Clubbing Quotes

“We want to look desirable. We want others to want to mate with us. No different than a colorful peacock. When girls dress up for their night out at the club, they are doing what all animals do when they try to make themselves desirable for a potential mate. That's the whole point behind the fashion, perfume, cosmetics, diet, and plastic surgery industries.”
― Oliver Markus, Why Men And Women Can't Be Friends

“Music from the party throbs and echoes off the basement walls. I’m not sure how I got here, and I’m certain I don’t know how Charlie ended up on the other side of the room with Guy In Touch With His Emotions. Raising a bottle to my lips, I watch as the guy uncrosses his long legs and recrosses them.
His tampon must be killing him.”
― Victoria Scott, The Liberator

“Like a piss-soaked butterfly emerging from a cocoon, I push on over the bridge feeling like I’m establishing my transformation into my true self.”
― John Bowie, Untethered

“The colored lights streamed over her face like rays of the sun. She closed her eyes and raised her arms over her head. The song was the best she’d ever heard. There’s 70 billion people of Earth, where are they hiding? The cocaine coursed through her organs in time with the pounding bass. Her eyes stung, she was pouring sweat. A voice inside her head called her name. Where are they hiding? She clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. Her hands were shaking like falling leaves.”
― Amanda Brainerd, Age of Consent

“We stepped in, and, as we paid the cover charge, the music hit us. The double doors buzzed open and we walked in. A handsome man and his lover in an orange top snuggled as they walked to the exit. Veronica turned to me and smiled, taking my hand. I unbuttoned my shirt at the neck and exposed my collar. It was a thin metal collar with a padlock on the front. If the padlock wasn’t attached it would have looked like any other interesting necklace that was tight against my neck, but it got more interesting with the padlock.
On Veronica’s left hand there was a thick bracelet, and that had a key on it. Her right wrist had a glow bracelet. We walked past the tables of people as they drank and screamed over the music to talk. We decided to go right to the dance floor. She took me by the hand, led me.
We were on the dance floor and I couldn’t dance. I ended up just throwing myself around, getting lost in the people surrounding us. The bodies pressed against us, the industrial music loud and crisp. The bass shook your bones, and my ribcage felt like it was rattled to pieces. I closed my eyes and just moved. Veronica moved with a grace I hadn’t seen in awhile when I opened my eyes. She pressed herself against a couple that surrounded her. I felt my breath catch in my throat, my heart pounded from excitement. She squeezed past them and moved to me, her hands ran down my face, and then she gripped the padlock with her left hand.
She pulled me down to her, which wasn’t very far, but it was the intensity of the moment that made all the difference. What she did next made me jump, my body tensed and relaxed in milliseconds. She gave me a deep kiss, and, while she kissed me, distracted me, her other hand undid my padlock. I pulled back as I jumped in shock. Our eyes were locked on each others’ in the flashing neon stage lights. She had a twinkle in her eye as she pulled me close to her.
“Find a man, for you.”
I pulled back, looked at her in surprise. She smiled wickedly, an erotic edge to her features suddenly. She was hot when she was getting dressed and she was even hotter now. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I leaned into her ear.
“Are you looking for a woman?”
― Todd Misura, Divergence: Erotica from a Different Angle

“We were all puppets of someone in a self-perpetuating circle of pollutants, violence and hedonistic escapism.”
― John Bowie, Untethered

“Because of things such as drugs and alcohol, countless people, most of whom are female, do not know that they were once raped, many of them more than once.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“In there, the music was slightly less deafening, so Cara didn’t have to yell when she said, “Holy crap, are you okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to abandon you. I thought you were dancing alone and then I turned around and they had their dirty paws all over you and—”

“Cara.” Meg grabbed her hands and gave them a squeeze. “Cara, I’m good. They asked to dance. I said yes. It’s good.”

“They…” If anything, Cara’s eyes went wider. “Oh shit, I am the worst wingwoman in the history of wingwomen. You were getting busy, weren’t you? Look at you, you’re all flushed.” She laughed and leaned against the counter. “God, I thought you were freaked out and couldn’t escape and that’s why you looked like that. But it was lust.” She gave Meg a playful smack. “Get it, girl!”
― Katee Robert, Theirs for the Night

“I gasp. A hand down the back of my jeans has found my crack. A blast of poppers hits my nose and my heart thumps to the bass notes of desire.”
― Sarah Winman, Tin Man

“Don't worry, I won't abandon you. I promise.”
― Yuhta Nishio, After Hours, Vol. 1

“Now the mask is hidden but that need is the same.”
― Kathe Koja, Dark Factory

“Catch fun, but remember to catch goals.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson , Night of a Thousand Thoughts

“There were lights. There was music. There was laughter. There were white sofas piled with cushions scattered all over the massive terrace. Glass tables with golden legs rested in front of each well-nested area. Servers slipped between the tables carrying trays with colorful drinks. What drew Tara’s attention was the skyline overlooking the entire terrace. It was magical.”
― Soroosh Shahrivar, Tajrish

“[...] Another groggy patron wrote, about a night of clubbing: the bartender 'brought me some Benedictine and the bottle was right. But the liqueur was curious -- transparent at the top of the glass, yellowish in the middle and brown at the base . . . Oh, what dreams seemed to result from drinking it . . . That is the bane of speakeasy life. You ring up your friend the next morning to find out whether he is still alive.”
― Deborah Blum, The Poisoner's Handbook: Murder and the Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York