“Phew, didn’t think it’d be so hot.”

Vinyl nodded, taking a careful look in the mirror. In silent contemplation, the spinner rubbed her chin thoughtfully. Okay. I can - technically - put it on. So I can take it off when it gets too hot and pretend it got cooler. Devil Vinyl nodded: At least by twenty degrees. Angel Vinyl groaned in exasperation: That doesn’t make any sense!

One way or another, the DJ decided to put on white shirt on top of the blue T-shirt she’d decided to wear, which - at least, as told by a very intrigued and salivating Octavia - accentuated her breasts very finely. Instead of jeans, she settled on white linen trousers, to match her shirt. Since it’s a disco, there’ll be dancing. Since there’ll be dancing, I have to wear comfortable trousers, she concluded philosophically.

“Mmm…” Vinyl felt Octavia’s chin on her shoulder suddenly, pressing into her, her rosy breath caressing the spinner’s heated cheek. “Or, maybe, it’s just you that’s hot~” The cellist kissed her DJ’s neck, nibbling on the tender skin, knowing very well it was one of Vinyl’s most sensitive spots.

“Uuuuuh,” Vinyl moaned, turning swiftly to face her love, only to freeze, astonished, at the beauty that unveiled before her. Octavia was wearing the usual shirt, the collar stiff high, the usual pink bow tie (one of the many) on it, an interesting blend of a tux with a tailcoat on top, grey, with a dark grey strip at the waist and similar strips beneath the brass buttons which seemed to serve a severely decorative role; and the grey trousers. Vinyl noted, with a breathless feeling of beauty, that Octavia’s hair had grown even longer, the jet-black gem of waist-length, the main source of the blush that was adorning the spinner’s face (and other regions) now. “You… You are very… Very. Very very.” Pausing, she added, “Um. Very very. Very. Verily.”

Octavia jingled with laughter - the most pleasant sound in the world to the spinner - and, boldly, leant in, not quite for a kiss yet. “Your eloquence is telling me that you really want to fuck me right now. Don’t you?” Octavia wondered in such an innocent tone, which was such a great contrast to her words. To finish the impression, she put the tip of her index finger in her mouth.

Vinyl was on the verge of fainting. Angel Vinyl had fainted a few minutes ago. Devil Vinyl rummaged excitedly through the Drawers of Hell to find a latex suit to put Angel Vinyl in. “I.. I want to…” Oh God, I can’t really say that, can I? “I want t-to… f-f… fff… sex you,” she said finally, rosing thickly. “Very very much,” she added hastily. “I want to sex you a lot.”

Octavia just gazed at her lover with passion, trust, and acceptance. “Vinyl, you are irresistible,” she said finally, and, with that, grabbed the spinner by the shirt and leant in boldly, taking the shades off her DJ’s face, revealing a pleasant-tinted blush on Vinyl’s cheeks that matched her red earrings - something the DJ did not wear often, but decided to put on as soon as Octavia had told her about the disco in the seaside town of Budva where they were going tonight, as “friends”, lest their fun be interrupted by some unpleasantry or the other.

Octavia did not see Vinyl’s widened eyes, her brows, her blush, her surprise, as her own eyes were shut, revelling in bliss from the kiss, the fingers of her right hand clasping Vinyl’s shirt, keeping the spinner close - even though Vinyl had no intention of breaking the kiss - her left hand holding the purple-lensed shades. Hectically, as if breaking the spell, Vinyl tried to begin undressing, both herself and Octavia, starting off with the cufflinks, which came off with a tingle, revealing Octavia’s wrists.

The cellist still did not break the kiss, helping her spinner take off her shirt; but then a better idea dawned on her, and she withdrew her lips. Smiling deviously, she bent down, stepping down to her hands and knees, much  to Vinyl’s amusement, without undressing at all. With her nose, she began pushing at Vinyl’s belly button, raising the T-shirt up until it lingered fine under Vinyl’s gorgeous breasts, the spinner’s nipples showing through the soaked-with-sweat fabric, her mouth open in arousal. Never before had the DJ imagined having sex with her girlfriend right in the hall, not even taking off the clothes. It seemed so… dirty. So sexy. So infatuating.

Meanwhile, Octavia grabbed Vinyl’s zipper with her teeth, unzipping her trousers with a purr, and bit the fabric, making way to reveal the delicious front, the back of the trousers still on Vinyl’s ass, with the DJ pushed into a cupboard, her posterior pressed against it, Octavia’s tongue finally getting down to the prize at once, her eyes closed, but the image of her panting DJ vivid before her eyelids.

Vinyl screamed.

The two women made their way through the late-evening street of the town, Vinyl’s eyes lingering on the closed stores and cafes, and, by contrast, on the crowds of young men and women, laughing, walking, smoking, eating ice-cream - everywhere.

“Budva is the main tourist attraction for young people,” Octavia explained as she led Vinyl to the left, up to the roaring seaside, the empty beach, the fishermen’s stands, now vacant, and the dozens of restaurants that lined up the line. “To the right there’s the Old City, with all the shops; further there is the Avala, a hotel for rich, spoilt kids from Italy and Russia; up there’s Porto, my favourite restaurant. It’s closed already,” she added sadly, wrapping up the impromptu tour about town.

Vinyl nodded slowly. “You’re so smart…” And also made me change my pants tonight. Twice. Uh. “I think the taxi driver was weirded out by how differently we’re dressed,” she dropped, just to keep the friendly (“just-friendly”) conversation alive. Feels awkward.

Octavia chimed with laughter, leading Vinyl up to a small club at the corner of the beach and the road that led up to the estates, further into town. “Believe me, Vinyl, Vlado has seen all kind of people out there. He’s not weirded out by anything.”

Finally, the women entered the club. The place wasn’t big, and it was filled with young people. To Vinyl’s surprise, there was no bouncer; no security of any kind. Then again, the people here behaved differently than in the clubs she’d been used to: all the youngsters were dancing, some of them were drinking; most were smoking, despite the No Smoking signs; everyone was laughing, and it seemed more like a huge party for chosen friends than a gathering of strangers. In a way, it was more… homely. More decent. These weren’t trance-addled, drugs-fucked-up youths from Manhattan clubs; these weren’t making-out, sex-against-the-wall-having Berliners; these weren’t drunken, chanting, jumping Moscovites who felt it their duty to share their food and drink with everyone who didn’t want it; these weren’t insanely-dressed, strangers-kissing, butt-touching Londoners; these were just laughing, dancing, happy people. Vinyl smiled, looking about.

“So. How about a drink?” Octavia suggested, much to the widening of Vinyl’s eyes. “Juice, Vinyl. Apple Juice. Jesus.” Vinyl blushed thickly. “Is something wrong, lo- Is something wrong?” she corrected herself, staying in touch with the local morals.

“It’s just that, um, it’s weird to come to a club and not have all eyes on me,” Vinyl explained. Octavia raised her brow. “What I mean is,” the spinner corrected herself, “When I come to a club, usually everyone’s all like, ‘Wow, it’s DJ Pon-3!’, and here, um, nobody knows me…”

“Isn’t it nice to be anonymous for an evening?” Octavia smiled. “Just have your fun without being recognised?”

Vinyl smiled back and nodded. “I guess.”

Octavia placed her hand on Vinyl’s shoulder. “Let me get the juice.”

It did not get cooler in the wake of Vinyl taking off her shirt. Her torso was soaking with sweat, and the shy spinner was wary and cautious of stares she was catching from both male and female attendees. The party at the Tropicana was better than the three discos they’d been to before - if only because this one did not end at one in the morning - but here, the audience, was somewhat more… European. There were the same Russians, Serbs, and Italians, but, while there were no make-out sessions, the public was somewhat less.. restrictive of themselves. Notably, there were a number of wild-dancing girls that Vinyl wouldn’t mind undressing and inspecting their breasts. For purely scientific reasons.

Then, maybe, Octavia can join in and we’ll both inspect the boobies. Scientifically. Vinyl smiled to herself, observing, with disinterest, a group of young men chatting among themselves loudly in what seemed to the spinner like Serbian and pointing their fingers at her from time to time. Boys will be boys, Vinyl concluded peacefully. They see a pretty girl and their brains resurface to their crotch. Thanks God I don’t have a penis.

Finally, one of the men, smiling boldly, left his group and came up to Vinyl, speaking quickly and heatedly in a Slavic language. Eww, Vinyl observed, trying to put on a polite expression for the unfortunate jock. Sorry, buddy, you are seriously lacking in the boob department for me. “I don’t speak Serbian,” Vinyl explained.

The man did not seem to have become disheartened by that remark, and started gesticulating in an obvious manner that depicted sexual intercourse in positions unknown to Vinyl that, frankly, would have been off better remaining unbeknownst to her. The spinner could not help a wince. “Sorry, not interested,” she dropped, turning towards the direction from which Octavia was hurrying with two glasses of juice.

Suddenly, she felt a harsh tug at her hand, then at her arm. The jock was holding her, grasping the arm violently, her skin reddening immediately. Vinyl screamed instinctively and tried to free herself to no avail. ”Let me go!” she yelled.

Octavia dropped the glasses, rushing to her lover’s aid, pushing the jock away with unyielding force, yelling the thickest Russian obscenities she knew; which seemed to be universal, for the Serb understood those pretty well and started countering off with threats of his own, lingering dangerously close.

“Tavi, what does he want?” Vinyl demanded, flustered, a little angry, very scared. The music dimmed and the light simmered down, and the people started to gather round, some conversing in a language unknown to her, some men trying to step up to the offending stranger and probably show him a thing or two about etiquette and proper treatment of a lady. Or not. Conservative villagers, Tavi said. Who knows?

“I’ll tell you what he wants later,” Octavia hissed, still glaring daggers at the unpleasant jock, who took a very brief offensive stance, only to be pushed away slightly by a tall, skinny man in a creme suit, who whispered to him a few phrases in Serbian. The jock began to gesticulate, crying out angrily, pushing the suited man away.

Quietly, with effort, Octavia began to translate, “This guy tells him not to- Oh. The j- Well, he asks if he wants to take it outside, and the guy-”

“The jock?” Vinyl interrupted, utterly lost, ashamed of her ignorance of Slavic languages.

“No, the guy in the suit. He says something like-” Octavia winced. “He says he’ll sue him for sexual assault, and the jock says they’re not in the EU, there’s no such law, and- Oh. Oh!”

Frowning deeply, spitting anger all about, the jock made his way to the exit briefly, shoving people all about the place. With a tiny smile, the Suit came up to the women. “Tavi, what did he-” Vinyl began.

“I told him,” the man said in perfect English, “that, even though we are not in the EU currently, he would be surprised to receive a summons from Croatia, which is, and where my law firm is located.” He laughed in a pleasant jingle. “It seems our sudden acquaintance is not in the mood for lawsuits.”

“Thank you so much,” Vinyl said, letting him lead her, and Octavia, outside. There was no sight of Jerky Jock, who seemed to have taken off in his car or a taxi. “You practically saved us.”

“Thanks,” Octavia agreed, all be it in a milder way. “My name’s Octavia Philarmonica. Here’s my g- friend, Vinyl Scratch.”

“Philarmonica?” The man smiled widely. “Now this is a familiar name.”

“Why?” Octavia wondered with as much politeness in her tone as she could muster. “Forgive me, but you don’t look familiar to me.”

“Maybe not,” the man admitted, not dropping his wide, radiant smile. “I guess not.”

“What was your name again?” Octavia asked cautiously - maybe a little too cautiously. One can never be too cautious with acquaintances one doesn’t know.

The man took a small bow. “Antonio Pantomino, at your service.”

Next Chapter: 7. Diversity Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 49 Minutes