Dance night! You’ve had a week of work and its time to cut loose. You find your way to a dimly lit, thumping club. You don’t know who’s playing, just that it cost only $10 to get in. DJs balling, crowd is jiving, and soon enough you’re in it. Every beat knocks away another worry, the rhythm soothes, and your individual self melts into the vibrating room.

A few bumps and light pushes are expected, they don’t faze you at all. Its not for a while until you notice one ‘bump’ doesn’t stop. A body pressing into your back doesn’t seem concerned that they’re starting to overtake your space. You try to ignore it and dance your fears away, until you feel a very purposeful hand on your hip.

Do you keep moving? Do you freeze? Any attempt to pull away or push away? Turn around and look at your attacker, or is that a face you’ll never want to acknowledge?

While your head starts to realize whats happening, the hands become bolder. Pulling your hips into their body, lightly tracing your waist and torso, a heavy hot breath hits your neck.

“I’m being assaulted” is the only thought you can muster now, an acknowledgment. Despite knowing this, you don’t stop it. You can’t stop it. Are you too weak to and know it, or is this something you don’t actually want to stop?

The hand caressing your right hip plays with your top’s edge, and slips underneath. Starts with brushing over your bare skin, and soon enough kneading and feeling you up. Before long, your whole body is theirs, not an inch of you is left unmolested. While you feel a hand softly cupping your breast and a mouth sucking on your neck another drastic change,

The other hand is playing with your pants, and slips into them, only for both of you to discover how drenched you’ve become.

—-

Or something like that.

I learned years ago I’m prone to sexual assault. Not because I’d commit it routinely or anything, but the consistent urge to put my hands on you screams out every time I go out.

I go to shows to dance, to see artists, to meet new cool people I can jive with. I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to send them home crying and hating what these spaces do to them.

But fuck do I want to touch people. Pleasure their bodies, contort their minds and desires…

Save me?

—-

32m, 5’10, 230lbs, can easily toss you around and hold you down. I’m the festive hippie type who breaks into asides about math and metaphysics far too readily. If a large, flashy, needy nerd is the assaulter of your dreams… what’s wrong with you? And thank you.