Capetonification

Animal instinct.
We really do have it.
It's that thing that makes you do something based on a hunch that has no intelligible meaning or factual basis.
You just know.
It's like you're on autopilot, and your body is doing what it's DNA is programmed to do.
It's like you're moving crab-like through a packed party, people everywhere, crushing, pushing, bumping, grinding, dancing - almost impossible to distinguish unique contact, even when sober.
You're drunk out of your fucking mind, having consumed litres of beer that seems to flow as ceaselessly as the money you're paying for it.
A face brushes past your own.
You didn't even see the who it belonged to, but three things were immediately clear from that millisecond brush.

1) It's a girl
2) She's hot
3) She wants you

you feel your body hit the breaks, and it seamlessly steps into the groove of the song.
Up until this point you weren't even aware of the music.
You watch the scene unfold.
It like you're half asleep, the mist of alcohol clinging thick to your mind.
You see the body step in close to the girl.
She's young. In her early twenties. She pretty. She's got a great ass, because by this time, your hand has circumnavigated that shit.
It takes two more facial brushes, and then her tongue is down your throat.
Your body remembers to breathe and breaks the lip contact.
The music moves it along. You're no longer in control. The cock is the master right now.
It wants out.
And wants in.
You see yourself kiss her again.
Stop.
Dance, kiss.
Rinse, repeat.
You're watching a movie.
And you're the the guy that scores.
The level of detachment is remarkable.
It's freaky.
And the only satisfaction you have is that you know that the body is yours.
Then you're buddy calls you over. And that's your break to take back control.
And without a backward glance you're gone.

Back on the prowl.