Tuesday, April 24
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Onesome Threesome Part II
Having fared the stairway of 100 people I looked out at the open space of 1000 people. This was Ageha's main room, an enormous dance floor with an equally impressive disco ball at its center. The layout encouraged spectators as it resembled a coliseum, the dance floor, a concrete pit lowered from ground with steel railings enclosing the area. On the sides were tables and chairs, two rows deep, already filling with the reluctant and shy.
Although I was quite sure there was close to 1000 people, the dance floor looked sparse. It seemed techno was not as popular as hip-hop, the music from the previous room.
The crowd was still reserved. The alcohol had not yet taken full control of the small Asian bodies. Only girlfriends encouraging each other onto the dance floor with giggles and tugs, and the leery perverts with one hand clutching a beer and the other in their pocket were dancing. Dancing is used loosely here, unless you consider hobbling in zombie posture dancing.
My experience told me the scene would change in an hour. The guys would get physically aggressive, grabbing with fumbling hands and sometimes even throwing girls in the air while being encouraged with incomprehensible drunken cheers from others. If the girls liked you, you were a take charge dashing man, but if they didn't then you were a pervert jerk. Yet either way, like you or not, the passive culture led the girls to respond in exactly the same way, except for the expression on their face: the one-night-slut smile or the just 2-more-minutes grimace.
I had lost sight of the mother of the LV bag, but I saw my friend standing in the middle of a set of tables. He is half Caucasian and half Chinese but in the haze of a club you would just think him Caucasian. Taller, thicker, strong-jawed with dark brown hair, he certainly looked different than those around him. With an American sporty look, softened in the eyes by his Chinese background, he seemed next-door handsome and approachable.
He promised to be a good boy because he had recently started seeing a Japanese girl exclusively. She worked at the department store of a large franchise as a pretty face, probably thanking profusely any customer that walked by, likely bowing several thousands times a day.
I didn't think he was being very nice when I saw the predatory look in his eyes. I had seen those eyes before. Once when he cornered a brunette lolita from Kazakhstan (no relation to Borat) and had his way with her on the dance floor. Another time when he isolated and attacked (but not in a sexual assault kind of way) a half Japanese, half British girl. The princess definitely had a bitch forcefield around her, but he broke it down. He could be the Terminator of dance clubs. His brain making those computerized bleeps found in the orginal Star Trek or B-Grade spy movies as he sized up the physical features of a girl: 5'6, bleep, bleep, B-cup, bleep, long hair, bleep, bleep, no men immediately beside her, bleep, B-cup, bleep, target aquired end of transmission.
It wasn't until we caught each other's attention that he relaxed his game face and gave me an easy smile.
When I shook my head disapprovingly, he returned a smile given by children with their hands caught in a cookie jar. I knew then for sure he was not going to be good boy, because the Terminator was working. bleep.
TO BE CONTINUED....
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