Having A Wing Girl

Please read this first: Being A Wing Girl

As a guy, there’s the first awkward moment when I lock eyes. She sees me. I see her. One of us needs to inexplicably look away: Towards the ground, maybe at the seven or eight people gathered on the dance floor that are two-stepping and punching the sky. It’s in those few seconds that a million questions roll through my mind.

How are you?
Something funny?
A random story?
I hardly know you, but I want your red lipstick smudged on my lips.

A quick approach.
Hey, you should know us.

Our eyes lock again. She smiles prepared to say something, when suddenly my wing girl rushes towards us with an unbridled excitement.

“DANCE TIME. DANCE. DANCE. DANCE!” she yells at us.

My wing girl grabs both our arms and hauls us all toward the dance floor. The speaker’s bass offsets the thumping of my heart as the girl with ruby red lipstick puts her arms on me. My wing girl stands near us, prepared for every worst case scenario: another guy, a spilled drink or even worse, the drunken friend that wants to drag her away.

Tonight is simple though. My wing girl gently nudges me aside and puts her arms around the girl’s waist and dances sensually with her. The air loosens its grip and guards are dropped as my wing girl backs up against me and whispers words I need to hear, then carefully exits. The girl now looks at ease and grabs a hold of me again, this time firmly.

The lights pulse and the music beats on as we stare into each other’s eyes. Lost in lyric, we sing out our hearts until the moment is right.

At that exact second, the sound seems to fade away. She smiles and playfully bites my lip as we lock lips for a kiss. I pull back and grin. Tonight I may have met my match and I want her red lipstick smeared all over my lips. I return the bite gently, enough to see her shiver with slight delight as we give into each other.

I peek with one eye to see my wing-girl grin from the side of the dance floor. She raises her drink, then fades silently into the crowd.