If I could frame my mind

Dancing.

Dancing is the only thing that frees him. A dark club with neon lights. Pounding techno music, so loud the actual song is barely audible, and only the beat matters. Half-naked bodies, sweating and swaying to the rhythm, groping and teasing one another.

Sex.

Sex is part of the dance. They bump, they grind, they retreat to a shadowed corridor. He doesn't know his partner's name. He doesn't want to. There's more bumping, more grinding, less graceful than the moves on the floor but just as passionate.

Climax.

He bites his lip as he comes, desperately holding back the cries. The cries of pleasure, of frustration. It's all over so quickly, and now there's no more escape. It was good, while it lasted, but it's over and he's left against the wall, still as empty as he was this morning.

There's nothing for it but more dancing.