poeticdesires

Category: Tandava

  • Grind

    The music pounded.  Lights danced through the air.  I sat on the other side of the room and watched as people let their bodies move.

    Metkat, one of Amy’s partners and one of her housemates, stood behind his laptop dictating the playlist for this part of the evening.  MissAmyRed was one of the persons dancing.  Occasionally Metkat set a song to play and himself joined the folks moving as their bodies wished.

    I sat in a chair, nerves taking hold.  Even though I knew that’s where I wanted to be, on that dance floor, even though I knew how good it would feel to let go, I felt tied to my seat.

    I looked around the room, taking in the play.

    As I gazed left, I glimpsed a suspension in progress.  The rigger was an attractive man, tall and broad, strong.  The bottom was a beautiful woman.  I let my eyes drift between the bodies on the dance floor and the pair in their scene.  Later I learned the rigger was Kilawama, one of the people Gray and Amy mentioned in our conversation in the Barn at Rope Camp.

    With a bit of voyeurism under my belt, I relaxed somewhat.  I stood up from my chair, let myself walk the corridor to the more lounge-like area before walking back towards the dancing.

    As I strolled for a spell, I saw Clash.  I’d met him earlier that day, too; he was Amy’s other housemate.  For the week, I was staying in the house’s spare bedroom on the third floor, the same floor as Clash’s room.  We attempted to chat over the din of the music before he had to go back to his rounds.  That night he was acting as a monitor for the event.

    Even though I’d grown more comfortable in the space, I had yet to do what I’d wanted to do all night.  I took my spot in the chair again.

    As I went back to watching, I saw Tandava and Amy setup for a scene.  Also, to my right, I saw a hot fisting scene on a nearby couch.

    I also got into a conversation with a guy who took the chair next to me.  I forget what we talked about though, because of the song that played next.

    I recognized the beat as it began, recognized the music and the voice.

    “I’m sorry, but I know this song.  I have to dance.”

    I excused myself from the conversation, stood up, and walked towards the dance floor.

    Still, I couldn’t step on it, not yet.  There was a column just off the wood.  I leaned against it, moving my head back and forth and swaying my hips.

    She Wants Revenge blasted about me, their song Out Of Control, one of my favorites.

    As the half way mark came in the song, I started mentally pushing myself.  It’s just a few more feet.  No one will notice.  No one will judge you.  No one will care.  Do what you always do.  Close your eyes.  Let the music take you.

    I took a step.  And then another.  And then another.

    I let my hips sway, let my arms move.  I found an open area on the dance floor and closed my eyes.  I felt the music in my flesh, in my bones.  I let my body do what it wanted.  I let myself dance.

    I stayed on the dance floor for a few more songs.  I let myself be in this tiny world.  Just the back of my lids, or my feet, or the lights filled my field of vision.  I let my body do its thing.  I let go.

    I felt happy, truly happy, to be in Seattle.  And I realized why they named this party Grind.

  • Introduction

    As I waited outside in the cool air, I knew only that Tandava drove an Insight, described as an odd looking car, and, through the convenience of FetLife, I’d seen a picture of him.

    As I waited, I looked for an odd looking car.  After about ten minutes, I saw it.  I waved as Tandava saw me and parked.

    For a split second, it dawned on me: I was about to be picked up by a person I had never met, driven away to a city I had never visited, and I was staying with people I barely knew.

    Tandava got out of his vehicle, helped me put my things inside, and we were off.

    ~

    All I wanted was hot chocolate.

    The airplane had been cold, much colder than I expected.  Thankfully I had dressed warmly, but that was out of mere practicality than an expectation of flying in what amounted to an icicle in the air.

    Even through the leather of my boots (the most bulky item I brought) my feet froze.  With one jacket on and the other draped over my legs (the jackets were my next two bulkiest items), my torso and legs remained moderately comfortable.  But my feet were unhappy for the majority of my trip.

    As Tandava drove, I voiced my request for my warm drink of choice.  He found us a little cafe close to where MissAmyRed worked.  I sipped my brew as we chatted and waited for her lunch break.

    ~

    After savory crepes for lunch and fro-yo as a sweet treat, MissAmyRed had to go back to work.

    Tandava and I had some hours to kill, so we decided to be touristy.  He knew random trivia about Seattle, and I loved hearing all the tidbits of info.

    First we went to a shop called Gargoyle’s Sanctuary, a hole-in-the-wall full of art and incense, sculptures and jewelry.  It was a place one could easily spend hours exploring all the nooks and crannies.  But there was much more to Seattle than one shop.  We pulled ourselves away and moved on.

    After dropping off my things at Amy’s house, we drove to the Freemont neighborhood.

    ~

    It was a troll.  An actual honest to god troll.  Under a bridge.  Holding, of all things, a punch buggy.  That was when I knew I liked Seattle.

    It was at least fifteen feet tall, but only the upper torso rose from the dirt.  Adults and children alike climbed all over it, taking photos and laughing.  A grin was etched on my face as I took in the sight.

    A nearby plaque explained the sculpture was a project for the community, donated to the people living there.

    After about ten minutes of whimsy, Tandava had me turn around.  Instead of admiring the sculpture, I was now in awe of the architecture.  The bridge above us, the bridge under which the troll lived, cascaded down a hill for hundreds of feet, art in its own right.

    ~

    The air was cool, windy without being a bother.  The sky was overcast but without being gloomy.

    We stood on top of the hill, water far below us, kites flying about, and a gentleman operating a glider nearby.  Sea planes took off and came in for landings.  Duck boats and personal vessels skimmed across the water.

    Across the bay I saw buildings and homes.  Tandava pointed out the smoke stacks of a structure across from us.  He explained how it now housed a medical facility, but in order for them to use the building they had to preserve its fascade, including the smoke stacks.

    To my left was the remanants of an old gas plant, competely fenced in, over run with grass, a bit of graffiti high up on two seperate towers drawn by some brave taggers.

    Behind me, inlaid into the ground, was a sun dial.  Decorated with an astrological motif, it combined metal and stone and included a key as to how to read it according to the time of year.  The piece, though only partially practical in a rainy city, was another bit of art for me to admire.

    I looked around Gas Works Park.  Saw people biking, kites in the air, families, a couple sitting in the grass together, and so many smiles.

    Yeah, I liked Seattle from the start.