What Music Hears

What Music Speaks, part four

Tracy Lynne Oliver
Gay Mag


Illustration by Louisa Bertman

MMusic is in the world with you. You’ve interacted with it, seen its face, held its arms, run towards its heat. It’s been with you in those moments — the ones you want to remember, the ones you want to forget. Music has been your companion, your confidant. It has been a secret keeper and a hand holder and a place where you can get lost for a while. In this short story, music does all these things and more.

The Butterfly Lounge

II danced where the fat girls had danced. I licked the floor where their sweat had been spent, where their drinks were spilled, where they got their men. I licked it like a dog would; face between my hands, hungry. Stale, salty, black, grit, strange. I ate it all up — sucking it from my tongue, and brewing it in my saliva like sex tea.

“The fat girls danced here!” I brayed at the neon.

“That’s just a dirty floor.” Dominic was a buzz kill. “Get the fuck up. Security’s coming and I can see your underwear.”

Eyes closed, kneeling, my ass on my heels, I imagined them around me, crushing me with their disco asses. The hot beneath their lace, their shine, their Spandex. My face surrounded by their delicious fields of flesh and folds and funk, surrendering me to them, beat by beat. Their diesel thighs the boss of me. I wanted…