Whispers of Passion | (18+)

21 | En Vogue

DIANA
***

As the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow on the deserted streets, my friend Michael and I set out on an adventure through the dimly lit alleys of Brooklyn. The only source of light came from the flickering streetlamps that lined the narrow cobblestone paths, casting long and ominous shadows on the walls of the surrounding buildings. We moved stealthily, taking care not to make any noise that might alert the dangers that lurked in the shadows. Our goal was to reach the source of the distant thumping beats that echoed through the night, leading us deeper into the heart of the city.

We both snuck out to see what Micheal believed was to be a hidden gem— A ballroom.

I was both excited and nervous, I didn't know if many people looked like me or were women and bisexuals that joined their underground but popular community. I was scared of being an outsider.

Micheal, however, reassured me with his words that reminisced of his carefree spirit. "Relax, they'll adore you, alright? And you'll have a blast, I promise."

"I could only hope so," I muttered before darting across the empty street.

The ballroom doors were open, a golden glare leaking out from the unknown that lurked inside. It was enticing but scary all at once, being a teenager and out at the late hours of the night in Brooklyn.

Men and women in flawless makeup and extravagant costumes stood outside, conversing, some with cigarettes perched between their colorful painted fingers.

Micheal gave me a look of reassurance before guiding me into the ballroom. The heavy thumps of the house music were almost deafening but had an air of self-expression and freedom. It made you wanna move, scream, and dance all at once, and for a newcomer like me— It was fairly overwhelming.

We walked upstairs, navigating between the bodies of men and women that crowded the creaky staircase. A single metal door was cracked open, a mix of purple, pink, and blue lights dancing on the slab of the floor below.

"You ready?" Micheal's voice brimmed with an eagerness that reflected mine.

After a single breath, I shook my head.

With a gentle push, he opened the door, and we stepped into a world of pure artistry. The atmosphere was electric, and we were immediately enveloped by a sanctuary of vogueing. All around us, performers dazzled with their intricate dance moves, fierce poses, and extravagant costumes. The glittering lights illuminated the entire runway, casting a spotlight on every single performer who dared to put themselves onto the floor. As we watched in awe, we couldn't help but feel the energy and passion emanating from every corner of the room. It was truly a sight to behold.

The vibrant sound of Grace Jones' "Slave to the Rhythm" echoed throughout the room, filling it with an electric and palpable energy. The performers moved with an effortless grace, twirling, dipping, and striking poses that seemed to defy gravity. The crowd was swept up in the moment, shouting words of praise and admiration like "Yas, girl!" and "Work it!" that blended seamlessly with the pulsating beats of the music.

"You wanna get a better view?" Michael asked, his clear blue eyes gleaming with their usual mischievousness.

"Absolutely," I replied, my gaze fixed on the dancers.

With a deep chuckle, Michael led the way to a mezzanine balcony, offering a bird's-eye view of the mesmerizing spectacle below.

From above, I could see the dancers exchanging fierce looks and playful smiles plastered. This place already began to feel like home. I expected to feel like an outsider, but, in all reality feel like the rest of the people here who share the same community as me.

I found myself captivated by the performers who fearlessly expressed their identities through their unique dance and style. The air was charged with creativity and acceptance, offering a respite from the unwelcoming outside world.

I leaned against the railing, my eyes dancing between each of the performers who fought for their good votes. The ache in my cheeks hurt so bad but I just couldn't make myself stop smiling.

"What?" I turned to look at Micheal who casually leaned the side of his body against the wooden railing.

Shaking his head in amusement, he answered back, projecting his voice over the music. "What's with the cheesy smile?"

I plopped my cheek onto my fist and replied dreamily. "It's just... This place... it's fucking perfect."