Eyes Wide Shut

Toward the end of summer, a false fall swept through Dallas,

breaking the heat just enough to breathe again.

The air shifted—cooler, lighter—and for a moment, I felt the tropics pulse through my veins.

I knew it wouldn’t last.

Dallas never holds me for long.

The Caribbean was calling.
My soul was calling.
One last night to make the summer count.
To end it with an exclamation point.
To step into fantasy—into something raw, voyeuristic, unforgettable.

I’d only dipped my toes in. Now I was ready to dive.

Colette wasn’t planned. It was a spontaneous idea.
“Ever heard of it?” I asked.
He hadn’t. Too new to Dallas.
He was intrigued though, so I said, “Let’s go.”

“I have one rule,” I told him.
“What’s that?”
“Whatever happens in there—it’s just you and me.”
He agreed, unaware of what waited behind that door.

We rolled down Stemmons, trap music shaking the car, the city lights bleeding past us.
When we pulled up, valets moved in sync—polished, practiced, like a machine built for indulgence.

Inside, Colette unfolded like a dream in motion.
Red light. Sequins. Whispers.
The air was thick with perfume and anticipation.
Every glance held a story.
Every step pulled us deeper.

We wandered the halls like curious voyeurs,
searching for a corner that felt like ours.
The energy was tangible—pulsing from the walls, humming through the vents.
Heat. Curiosity. Lust.
The kind that crawls under your skin.

Then, we found it.
A bed surrounded by glass.
The world watching, maybe thirty faces.
He looked down at me, voice low.
“They’re watching us.”
I turned toward the window—then back to him.
Unbothered.
Alive.

We fell into the moment, lost in sound and sweat and light.
Every movement blurred into the next until there was nothing but pulse and breath.
And when it ended, we gathered ourselves—still trembling, high on the charge of it all.

He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulled me close as we walked in sync

like I was something precious.
My head rested against his shoulder.
The air buzzed—music, laughter, moans, the rhythm of unfiltered release.

Exhibitionists.
Lovers.
Friends.
Strangers.
The club was alive with it all.

He tried to push the line once—

temptation hanging between us.
I said no.
He stopped.
The respect in that silence said everything.

Upstairs, the DJ spun under strobe lights.
A room of bodies—dancing, drinking, unraveling.
We found a throne tucked in the corner.
He sat back like a king.
I leaned in, lost myself to the rhythm one more time.

This time, no eyes watching.
Just us.
Heat and breath and surrender.
The room around us vibrating as we collapsed into each other,
hearts pounding in sync with the bass.

That was our night.
Our moment.
Two souls among hundreds—alive inside a museum of desire.
Eyes wide shut.

And when it was over, I knew—
we’d made the summer count.