West Hollywood Dreams

Agatha danced her way next to Candice to be closer to that feeling. Their bodies hit one another and everyone else around them. In a place where cowboys rode bulls and roped steer, where Mexican men in masks leaped from the top ropes, a brand-new organism emerged. Its central nervous system was the people. A girl in the crowed sneezed and someone in the stadium seating felt her nose itch. A group of friends guzzled water by the concession stand, and a hundred people were quenched. Someone in a dark corner snorted molly, and a thousand people felt their body tingle. Two boys made out and everyone felt it between their legs.

Kevin was always Kevin. Wherever he went, people would say, "There's Kevin." Candice had never been Candice. Wherever she went, people would say, "There's Kevin's girlfriend." Even after they broke up, she was Kevin's ex-girlfriend. But on that night, hours before she went to the show, when she picked out her outfit and put on her makeup, she couldn't have known that choosing the red bra and mesh shirt, the shoes, and going with the smoky eye, someone new was about to ascend. Someone that had been lost her entire life, not because she was weak, not because others had kept her down. It wasn't anyone's fault. The version of herself that needed to come out had been under the surface, gnawing, itching, growing, spending years cracking the veneer that got Candice through the day.

The lights flashed outward and stayed lit as the music crescendoed. A camera transmitted images of the crowd dancing onto the giant screens. Everyone saw themselves as they were, a glorious part of a glorious whole, amidst a celebration in a moment in time when so much didn't matter. They all felt Candice reborn, and they were all reborn with her. Agatha took her new friend's hand and held it high above their heads. They danced and screamed until their throats went hoarse. Ryan, Lance, and Christiana gathered around the two girls with their hands raised up, and they raised their hands up with them. Amidst the madness, a shared vision appeared. At first, it was as faint as the mist engulfing the stage, and then it became clear. The lights went out, and the crowd disappeared from the screens but the music carried them, and the vision persisted.

Agatha grabbed Candice's face and pulled her close, their lips colliding. The Toxic Avenger yelled into the mic, "Everybody Fucking Jump." His words repeated themselves on beat, and the crowd obeyed. The parquet floor and the earth beneath it shook under the pressure of 10,000 people hopping in unison, all except for two. Candice's hand slid up the back of Agatha's silk kimono as their tongues swirled around in each other's mouth's. They pulled one another as hard as they could until there was no space between them, and even then, they tried to pull harder. Agatha's fingers strained on the back of Candice's neck, and Candice's hand pushed into Agatha's back. Their tension unleashed at the same time as the music, breaking them free. They turned to face the stage and jumped with everyone else.

Flames shot out of the pyrotechnic cannons high into mid summer's night air. The crowd erupted. Over the next couple hours, Agatha and Candice danced, kissed, and danced some more. They shared looks with smiles that ranged across the entire spectrum. There were sad smiles and lustful ones. There were smiles of friendship and understanding. There were nervous smiles and smiles that reassured. Candice took a moment to marvel. Less than two hours earlier she was a stranger to these people, and now she could imagine being a bridesmaid at Ryan and Lance's wedding. She pictured brunches and late nights of getting high with her friends while watching B-movies. She envisioned a future where every show she went to she stood near the stage, where she could feel the air coming off the speakers and the energy of the people near her.

Agatha ripped the mesh shirt up over Candice's head and unhooked her bra. She leaned back to take in the breasts she had freed, gliding her fingers across the deep red lines that the bra had created. Then she grabbed them both hard, one in each hand shoving Candice onto an unmade bed. The Toxic Avenger album, Angst, blasted on the other side of the bedroom wall. Presumably, Ryan, Lance, and Christina were all still dancing together in the living room that consisted of nothing more than two beanbag chairs, a stool used as a coffee table, and an air mattress covered by a "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" bedsheet.

Agatha lifted one of Candice's legs and removed her mirrored shoe, tossing it over her shoulder onto a laundry basket full of clean or dirty clothes. She did the same thing with Candice's other shoe, this time it landed on a stack of books next to an overloaded bookshelf. On the nightstand were three mostly empty watered down clear Starbucks cups and two books, one by Noam Chomsky and the other was "Less Than Zero" by Bret Easton Ellis.

Agatha pulled hard on Candice's skinny jeans. Candice lifted herself off the bed, allowing the tight denim to release from her hips. On the other nightstand was a half ajar laptop, hanging off the edge. It was plugged into a charger that led to a six-way outlet tap, that had all kinds of various chargers plugged into it. One led to a wireless Hitachi Massager that laid unapologetically on the floor. Another led to a string of gold and pink Christmas lights which were the room's lone light source. It wrapped all the way around the ceiling's edge and revealed walls covered with various cutouts from fashion and music magazines.

Once the jeans were no longer an obstacle, Agatha pulled Candice's panties off and tossed them over her shoulder. She took a moment to stare at the beautiful naked girl in her bed before discarding her kimono and falling onto the mattress next to Candice, her face down by her stomach. Running her hand across Candice's tattoo, Agatha said, "It's a sad robot who found a heart laying on the ground?"

"Yeah," Candice answered.

"That's so fucking adorable. Even the robot wants to find love." Her movements seemed so spontaneous they could have been choreographed. It didn't matter to Agatha what came before and what was to come after. In this moment she was kissing an old tattoo. In the next moment, she could have been kissing anywhere, or not kissing at all. She might pick up a book and start reading philosophy or something by Henry Miller. She might decide that their time was better spent learning French or watching YouTube videos of people falling off skateboards.

"Is it weird that I just want to know what you're thinking?" Candice asked as Agatha rose up on her knees to lift her slashed shirt over her head.

She twirled it around before throwing it at Candice. "No, it's not weird. But you'll probably be disappointed."

Agatha stood up on the mattress, forgetting she still had her platforms on and almost fell over. She untied the lacing and kicked them off one at a time, sending them crashing into the wall. "If I'm not thinking about coffee, cigarettes and making my pussy feel good, I'm usually just replaying my favorite songs in my head." She stood over Candice, naked except for her jean shorts. "Everyone always thinks I'm more complicated than I am."

She reached out her hand and helped Candice to her feet, and the two danced like they were back in front of the stage. Off balance on the unstable mattress, their hair was a maelstrom of disorder, of reckless indignance. The music coming from the other room was faint, but the music from the show still radiated in their pores. Their legs were weak and joints sore. Their feet were in pain from their cruel footwear. None of it mattered. On this night the momentum had built up. It had reached a point of critical mass. Agatha grabbed Candice hard and pulled her close. "Say something real! It doesn't matter what it is! Just say it! Quick!"

Candice felt a panic come over her. Say something. Don't disappoint her. "I want to go to school for film!"

Agatha held Candice on each side of her face and pulled the two together, their lips pressed so tight neither could open their mouths. Finally, after letting go, Agatha asked, "Did you know that? Or did you just figure it out?"

Candice's hands shook; she felt tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh, honey. It's OK. Don't cry."

"I'm sorry." Candice apologized and took a deep breath. "I think I've always known, but I've never said it out loud. I'm supposed to enroll in nursing classes next week."

"That's so awesome," Agatha said, hugging Candice. Candice hugged her back. For a split second, they both forgot they were two women naked in a bed about to fuck one another. When their embrace ended, they continued to kiss, falling into the sheets, their mouths opened wide, and then so wide, their tongues living inside one another. Agatha kissed, sucked and bit her way lower, all around Candice's breasts, raising her skin and disrupting the capillaries under the surface. Blood rushed to wherever it was needed. Candice felt the exquisite irritation and heaved her chest into Agatha. Agatha obliged by sucking harder. The more she consumed the future film student, the deeper an idea took root. Candice now understood. Agatha long ago had committed to the doctrine like she had been born into it like she was a third-generation cult member.

Kissing lower over her stomach, and all around the little robot tattoo, Agatha felt Candice's hands in her hair. "Thank you," she whispered, but Agatha ignored her, too busy skimming her lips along Candice's thigh, moving up and then down, getting closer, and then retreating, nibbling, smiling, the two giggled, and then Agatha's gripped Candice's thighs hard, raising them over her shoulders; they locked into place with the ferocity of someone hanging from a great height, and maybe that was an apt description, perhaps she had gotten so close to the edge, learned too much of herself, the fear of falling was just another excommunication on a long lists of fears excommunicated in the church of Agatha.

Candice raised her hips into a waiting mouth. A tongue entered her warm wet slit; juices leaked out. She closed her eyes and beat the mattress with a fist. Her other hand weaved through purple, pink and blonde hair.

If she could have, Candice would have ground Agatha's face into dust. She would have rubbed her clit clear off. Someone should put a stop to this before this goes too far, she thought. But Agatha's gospel was unfinished. There were still chapters to be written and translated into other languages. There were still disciples to convert and followers to lead. Circling, flicking and grinding, all the different sensations kept adding to a bank of sensations, populating every nerve within both their bodies. Two fingers found their way deep inside Candice, sending her crawling up against the headboard. "Fuck! Oh, fuck!" Agatha was having none of it; she dragged Candice back into her mouth. She pulled her into the broadest part of her tongue, shaking like a paint mixer, her knuckles white from latching onto Candice.

"Oh my God, Something's happening. What- Oh my God!" For years when Candice came, she always felt like something inside her needed to escape, that if she found the right combinations movements, she could unlock what was hidden. Agatha pulled away and allowed all the warm liquid shooting from Candice's pussy to splash on her face. Candice watched, her mouth opened wide, trying to speak, trying to apologize... maybe, at least trying to understand what was happening. It didn't make sense, in the same way waking up with x-ray vision or sonic hearing didn't make sense. An endless gushing of the deepest part of her drenched the girl she could still see standing in line at the Yeah Yeah Yeahs concert. Agatha, soaked, feeling Candice drip off her skin onto her sheets, dove in and assaulted Candice's clit once more. "I can't- I can't control it. Fuck!"

Another wave of liquid shot out and Agatha jackhammered her head back and forth like a greedy oilman wanting every ounce of crude. Each time Candice thought she was done, that there couldn't possibly be a single drop left, Agatha proved her wrong. Her juices pooled underneath her, soaking everything. Were their bodies covered in sweat or come? Neither knew. Neither cared. When Agatha stopped and crawled up next to Candice, it felt like they were laying in a waterbed that had sprung a leak. They kissed. They devoured the feast that Candice had provided. Neither could get enough. They licked and tasted around one another's lips. They felt the sticky sweetness against their bodies, holding each other deep into the morning, not needing to speak, not needing to question what they had experienced.