Although my Yoda costume is both helping and hindering my moves. The ears in particular are a problem because I’m not used to having such large protrusions sticking out from my head, and I keep accidentally whacking unsuspecting patrons around me.
Death by Yoda ears. It would make for an interesting death certificate, at least.
I hadn’t wanted to cheat and wear a mask because I’m aware that if the evening proceeds according to my evil designs, I’ll have to take the mask off at some point. And I don’t want to get to the point of having a guy consent to going home with me, then changing his mind when he catches a glimpse of my face.
So instead, I’ve gone for complete and total makeup. The thick green face paint I smeared over my skin took three YouTube tutorials to apply properly. I’m just hoping the heat from the club doesn’t transform me from Yoda to a mid-melt Wicked Witch of the West.
Luckily, it turns out Jedi robes are actually comfortable. Maybe I could start a revolution where we all wear nothing but Jedi robes. We could make them in different colors, maybe even a tie-dyed version, or a robe with sequins for formal occasions.
I’m plucked out of my fantasy of world domination via my Jedi-robes empire when I spot a tall, dark, and handsome man on the other side of the dancefloor.
Well, actually, I can’t exactly tell if he’s handsome or not because he’s wearing a mask, but his body is definitely what I’m looking for, broad shoulders along with a perfectly sculptured ass.
He’s also dressed in a Darth Vader costume.
If that’s not a sign from the universe, I don’t know what is.
I make my way through the pulsating bodies.
When I reach him, I move into his space, making sure he can’t ignore me.
“Horny, we are,” I say in my best seductive voice because we’ve already established that subtlety is not my mojo for the evening.
“I have to admit, that’s one pickup line I’ve never heard before,” he replies in Darth Vader’s breathy voice.
Oooh, it looks like he’s gone all-in with his costume and has a voice synthesizer clipped to his chest plate.
One can only hope he brings that level of commitment to all his activities.
“If you’ve never heard that pickup line, you’ve obviously never been to aStar Warsconvention,” I reply.
“Is that what people get up to atStar Warsconventions?”
“Well, I’ve actually never been to one myself, but it’s just one big orgy from what I’ve heard.”
Darth Vader laughs. It’s quite a sinister sound.
Laughing at my jokes. I’ve always liked that particular trait in a man.
“There’s gotta be something that inspires such a devoted fandom, right?” I continue.
“I always thought it was the multiple uses for lightsabers,” he says, and it’s my turn to laugh.
Then the next song begins, and I decide it’s time to move on from seducing Darth Vader with my incredible wit to seducing him with my dancing.
Well, actually, I’m gyrating more than dancing. I grind against him in a way that is basically a clothed rehearsal for activities that usually require a locked door and aDo Not Disturbsign.
He doesn’t seem to mind.
His hand touches my waist, lingering on my hip, and my entire nervous system lights up. Oh wow, if the guy can do that with a simple touch, what the hell will he do if I let him loose on the full system?
I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be touched with desire instead of pity.
The crowd presses in around us, giving us an excuse to get even closer. His thigh slides between mine as we move, and I have to bite back a sound that would be embarrassing even inthis noise. His palm burns through the fabric at my hip, his chest solid against mine, and his breath catches when I roll my hips just right. I can feel his body responding to mine, the tension in his muscles, the slight tremor in his hands when they slide lower.
One song blends into the next, but we don’t stop dancing.
His hands continue to find all the places that make me shiver, even through Jedi robes.
