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GOD ON THE TONGUE (standard:other, 1663 words)
Author: JenkisAdded: Sep 12 2000Views/Reads: 3070/1346Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A strange teenage girl enters the scene inside a dark, underground rave to change the course of your life forever...
 



You’re in a trance-blasting, fluorescently lighted underground rave
taking place inside what appears to be an old warehouse. You’ve been 
here before. This warehouse and its owners serve as the host for many 
underground parties and raves that have become so popular since the 
early 1980’s. And today is no exception. The music fills the air with 
an ethereal almost unreal feel and the smoke machines with the lights 
make it an almost hallucinatory view. Now you see a young woman 
entering; her glossy blue eyes reflecting the dancing Club Kids with 
their multicolored glow-sticks. She shivers with pure ecstasy as the 
sweet vibrant sounds of the music overwhelm and overtake her. Her black 
hair is brushed down, the tips reaching her shoulders, the long bangs 
split down the middle and sometimes shrouding her eyes as her hands are 
stuck deep within the pockets of her black, tight leather jacket. She 
stops a minute in front of you and you catch a glimpse of a smug, 
sideways grin on her lush pouty lips before she nods and continues her 
way to two seats beside you at the bar. She leans over, her small curvy 
frame making her seem the more child-like, and she motions for the 
bartender to come. “Yeah?” Daniel, the bartender with the brown-gold 
hair and the black-outlined bronze eyes looks at her with interest so 
that you can see she’s never been here before. “Some red wine,” she 
says, “. . . And some vanilla ice cream, if you have any,” she adds 
with a speck of a smile. “Sure,” Daniel sort of frowns before going to 
get it. You wonder about her. She seems out of place here, all clad in 
black leather and looking no older than fourteen to sixteen years of 
age. She must have been barely five feet and one inch tall. Nothing 
like the other kids clad in colorful garb and stoned out of their young 
minds. Clearly level-headed, she reaches into the pocket of her jacket 
once more and takes out a pack of clove cigarettes and then a 
silver/black/burgundy fancy lighter. She lights her cigarette with 
detached familiarity and sucks in the smoke  with no apparent emotion 
as she turns and scans the crowd with cold eyes. “Excuse me, Miss?” 
Daniel has placed the order before her and she turns to him and smiles. 
“Oh. Of course. Thank you,” she says, “How much?” brows shoot up, 
making her seem almost like a child as she starts reaching into the 
back pocket of her black leather pants. “Oh, nothing. Call it a welcome 
gift for firstcomers,” Daniel charmingly smiles, “Next time I’ll 
charge, though,” he winks at her. “I don’t think the owner of this 
place will appreciate that,” she says but has already started to pour 
the wine on the ice cream. You watch her, fascinated with the way she 
speaks, the way she moves, everything. She savors the ice cream as it 
reaches her mouth with a slight closing of the eyes and you can almost 
taste it as she licks her lips with utter and unconscious pleasure. 
“Nah. Don't worry about it, baby doll,” Daniel smiles proudly, “I am 
the owner.” “Oh,” she stops eating and looks up at him, “You are?” 
“Yeah. I know, I look too young. I mean, I’m only 26. But this is sort 
of a family business,” Daniel says and you roll your eyes because any 
time now he will start talking about how his grandfather had purchased 
this warehouse and turned it into a bar when drinking had become 
illegal in New Orleans, in the 1910’s. Daniel’s Grandpa. The Big Hero. 
Big Bullshit. You could almost swear that his dad probably bought this 
somewhere between the 1960's or 70's. “I bet,” the girl says, and goes 
back to eating her unusual combiantion of red wine and vanilla ice 
cream, “So your name must be Christian DeFiore,” she casually adds. 
“Uh, no,” Daniel almost stammers, “That is my brother. He owns the club 
as well,” he explains. You are sure that if there was more light you 
could see him blush. “Where is he?” she asks, “I came here to see him.” 
“Do you know him?” Daniel frowns at her. “Not exactly,” she looks up 
with a seductive, sideways smile, the child-like voice making you want 
to lean over and kiss her throat, “But I’ve heard of him.” “From whom?” 
Daniel’s frown is now deeper. “I’ve got friends. He’s got friends,” she 
simply answers. “Anyone sent you?” Daniel says, but the frown has 
disappeared. “No one sends me to do anything,” the girl states, “I do 
the things I do on my own.” And just taking a look at her, you 
completely believe her. “All right,” Daniel says, “He’s upstairs. The 
second room to your right.” The girl nods, but decides to finish up her 
ice cream before proceeding with what she has to do. “By the way,” 
Daniel comes back, “What’s your name?” “Don’t worry about it. You’ll 
find out in time,” she smiles at him and goes back to her ice cream. 
You decide to follow her when she’s done, so you get up and proceed to 
wait by stairs until she goes up. Approximately five minutes after 
you’ve waited patiently, you see her get up and start walking toward 
the stairs. You hide well, hoping that those eyes don’t land on you. 
You have a vague sense of questioning your actions but are right now 
too enraptured with watching her walk up the stairs with confident, 
almost cocky steps *the tight leather encircling her hips and buttocks 


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