#gay as hell to have hypnotism powers. who are you hypnotizing? other m

[wally-franks-stan]

So @reanimationstation and @ask-buddy-lewek have been working on a batim mer au and of course I instantly became obsessed with the Joey because. Look he’s just cute okay and I’m also a marine scientist and I want to kiss h

ANYWAY Victor and I got to talking about what it would be like if the mer au joeys met and I ended up drawing this which ended up gayer than intended. AND IM REALLY PROUD OF IT!!! So on the blog it goes :]

[fatmatt450lbs]

You asked for it... I just caught a reflection of myself in the window at the mall. It always takes me by surprise when I realize that the human whale I am looking at is me. Its so surreal to imagine what I have become. Today is a special day. Its my partner’s birthday, special enough for me to sneak out of the house to the mall without him knowing. I had to call ahead for a Van as I no longer can ride in a conventional sedan. This trip took some special planning as everything is so much more time consuming and exhausting. Even as I slowly plod through the mall I know its worth it. For as hard as this is becoming for me…. Its hard for him also. But the one thing we share is our YING-YANG love of my ever increasing obesity. It started 4 years ago shortly after my 35th Birthday. I was Living the “LIFE.” I had everything. A perfect house, a perfect job, a perfect husband, good money, fast lifestyle, and was completely miserable. You see I used to be fat. Not enormous but fat. At 5’10 and 330lbs upon my 30th birthday I decided that it was time to make a change. I have always needed and craved attention, at 330lbs you are basically non-existent. Once in a while you get noticed but it is not often. I thought if I could get skinny, then FIT my life would change. Well it did, but not the way I’d hoped. I got Skinny, then Fit, (using drastic if not outright stupid) measures. I came out of the closet, got deep into the GAY CIRCUIT scene, had some fun but that was just it. I still hadn’t realized my “POTENTIAL” and was still craving that attention, not to mention real food. I was hungry. I knew what I was hungry for, but was so afraid to “give in” to who I was, who I am, and what I am becoming. I met my partner a while back as I was coming to terms with myself. He is a strong, intelligent, beautiful man. His body is the exact contrast of mine, Hard, Strong, Defined, Developed, MUSCULAR, and cut. The more he develops his body, the more enrapt I become. He knows the power he holds over me, Sometimes I think maybe I should slow this down but he enters the room and all of that doubt just seems to fade away. Along with the entire tray of fresh Lasagna, Last week I actually tried to take a real stand, tried to demand that we slow this down. He said “sure” with that arrogant yet SEXY smirk. He then just left for work. Left me lying in the bed, he knows it is impossible for me to get up on my own. He used this to let me know my place now. I rocked and struggled to try and raise myself, to do anything for this last stronghold but all I accomplished was to get both feet on the floor, but with no way to pull my body upright. I am sweating, gasping for breath and stuck. Now I realized why he’s always insisted on having the phone on the other side of the room instead of beside the bed. He knew this day would come. As I laid there, with nothing to do but think I realize, this is it. Its where I am going to end up, a living monument to gluttony, self indulgence, lack of control. An enormous blob of a human, unrecognizable, BURIED. Not long after 1:00pm he comes home. He stands over the bed, and just looks at me. He is aroused, the DARK passion in his eyes lets me know he sees my future the same way. The sex that day, that easily dark day closed the deal. Now most of my days are filled with lazing on the sofa or waddling to and from the bathrooms and Kitchen back to the sofa. Food is always easily in reach. I don’t have to exert much effort. There are snacks all over the house all the time. He knows what I can’t resist. He knows all the foods that make me fall. I usually am surprised when the 2lb bag of Peanut M&M’s are just gone. I don’t remember where they went or even that I ate them but I find myself at the end of the day surrounded by wrappers, cartons, cans and bottles. He always goes to the GYM before he brings home dinner. Then the real eating begins. At least 3 nights a week I eat until I pass out. The more I eat the more aroused he gets, the more aroused he gets, the more I stuff my face. He just stands there, Beautiful, perfect, a GOD. Its like I am eating all his sins and I can’t get enough of them. I can tell he is so turned on by my depravity, my dark obsession, my food. His arrogant control is hypnotic, hot, and what I want. Last time I was weighed, I was 640lbs. Amazing what 4 years of happiness can do to a man. My partner LOVES the attention, the stares, the laughs, the spectacle. People just stop and stare, the looks of shame and disgust turn us both on. The dichotomy of the 2 of us side by side only adds to the event. One the Ideal, one the fear of most anyone. A living example of what can happen to someone who gives into their weakness. I realize that this is one of my last trips to ANYWHERE alone. I am already over 2 hours late and I haven’t even set foot in the store. Its so much harder than I thought. I guess he knew. I was kidding myself. And to imagine, I used to run 10k races. Now I can’t even walk 10 steps without resting. Finally, I have been sitting on this bench for over 2 hours. I couldn’t do it. I can’t even make it back to the street. As I look at what has been reduced to, what I have done to myself, I can’t help but feel that I deserve my fate, my fat. He is shaking his head as he walks toward me. I had to break down and finally call him to come get me. No surprise, but I can tell he is pleased all the same. He just walks up, hugs me and helps me up. We take a whole lot of time to get out of the mall, all the while he is patting my back. Once we get to the Van, he helps me into the back and closes the door. I can feel the gravity of my belly and tits as we take the curves back home. All the while I keep seeing him looking at me in the rear view mirror. There is something different in his eyes… I am a little excited, and a little scared at the same time. Once we get home he helps me out of the car and heads into the house ahead of me. Finally I make the front door and open it to a BIG Surprise. He is standing there completely NUDE, Pumped and aggressive. He says as he pushes me down on the sofa… Your are mine from now own… By the end of the year you’ll be housebound and after that it really starts to get interesting. He continues “I’ve helped you become what you said you wanted to be, NOW you are going to become what I want you to be. You are going to become the pathetic, overindulged blob that you were MEANT to be.” Admit to yourself… the food? You can’t control it, and now you are dependant on me and you know what? I’ve just gotten started on you. Here pig,” At that point he pushes a cheesecake all over my face, starts stuffing it in my mouth, I am gagging and still he keeps pushing and pushing. You wanted to eat well then EAT. I’ve watched you bury yourself in food, in fat, in gluttony for the past four years, I have helped but I took it easy on you. Now that you are SO FUCKING fat you are helpless, you can’t even roll out of bed without my help YOU NEED ME I own you and … well guess what porky, NO MORE MISTER NICE GUY. Now eat pig…. Finish that fucking cake before I get back in here or there will be hell to pay. With that he gets up and starts walking into the kitchen. I am shaken, afraid, and I can’t believe that I have allowed this to happen. I look down at my cheesecake stained clothes, I try to get up and realize that this is going to happen, that I am gone, I have buried myself. I look up in time to see him walking back … oh shit.

[mz-hide]

Trick Of Might - Chapter 2

Aka: a Dragon Ball Z slash fic.

Chapter 2

Goku has a disturbing nightmare. Vegeta has a good, bad time.

Summary: An ancient enemy makes a sudden comeback into Goku’s life. Long-suppressed memories surface again and it’s no longer possible for the young saiyan to ignore them. Warnings: Dubious Consent, (because of drug use) Ships & Pairings: Bulma/Vegeta, Goku/Vegeta, Goku/Turles, Goku/Turles/Vegeta, Turles/Vegeta, Raditz/Turles, Nappa/Turles, Nappa/Raditz/Turles Contains: Threesome - M/M/M, Group Sex, Polyamory, Aphrodisiacs, Secret Crush, Confessions, Enemies to Lovers, Love Triangles, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Gay Sex, Biting, Scratching, Boners All Around, Feral Behavior, (just a tiny bit), Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content

You can find the rest on my AO3 page (username: originalmonkeyhydes)

Blows fell heavy from everywhere. The chase was urged too rapidly for him to react. Fists were alternated with jabs and with kicks. He couldn’t follow nor evade them. His body moved too clumsily, his reactions were too slow. He was completely at the mercy of his opponent. At some point he thought he’d found a chance to counter, but the other warrior disappeared from view faster than what he thought possible. Before he could do anything, a knee hit him hard in the stomach, making him bend forward and loose his breath. A kick followed rapidly, hard enough to lift him off the ground. He only had the time to catch a glimpse of his enemy’s grin before he was hit again, on the back. The power of this last blow hurled him downwards. He hit the ground hard. The impact dug a deep hole in the wood of the tree, burying him underneath a pile of debris. The pain was deafening. He let himself slip sideways and fall into a split between the roots. He was paralyzed. His head, his arms and his back throbbed from the scraping and the numerous wounds. For a long, terrible instant, the only thing he felt in his legs was a deaf numbness. He couldn’t get up, his limbs seemed to give up on him, refusing to support his weight. “What the matter, Kakarot? Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got.” Another kick made him roll on his back. He screamed, feeling his ribs threaten to crack. He opened his eyes. He struggled to get them to focus on the approaching enemy. Turles stood before him, gifting him with a mocking grin. “I’m going to ask you one last time, Kakarot, and I won’t take a no for an answer. Join me. You can take your son with you, if you want. Together we can conquer the entire galaxy, like true saiyans. We’ll be unstoppable!” “Never!” His voice sounded chocked, his throat ached. “I’m not like you, I’m not a true saiyan! The Earth is my home and it’s where I will stay!” Turles’ look hardened. The pirate’s hand curled among his hair and banged his head against the bark of the tree. Goku screamed. His ears were ringing impossibly loud. When the colorful spots that had blinded him faded, he saw Turles’ face extremely close to his own. A cruel smile ignited his features with a light that was all but reassuring. “It means that I won’t have any other choice but destroying your beloved planet and leave you no other choice then to join me. And then you’ll finally be mine, Kakarot…” Before he could do or say anything more, the dark lips of the pirate were on his, bloodied and already disclosed by ragged breaths. A molten hot tongue slipped into his mouth. When he recovered from the shock and realized what had just happened, he instinctively bit down. Turles swiftly pulled away, like he’d been burned by an open flame. From his broken lip blood dripped down onto his chin. The renegade saiyan touched the new cut and looked back up at him, incredulous. Then, to Goku’s immense astonishment, the dark saiyan began to laugh with sincere amusement, licking away the thick drops of blood that kept spilling from his mouth. “Oh yes… Sooner or later you will be mine, Kakarot.”

Goku woke up with a startled gasp, jumping up to a sitting position. HIs eyes darted from side to side, meeting the familiar walls of his bedroom instead of the ostile maze of roots. Next to him, instead of an enemy ready to jump him, lied Chi Chi, sleeping soundly and facing away from him. In the silence of the night the fast thrumming of his heart seemed to be the only sound. Goku ran a hand across his face. It was just a dream, he told himself. His eyes instinctively went to the dark skies outside his window. The countryside air was clear that night and the stars burned eerily bright. But why did I dream of that moment? No matter how hard he’d tried to dismiss them, his newly awakened memories kept cursing through his mind. He remember that moment well, possibly the only instant of his fight with Turles his friends hadn’t witnessed. He could remember it as clear as ever. He recalled how, once the initial shock had subsided, he had given that gesture little thought. His only focus had been the fight. He could have also told himself that the memory of that kiss had been just a trick of his adrenaline-clouded mind. Yet, he couldn’t convince himself completely, no matter how hard he tried. He could doubt his mind, but his gut never lied. He brought a hand to his lips. It had all come back clearly now, all those things he hadn’t thought about in years. He could still conjure up the taste of the dark saiyan’s blood - his velvety tongue - in his mouth and the indecipherable tone of his voice, half threatening, half dreaming. Goku asked himself what it had all meant and found himself fighting a strange uncomfortableness once again. He needed to cast those thoughts aside. Goku got up from the bed, slipping out of his pajama and into his training gi. He exited from the window, silent as a feather, flying away above the dark treetops of the forest. If there was something that could have used to distract himself was training. The solution to his problem was easy, after all. The young saiyan had never been one for thinking too much, after all. It had always been pure instinct to guide him and he could never remember a time where that had backfired on him. Yet, even with his mind emptied of unsettling thought, instinct still prompted him to raise his eyes to the sky. He couldn’t look anywhere else.The twinkling of the stars was almost hypnotizing. Despite not being able to perceive that strange aura, something inside him knew there was something up there for him to feel. It was something Goku couldn’t name but it told him he was never going to get it out of his system if he hadn’t gone to the end of that story. Then, he caught a purple glimmer far into the dark depths of space. It was entirely probable that it had just been a deceiving glare, a trick played on him by Earth’s atmosphere on his eyes. Though, the warrior didn’t waste a second thinking about it. True or not it was irrelevant. He knew now what exactly what he was going to do. The youth brought two fingers to his forehead and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

“Don’t you dare!”, the woman cried out between moans, instinctively jumping up to admonish her lover as soon as she felt his teeth grazing her skin. Vegeta grunted his dissatisfaction, grudgingly sinking his face and his fangs in his pillow, longing for the fragrant scent of her skin that he’d been compulsorily forbidden to break. He found himself clenching his teeth onto feathery softness instead, feeling the warm body beneath him move with the thrusting of his hips. It had taken him a long time to resist that instinct but there was no amount of time that would have sufficed to suppress it completely. He knew that. It was in is blood, after all. It was a primordial hunger the human woman could have never been able to sate fully, even if she’d let him violate the ivory crook of her neck. That was a concession the beautiful scientist didn’t seem to be willing to give him after the previous few painful experiences. Yet, that was a deprivation the prince would have had to endure if he wanted to keep enjoying that curvaceous, willing body. His lover didn’t seem to care for his denied needs. She was moaning and whimpering underneath him - a well-earned symphony to his ears, a welcome balm for his pride-, her flesh twitching delightfully around him. Vegeta tried to focus on that, instead of his sulking. One of his hands slipped underneath the woman’s stomach, his calloused palm grazing the soft curve of her groin until his fingers found what they aimed for, nestled into silky dampness. He confirmed for himself that he could still put his digits to good use, despite the difference in strength with his companion. Making her shiver and gasp like that with so little pressure was endlessly endearing to him. He’d been lucky to have found someone who could let him indulge in such wanton carnality. Bulma was once again lost in her own sensations, undisturbed by the Prince’s longing for the taste of her blood. How he would have longed to sink his teeth into her… Each day that passed convinced him that she might have been deserving of it. Yet, even so, it wouldn’t have done him any good. Dammit… dammit all to hell! His frustration soon became her pleasure once it translated into faster, harder thrusts. He kept it up until she finally cried out loud, the delicious tightening of her flesh bringing him to his own orgasm. He took a few seconds to collect himself before sitting up and getting off the bed the woman still lied on, blissed out and panting. Glistening drops of sweat gathered along the seductive curve of her back and her flushed, moist sex, perfectly visible between milky thighs. Vegeta had had his difficulties adjusting to the woman’s lack of a tail and her inexplicable habit of systematically remove body hair, even from places which - in his opinion - were more alluring with rather than without hair. However, he had to admit that the plump morbidity from the pregnancy had made his improbable lover even more attractive to him than before. The smooth, soft fullness he embraced at night was enough to make up for the last of hair. No matter how pleasant that sight was, however, he didn’t stared too long. After Trunk’s birth it had been easier for him to accept the idea of sharing Bulma’s bed with a certain regularity, even if they both kept avoiding any serious involvement. After the misunderstandings and the fights that had followed, Vegeta’s departure and his return, between them was in force a sort of silent agreement. Discussing the undeniable attraction between them was as pointless as it was trying to change the occasional nature of their relationship. Therefore, the saiyan had preferred to keep a certain distance that allowed him to be around the woman avoiding discomfort. Among the implicit rules of their precarious couple dynamic, there was one about sharing the bed just for some specific activities. Sleeping wasn’t included. Vegeta liked to have a bed of his own for that. In that specific occasion he was eager to regain his own space with a certain haste, in case his lover had the intention to bring up the potential biting accident they’d barely managed to avoid. However, he failed to leave the room in time. “Wait!”, the woman called with a shaky voice, still panting and dizzy, and gestured in the direction of the bathroom, “At least clean yourself up a little before you leave. What would happen if my parents saw you wandering around like that?” Vegeta had noticed several cultural differences between human and saiyan culture, but there were levels of decency shared by both. He listened to the woman’s suggestion and entered her bathroom to clean himself up. At that point he possessed a certain familiarity with her shower to know how it worked. As he was drying himself up he heard the ringing of a communication device from the other room and Bulma’s sigh as she got up to answer the call. The prince immediately lost interest for what was going on in the other room. He didn’t have the habit to eavesdrop, even when it came to his lover’s conversations. Yet, he couldn’t help but overhear as the other’s tone rose with apprehension. “Goku did what?!”, the scientist exclaimed, “Are you sure, Gohan?” Vegeta walked into the bedroom again, the towel hanging around his neck. Bulma was holding the receiver precariously between her cheek and shoulder as he hurriedly picked up the clothes she’d previously scattered around the room. It was obvious that something must have happened. Not that he cared for that idiot, but the fact that Bulma hadn’t even cast a glance in his direction was not good. Especially for his pride. “Of course you can. I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s happening… But yes, if it can help, I’ll do what I can. I’mm get to work immediately. It’ll take a while… but with a little luck I’ll try to be done by the time you get here.” She glanced in his direction. The prince had the distinct impression that the “little luck” she’d just mentioned might have had something to do with him. Another bad sign. Just as it was bad that apparently it had been Kakarot’s runt to call that late at night. It didn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that something bothersome had happened. The warrior got dressed. Something told him he’d better be in operation order in a short while. “Vegeta”, the woman uttered slowly after hanging up the call, “I promise I will build you another one as soon as I can.” “Care to elaborate better?”, the prince demanded, despite the fact he knew he’d already guessed the answer. “Gohan and Piccolo need to take the ship. I know that it’s technically yours because you use it for training, I but I was the one who built it and… and I shouldn’t even be here asking your permission! There’s an emergency and my friends need a lift. I’m taking the ship!” Before he could return, Bulma had already jumped up and left the room. The two of them sure seemed to share the same strategies to avoid discussions, after all. Though, that was hardly the time to indulge in that kind of comparisons. “What kind of emergency?”, he demanded, following her. The situation was utterly irksome. Not only he was going to loose the space he used to train soon, now he had to chase the woman to know the reason why he was forced to suffer that deprivation. Furthermore, he had a bad feeling about that whole situation. “Apparently, King Kai warned Kami, Kami warned Piccolo and Piccolo told Gohan that- Oh, it doesn’t matter. There was a lot of word-to-mouth involved. Anyway, apparently Goku had a great idea and disappeared without warning anyone. Gohan says he used the instant-transmission to get to some nearby planet to check on I-don’t-know-what. I’m not sure I understand what his exact intentions are. I think it has to do with some kind of tree or something.” Those words made Vegeta’s ears prick up. “Did he say a tree?”

He didn’t need more than a second to understand what kind of tree stood before him. The sight in front of him sufficed to completely bring back the memories of the first time he’d laid his eyes on that monstrous plant. It had been years since then, but he knew he couldn’t be mistaken. It was the tree of might. The planet’s surface was hidden by a tortuous grid of roots, pulsing slightly with the energy they were absorbing from progressively deeper layers of the planet’s core. While the planet was facing his progressive extinction, the alien plant that was consuming it showed no sign of decline. If anything it was thriving. The tree looked darker but creepily more luxuriant than the what it had been on Earth. It was a lot chunkier in its proportions, though that didn’t diminish its magnificence. The imposing obsidian trunk split into chaotic bundles of branches that sustained an impressive amount of foliage. Dark leaves seemed to avidly absorbed the little crepuscular light of the tiny, faraway star the planet revolved around. Undoubtedly, hadn’t it been for the heat dispersed on the surface by the action of the tree, the planet would have been almost unbearably cold. Yet, somehow, the pleasant heat stirring in the incredibly humid air was made even more ominous by this notion. The planet probably didn’t have much longer to live. Not that it would have mattered, anyway. It looked deserted and uninhabited, after all. Goku had no reason to care for the destructive action of the tree, even though he couldn’t help but notice how much more advanced the stage of of it was compared to what he’d seen on Earth. The thought reminded him of something; he didn’t see any fruit anywhere, just some blossoms glowing dimly with a faint, crimson light. Even though they contributed to making the atmosphere even more eerie, their presence might have been a good sign, after all. I don’t remember seeing flowers like these when the tree took roots on Earth, he ruminated, looking about the place. The last time the tree grew at a monstrous rate and started producing fruits almost immediately. Here there’s none. Seems to me like there’s never gonna be some either. The roots had already completely encased the entire planet and there was no more space for them to grow any further, nor more energy to absorb. Once the core had been drained from all power, the tree would have died along with it. Those blossoms would have withered too. They looked at the end of their growing ciclo anyway. Their petals were full and engorged. In their centre they contained nothing but a hollow socket where a thick, crimson sap gathered. No sign of fruits nor anything that might suggest their future presence whatsoever. Plus, more importantly, no sign of the person that, long before, had caused Goku to get acquainted with the power those fruits actually carried within themselves. The young saiyan’s eyes grew dark below borrowed brows. It was true. There was no clue that might have suggested Turles’ involvement, least of all proof that he’d survived and that he was on that planet in that instant. Even if he had been alive, and the tree had been his plan, it seemed like he’d failed in his intent. Indeed, now that he though about it, planting the tree on such a puny planet felt like a plan destined to fail. It was clear even to Goku, who didn’t really know all that much about the Tree of Might. Yet, that was exactly what arose his suspicions. The fact that he couldn’t properly sense energy did nothing but enhance his apprehension. It sure would have been easy to conceal a power level, even a significant one, in that infernal landscape, where conspicuous waves of energy move constantly, coursing through twisted roots all around… There was no reason for him to linger further on that doomed planet. But there was no reason not to either. And the youth wanted to silence his fears once and for all. The warrior flew off again, his eyes sharp and focused, following the flow of energy towards the place where it was gathering. He headed for towards the trunk of the tree.

[matthewhorton]

Pet Shop Boys, Introspective: An introduction

It took some time for house music to get to the UK, let alone make it up the A41 from the London clubs to the suburbs. I grew up in Berkhamsted, tucked into the Chiltern hills between Hemel Hempstead and Aylesbury, out on the north-west limb of Hertfordshire that poked (and still does, in fact) into Buckinghamshire. It wasn't a hotbed of musical endeavour and couldn't have dreamed of being at the vanguard of dance music even if it knew what it was. But, you know, some commuter-belt teenagers were switched on enough to realise things were changing, and once we knew something thrilling was afoot, we wanted to share it with our friends. The tentative proddings of hip-hop had made a difference to us and when Run-D.M.C. made a fantastic mess of Aerosmith or Melle Mel sexed up Chaka Khan we had something fresh to cling onto. But house only started to make its presence felt when the mainstream succumbed too and plonked Steve 'Silk' Hurley's Jack Your Body right on top of the UK singles chart at the start of 1987. This was alien stuff, sparse, hypnotic and like nothing we'd heard before – it took electro, something we were vaguely aware of, and drained it of melody, hope and street-swagger, replacing it with harder beats and blank-eyed repetition. If nothing else, this was dead cool. And it was Number One! Well, the floodgates were open now. The higher reaches of the singles chart soon fell to M/A/R/R/S's Pump Up The Volume, Bomb The Bass's Beat Dis and S'Express's Theme From S'Express as sampling rapidly became the lingua franca of cutting-edge dance and scratchier, less refined house music found an audience of some power. Mind you, these were the poppiest extremes. In the hands of a canny producer, sampling could sound cartoon-like and you have to wonder how many of the hordes of buyers were picking up these records because they amused them rather than moved their purist feet. House, techno, whichever Chicago, Detroit or New York enclave floated your boat – these movements had spread their commercial wings with alarming speed. Of course, we didn't really know the difference at the beginning, but all that changed in the summer of 1988 – the Second Summer of Love, to adopt the nickname thrown at a loose scene by the music and style bibles. It was an extraordinary experience, even without the drugs or the sweaty London basements or even the right clothes. The backdrop to a day of realisation was almost unbearably prosaic. In fact, it was the day of our GCSE results, our passports to a professional life or a couple more years of school beyond the age of 16. Some brave soul was throwing a party a few miles outside Berkhamsted and, although our own little crowd didn't know her, we had enough mutual friends to be able to stride in, no questions asked. It was an enormous house with huge gardens but – on a close, sticky August evening – everything was happening in the garage. This was almost too good. Weren't all the best New York parties garage parties? We're not sure they were thinking about a space big enough to fit a Ford Escort, a gardening implement or two and some empty cans of paint, but what the hell? This garage would do, and it was pumping out sounds deep enough to rival any Manhattan warehouse. These sounds were almost too deep though. If Steve 'Silk' Hurley had sounded stark and austere, this was barely even music. It was an unassuming little cassette squirting out loops and bleeps, and in the middle of the garage one of the hipper lads in our year was giving an accidental dancing lesson to a crowd of amused acolytes. He'd grown his hair since term finished a month or two earlier, pushed out a pair of massive sideburns and discovered a new fondness for washed-out denim and vast badges with smiley faces on them. His name was Tom and he had a copy of Acid Tracks. Phuture's acid masterpiece has its firm place in history now, but out in the Home Counties in August 1988 it was a bewildering curio, potent and divisive. The boys and girls who laughed or scoffed that night probably carried on laughing and scoffing throughout the nineties and continue to now – if they ever give dance music a second thought. The more welcoming remainder felt their doors of perception opening, and they were high on little more than cheap cider and even cheaper cigarettes. Naturally, I can't speak for everyone else, but I never looked back after that night. My GCSE results were underwhelming – the inevitable result of boundless arrogance and minimal revision – but they were good enough to send me back to school for another couple of years; two years that were followed by another four years of lazy and undeserved achievement at university, and a career that gradually slipped into focus. Whatever, I'd fallen hard for the dance music bug and every week in sixth form was a drawn-out drag of a warm-up for another weekend party I could light up with my amazing mixtapes. No one else had been bitten quite so deep so there was no competition for the stereo – whatever the quality of my compilations, I was the only one who was going to get the dancefloor (usually the kitchen floor, let's face it) jumping. The collection I built up and the knowledge I amassed gave me the keys to the university decks too, launching a semi-professional (or, more accurately, quarter-professional) career as a DJ with no actual technical skills. Good God, what about the Pet Shop Boys? Well, they took dance music to the masses in 1988 too. They'd been heading this way, of course. From the early electro burblings of their nascent career in the first half of the eighties, Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe had been fashioning a curiously English take on the dance music coming out of the United States. More strictly, they had been taken with Hi-NRG, where disco met euphoric electronic climaxes on the gay scene, and particularly New York's Hi-NRG producer-supreme Bobby 'O' (Bobby Orlando to his mum). Tennant and Lowe had already written many of the songs that would become polite pop classics later in the decade, but they didn't lay down serious recordings until they found an audience with Orlando. With their main man in the chair, they made an early, disco-orientated version of their breakthrough hit West End Girls in 1984. It created waves in the right circles but failed to hit commercial paydirt, not even managing a full UK release. No matter – pop triumph could wait; the first fumblings were all about implanting pure dance chops in their DNA. The route to the UK charts and ensuing international fame took hard-nosed ambition and a small dose of compromise. The producer Stephen Hague had tasted some success with the poppier ends of electro personified by The Rocksteady Crew and Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark's less challenging synthpop, and his safe hands repurposed West End Girls for the late 1985 Number One slot that made the Pet Shop Boys' name.  Sharp lyrics and a craftsman's way with a pop tune saw Tennant and Lowe build on that quick winner to consistently race to the top of the singles chart over the next couple of years and achieve similar results with their first two albums, 1986's Please and 1987's Actually. The dry titles suited their sardonic manner and unshowy presentation, but there was real heart to the Pet Shop Boys' music too. No genuine cold fish could come up with the delicate Love Comes Quickly, the at once pointed and ambiguous Rent or the breathtakingly poignant What Have I Done To Deserve This?, also a remarkable revamp of the career of sixties blue-eyed soul legend Dusty Springfield.  But underneath this golden age of British pop that the 'Boys were almost singlehandedly ushering in (no exaggeration), there was a bubbling subculture that could not be ignored – and Tennant and Lowe had no intention of ignoring it. Rare were the bands who curated alternative versions of their own music, but the Pet Shop Boys threw themselves right in, second-guessing fans who might attempt to convince naysayers with the old "Yeah, but you have to hear their remixes" gambit. Wedged between Please and Actually was a companion piece that pointed the way to a parallel universe. Disco, released in autumn 1986, was officially endorsed and presented as beautifully as any 'regular' Pet Shop Boys album. It consisted of remixes of hits like West End Girls, Opportunities (Let's Make Lots Of Money) and Suburbia alongside fan favourite (and Suburbia B-side) Paninaro, the sort of track whispered about by the in-the-know Pet Shop Boys aficionado. They'd blown apart the cachet of rarities like that but at the same time took a hold of their own destiny and shaped a 360-degree market for pop's more canny operators. The next imperial pop star to shove out their own remix album was Madonna, You Can Dance arriving a year after Disco. That second album proper, Actually, came out in September 1987 and threw the Pet Shop Boys' chart dominance into sharp relief. It housed two Number One singles in the obliquely confessional It's A Sin and the more straightforward Heart, and even took the time to stand back in between as non-album single Always On My Mind (a cover of the country standard made glorious by Elvis Presley) took the 1987 UK Christmas top spot. As 1988 dawned, the Pet Shop Boys could do whatever they darn well pleased. That's what they did and that's why we're here. Introspective turned up in October 1988 and turned the entire remix album concept on its head. What if we release the extended versions first and cut the radio edits later? That, near enough, is the off-beam question that struck Tennant and Lowe. They could finally be the dance act that made the odd concession to the pop market, not the other way around. It was a dazzling thought. Introspective's closest antecedent was The League Unlimited Orchestra's Love And Dancing EP in 1982, a collection of Human League remixes handled entirely in-house by their producer Martin Rushent. But that was the accidental result of fulfilling 12" obligations – with Introspective, the Pet Shop Boys wanted to trump that thinking, to make the full-length track the thing, the single mix the obligation, even the afterthought. This new thinking was symphonic, a new way of looking at dance music, or at least a return to Giorgio Moroder's intentions. What could have seemed like an interim album in the vein of Disco became a genuine opus in its own right. All it needed was the public to think beyond its relatively few tracks – six of them, but in their extended form still topping 48 minutes – and accept that it stood alone. Ostensibly the sales bore this out as it ultimately became the Pet Shop Boys' biggest selling album, but appreciation of its artistic status was a tougher challenge. With its bold striped sleeve – human images confined to the inner sleeve or card – Introspective seemed to be reaching out to the anonymous dance spheres, a white label in Technicolor, bright but austere and, yes, inhuman. Inside, however, was a concept album that truly hung together as a piece, disparate parts joining up in an exploration of that most human of conditions: loneliness. Introspective was the sound of the dancefloor in your head.