Chapter 4 - The Deep End of The Social Pool
The black silhouette figure, who he had seen earlier in the night, walked onto the dance floor. He knew it was Bluewave, and wouldn’t let this opportunity go. Bluewave turned and looked directly at him. Soarin’ quickly hid behind another dancer in panic, before regaining his posture and state of mind, and returning to the centre. Bluewave was only just visible. The full spectrum of colours that shone bright made out her slender figure, nothing more. It was like a work of fine art. Soarin’s heart picked up pace as she moved closer to him. He knew Spitfire had told her about him. It was like a game he had already won. Might as well show off for the crowd. She stood in front of him.
Time didn’t slow down; the music didn’t get quiet in a romantic sort of way. The crowd didn’t separate leaving them alone on the dance floor. If anything, the club got even more stressful. Coming together, they danced in unison. It was strange at first, but after a couple of minutes, the two ponies began to feel more comfortable around eachother. The black silhouette of her body began rubbing against his. He felt her heartbeat quicken under a coat moist with perspiration as they flowed in coherence. The music slowed in pace as he wrapped his neck around Bluewave’s. They swayed to the beat, ignoring the other dancers. Alcohol influenced clouded minds worked their hooves together. She leaned against him for support as her unstable legs worked overtime to support her. Soarin’ accepted her weight against his side. Her head was next to his, her sweet breath in his ear.
This is a dream. It must be! He thought, pleading the thought wasn’t true.
They continued like this for what felt like a lifetime. He felt her knees weakened beneath him. It was a sexual motion which they shared. Removing his neck from her shoulder, he took the jump and went for the kiss.
It started off slow and nervous. She accepted his lips, but nothing more. He broke away, feeling slightly embarrassed and disappointed, but before he could catch his breath, she advanced straight away into a full lock. He closed his eyes, allowing the pumping music to compliment the blood rushing in his ears. He felt the presence of her tongue enter his mouth, making his coat stand on edge. Soarin’s total self control abandoned him as the blue Pegasus co-operated. She met her tongue with his as they danced in the bridge they had created between them. The magical bond of companionship, passion and sex coursed through them both. Their lock lasted for a good three minutes, but, after what felt like an eternity, they broke away. The music changed into rave, which summoned the bright white strobe light. Soarin’ kept his eyes closed, savouring the taste of Bluewave’s saliva. Her cherry chapstick, the vodka in her mouth….
Wait… Vodka? Bluewave hated vodka!
Soarin’ opened his eyes. The white strobe illuminated everypony’s true colours for less than a second.
Bluewave had turned orange. How was this possible? Unless….
OH SHIT!
Spitfire stood in front of him, a look of sheer shock on her face. Soarin’ lost his breath. He couldn’t breath, speak or even move. He stared into his best friends eyes as the strobe lighting illuminated them for split seconds at a time. He felt sick, pained and embarrassed all at the same time as he began to shake. His body took control as he raced away off the dance floor, knocking one or two other ponies on the way out. He collected his things from behind the desk of the club and burst out the front door. He was met by a large crowd of smokers and ponies waiting for cabs. The cold night air coupled with the icy rain stung at his previously warm coat. He could still smell her on him, taste her in his mouth. His stomach swirled as he struggled to keep its contents down.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit… what the fuck have I done?” He said to himself, pacing away from the noisy club and out onto the road, crossing it and darting into a small deserted park. Finding a bench on the side of the path, he rested. The alcohol, coupled with the shock of what just happened became too much for him to handle, and he vomited on the ground. Spitting three times, he felt his mind clear. Ashamed, he moved away from the sick and continued into the park. He had begun to sober up, which wasn’t helping his guilt and anguish. The empty feeling in his stomach represented his self respect. “Eurgh… why me!?” He yelled into the air frustrated.
Soarin' suddently had a craving for water to wash away the taste of his stomach contents. Looking around, he spotted a public fountain and gulped what felt like his own body weight in water. He could no longer taste his stomach in his mouth, which allowed him to focus. The cooling rain alerted him to his mistakes. How could he just leave his best friend at the club?
She’s probably going through the same right now. He pondered. Ahh this is so awkward, I’ve known her from when she was a filly! We grew up together! Ok calm down, it’s not that bad. It was only a kiss, nothing more. The thoughts rushed through him like an active network of signals, keeping him sane and sober.
It did feel like more though. She wanted it, and so did I.
What felt like embarrassment and regret soon turned into confusion. He needed to see her tonight before things got even weirder. If she was still drunk, then maybe it would be easier to apologise and explain his actions. He walked back out of the park. The night had ceased on the wind for the time being, leaving him with the light pitter-patter of rain echoing in his ears. He could see the club down the road. It was still busy, and the crowd huddled around some outside burners that kept them warm. Taking a deep breath, Soarin’ walked towards the noise.
Soarin’ pushed past the smoking crowd. He scanned the faces of the occupants outside Club Neon looking for his best friend.
She might be inside. He thought.
Using his stamped hoof, he gained instant access to the club. The dance floor was still packed and moving. With a sobering head, he scanned the tables, bar, dance floor and cloakroom area. The lighting was brighter which helped him to identify the sea of ponies. He couldn’t spot her or Bluewave anywhere. A sudden thought hit him:
Maybe they left and went home without me?
A strange feeling of loneliness overtook him. With a heavy heart, he turned and left the club for the last time that night.
Stepping onto the road, he looked left and right. Just before he went to turn away, a flash of a flame coloured mane caught his eye. He looked over at the corner of the club to see Spitfire holding back Bluewave’s mane with her teeth, as a mixture of whisky and her last meal erupted from the light blue unicorn in the alleyway next to the club. He had never been so happy to see his friend, especially after what had happened between them. He trotted over to them, not taking his eye off Spitfire. She turned and saw him. Their moment only lasted for a couple of seconds before Spitfire pleaded:
“Soarin’! Thank Celestia. Can you help me please? We need to get her home.”
Without thinking, Soarin’ immediately apologised for his previous actions, but was interrupted by Spitfire.
“Not now, Soarin’. Let’s just get her home.” She said sternly and frustrated.
He felt more embarrassment resurfacing as she was obviously sobering up now too. It wouldn’t be too long a trip back to Spitfire’s house. She lived close, but because Bluewave was a unicorn and couldn’t fly, they had to walk which would mean a certain increase in the amount of time it would take. Lifting Bluewave up and resting her on his back, Soarin’ carried her to the end of the road in silence. He could hear Spitfire’s hoof-steps clopping behind him on the cobblestone road. It kept him sober and alert. He dared not speak, and risk more embarrassment. Licking his lips, he tasted cherry again. It made him think through all the things he had eaten that day; none of them contained cherry.
Probably some of the cocktail. He thought.