â I say.
Sean stretches out his legs so heâs in complete relaxed lounge position. âYum,â he agrees, staring at me in a way that makes me wonder if heâs talking about his drink.
 He reaches over and brushes a damp lock of hair from my eyes. âYouâre all sweaty,â he says with a teasing glimmer in his eyes.
âUm, yeah,â I say, taking in his own shiny face. âTalk about the pot calling the kettle black.â
We laugh together. This is so nice. I feel so warm and cozy and happy and content for the first time in my life. Curled up in pillows, next to an uber hottie, snug as a bug in a Berber Carpet rug.
The
We pay our ten dollars apiece to a pierced and tattooed bouncer typeâwho surprisingly doesnât ask to see any IDâand head inside.
Flashing lights and pounding techno beats grab hold of my senses the moment I step through the doors. Everywhere I look there are sweaty bodies moving and gyrating in time to the music. The whole place radiates a kind of energy, almost as if itâs alive.
Wow. All I can say is wow.
âCome on, letâs dance!â Starr urges, grabbing my free hand. Sean laughs and releases my other hand as Iâm dragged away. We head out onto the middle of the warehouse floor.
As the music pounds into my brain, I lose my self-conscious inhibitions and allow myself to be carried away by it all. The techno enters my ears and drips through my entire body until I am alive with the sound and one with the rhythm.
I look around at the other dancers. Some sway slowly to the beat, others dance at an excited pace. There are black kids, white kids, Asian kids, Spanish kids. Ravers, goths, jocks, preps, hippies, stoners. Rich kids, poor kids, kids wearing major bling, kids wearing plastic jewelry. Beautiful, ugly, fat, skinny. All dancing as one, all entranced by the DJâs spell.
Itâs like in this place no one gives a care about your social standing. The amount of money you have or donât have. Who you are, who you hang with, who you avoid like the plague. When youâre here, when youâre dancing, this is your family. A family who doesnât ask what grades you get in school. Or what you want to be when you grow up. All that matters to this family is the here and now.
I feel hot breath on the back of my neck and turn around to find Sean behind me. He snakes his hands around my waist and together we trance out to the beat.
 You know when youâre listening to your iPod and a song comes on thatâs so beautiful it gives you chills and you want to cry and laugh all at the same time? Dancing with Sean is like that, multiplied by about three thousand. His fingers scorch my bare waist and his eyes set wildfires ablaze in my insides. Iâm completely blown away and loving every minute of it.
This has got to be so much better than some candlelit, quiet dinner for two. Better than snuggling by a blazing fire and feeding peeled grapes to one another. Better than walking barefoot down the ocean shore at dusk. Better than any romantic movie cliché you can possibly think of. Itâs alive and free and brave and wonderful.
After about half an hour of bliss, I realize Iâm dying of thirst, all my bodyâs fluids having sweated out of me. I pantomime a drinking motion to Sean. He nods and leads me by the elbow off the crowded dance floor and into a smaller side room. Here, a second DJ spins soothing, chill-out music that greatly contrasts in tempo to whatâs being played in the main area. Multicolored, fluffy pillows have been strewn across the floor and a juice bar takes up one wall.
We order orange smoothies and retreat to a pillowed corner of the room with our drinks. There are only a few other people around, vegging out, not paying attention to us. I sip my smoothie, rejoicing as the icy relief travels down my parched throat.
âYum,â I say.
Sean stretches out his legs so heâs in complete relaxed lounge position. âYum,â he agrees, staring at me in a way that makes me wonder if heâs talking about his drink.
 He reaches over and brushes a damp lock of hair from my eyes. âYouâre all sweaty,â he says with a teasing glimmer in his eyes.
âUm, yeah,â I say, taking in his own shiny face. âTalk about the pot calling the kettle black.â
We laugh together. This is so nice. I feel so warm and cozy and happy and content for the first time in my life. Curled up in pillows, next to an uber hottie, snug as a bug in a Berber Carpet rug.
The
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