He has never been in a place like this, a sleazy nightclub where beautiful young women dance for the sexual gratification of men. Nor would he be here now, except for the pounding rain and the insistent blue eyes of the girl on the advertising placard outside. There is something disturbing and unfathomable in her eyes, something that makes him stop to look at her picture every night as he walks home from work. That's where he should be now, at home, getting himself something to eat, preparing for bed. Instead, he's sitting in a booth, with a drink in his hand, in a space so dark the other patrons are only discernable by the movement of their shadows as they enter the room, and then only by their random coughs and secret murmurs. Who are these men? Surely they aren't here to understand the girl, like he is. So why are they here? Is there something wrong in their lives that compels them to come?.

A profound silence falls over the room, and he realizes the other men know something is about to happen.

It starts with the soft beat of a drum, a sound so low he hardly notices it at first. It could just as well be the pounding of his heart, accelerating in expectation. But then it gets louder and he can feel the percussion of the drum in his bones. He takes a quick gulp of his drink to prepare himself and he still has the glass in his hand when a spotlight slices through the dark. It exposes a girl on a raised platform. She is utterly naked.

The shock of seeing her like that, so close, causes him to cough and sputter his drink. He quickly covers his mouth, trying to lessen the explosive sound. He looks around, embarrassed, but against the brilliant light, the darkness is even more pronounced. He realizes no one can see him, just as he can't see them.

And then the music rises. Now no one will be able to hear him either, no matter what kind of sounds he makes. The specially-designed curve of the booth provides a sense of privacy. It's as if he is all alone in the dark. It gives him a feeling he's not sure he likes.

He forces himself to keep his eyes on the girl's face as she begins to move. She's put on a sexy look,and she seems to be doing it just for him. Why is she looking at him like that? Doesn't she realize he's not like the rest of them? Doesn't she understand that's not why he came? She flashes him a quick smile, and he thinks maybe she does understand.

She lifts her long dark hair and turns her head to reveal the perfection of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, her perfect breasts. She lets her hair fall, and his eyes are drawn down to what he's trying not to see. But she insists. She wants him to see it all.

Moving to the music, she turns, revealing every sensual contour of her body. And then she circles again, lingering in each position, as if she wants to give him time to adjust to the disturbing sensations he's feeling.

He tells himself, this is not right. This is not why I came. I only wanted to understand you.

Then, it's as if she has sensed his discomfort. She begins to dance like a young girl at a disco club, without a care in the world, prancing from side-to-side, making her pretty breasts bounce. She looks so cute and innocent dancing like that, he can't help but laugh. He has the absurd thought that he'd like to be up there dancing with her, so young and carefree. But he's never been like that. He's always been serious. Always thinking about the meaning and ramifications of things. Always trying to understand. Why can't he be more like her?

He takes another swallow from his drink, and then another. He begins to tap his fingers on the table, and he shifts his shoulders from side-to-side with the music, flaunting his stuff.

Just when he's feeling happy and at ease, the music turns sultry and the girl becomes sultry too. She leans forward and lets her tousled hair fall across her face. She shakes it back, giving him a different look, almost angry now, almost accusing. What does it mean? Has he done something wrong? He can't imagine what it could be. He was just trying to show her he understands, that he accepts her without judgment.

He thinks he hears her whisper something, and he sits forward, straining to hear. But all he can hear is the sound of the music, too loud, filling the room, filling his brain. Why does it have to be so loud?

He holds his breath to listen more intently and notices how thick and musty the air is. He can almost hear it expanding and contracting. What is that? He listens again and realizes: it's the heavy breathing of the men. He can hear their moans, like a steady dark drone beneath the lighter notes of the music and it makes him afraid for the girl. He wants to yell at them: "Leave her alone! She's not like that." But when he looks back at her, he wonders if she really is like that. She doesn't seem to want them to leave her alone. Her movements, the expression on her face, her dark shiny eyes, her soft moist tongue all seem to be begging for them to consume her.

Suddenly, she falls to her knees, and he feels himself falling too. He finds himself in the circle of blinding light, feeling bewildered and detached from himself. He can't see anything in the light, but he can feel the frightening power of lust in the room and he can feel the heat of it swirling around the cool white light that engulfs him. He can't move his body, but he can feel the unfamiliar weight of breasts, the long dark hair touching lightly against his back. He feels an aching pain inside him, as if the whole sorrowful world of passion and desire is swelling up inside his womb. He wants to cry out, but he finds he has no voice, no way to communicate except through the girl.

That's when he hears the murmur of her heart, the soft whisper of her mind and he begins to understand that he is fully inside her now. He has no choice but to feel what she feels, to move as she moves, and to stay within her mind until he can understand what she understands about the men.

She closes her eyes. He closes his. He allows the men to devour each part of him with their ravenous eyes. He feels their rough tongues licking the sweet pink buds of his nipples. He feels their greedy hands sliding down the soft warm flesh of his belly into the black hair between his legs. He hears their cries and suddenly he knows what they want. They want to pierce him through to unearth their own hearts. They want to feel something, anything of that which has been forbidden to them. "Stop your sniveling and act like a man." That's what his own father said to him when he was a boy. But he couldn't stop it. " You're too sensitive for a boy," his mother said. And maybe it was true. He'd cry at night, alone in his bed. Not for himself, but for all the misery that seemed to creep inside his heart and soul from the broken people he'd see on the streets, the starving children they showed on TV. But these men who surround him now are different; they never cried in their beds, not for themselves or anyone else. They had never felt free to express any of their true feelings.

He sees that the girl is their only salvation, the only one who can release the bottled up pain inside them. And it can only happen here, in their private booths, protected by the din of the music, the only place they feel comfortable, and safe.

Once he understands these things, he knows what the girl must do. She falls back on her arms, opening herself, offering the tender flesh of her bloom. With each rhythmic thrust of her hips she reveals ever more of her deep hidden heart. Pushing and swaying and moaning, she evokes soft cries and murmurs from the men. She lies back, stretching her legs wide, opening the mouth of her soul, exposing the very core of her being, giving them all that they crave. And now he understands her too. He knows why she is willing to give herself over to them so completely. There's a craving inside her too. She holds a power that she believes can satiate them once and for all. She wants to drive away the terrible need that brings them back to her, night after night after night. She's listening intently now, and he can hear it too, their breathing, coming faster and faster and louder, the sighs and moans, the rhythm of their music. She matches their rhythm, writhing and groaning, opening herself to each one of them, spreading herself so far across the room that suddenly he can't find her. And then, with one terrible wail that fills the room, it's over.

The girl lies perfectly still, her skin moist and translucent, her eyes vacant and scared. He doesn't understand. Why this fear now? Is she afraid she has failed?

He hears the men moving through the room, in a hurry to leave. He smells a waft of fresh air each time the door opens to let one of them out

He stays seated where he is, not sure if he could move if he wanted to. The girl is still lying up there on the platform. Already forgotten. No one comes to help her. She lies where she fell, starkly naked and vulnerable in the spotlight.

And then he sees her hand move. Is she reaching for him? Though he feels weak and shaken, he forces himself to stand and stumble to her side. He takes her hand and holds it against his chest. He whispers, "It's okay. I know now. I understand."