Memory What: Memory Will characters be viewing the memory or experiencing it?: Experiencing Warning, this memory contains: Flirting? Nothing bad.
Sweat stains your skin almost as much as the glitter does as your set ends for the night and the last bars of music play. You want to fall down the stage into a heap as you pant, and you want to fling yourself out into the crowd for another four sets until you can't feel your feet or anything else for that matter, but you do neither. It's not because you have some semblance of control over yourself, you don't, but you don't wanna make anyone else wait for you as you climb off the wooden platform in your too small shorts and fishnets.
Tonight's wig is a bright pink bob, and it looks cute af if you do say so yourself. The pinstripe vest your wearing is cute too, and tucks in heatly at your waist to give you the illusion of having something that you don't. For once, your nails are plain -- you didn't have time to paint them tonight after you removed the glitter from last time, but you're okay with that as you grab a bottle of water and start mingling. Some people stay, most don't, and some are content to wait on the very edges of the tent with hungry eyes and unwilling feet.
And sometimes there's a big ole surprise. Or that's what you've heard. Tonight is the first time you think that might be true because there's a gentleman sitting still, calm and thick shouldered and you kinda want to leave your sweat and glitter in the slope of his high and tight. Military? He looks military, probably works at the base that you don't think much about except to note that you don't think about it.
He's not in a uniform, though you think that any pair of slacks and a button down is going to look like a uniform on him, just because of the way he wears it. It ain't a bad image and you lick your lips as you saunter over cause he hasn't looked away from you yet, and yeah, you can be courageous enough for this.
"Hi, handsome."
He smiles, a little bashful, a lot handsome, and oh, you're fucked and you haven't even taken your clothes off yet. You throw everything into the wind because you don't have a half measure in you, and you sit down in his lap, arm thrown over his shoulders, legs between his as you settle onto his thigh. His hands are gentle on you, holding your legs, your waist but you can feel how strong he is within the cage of his arms, and you twitter like the happy little bird you are.