Dancing with a Stranger

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My friends head out early, too tired to stay, but I’m not ready to leave the club yet. I haven’t had my dancing fix and I’m hoping to feel the body of some stranger against mine. The club is in the hipster mecca of Los Angeles, so I have my pick of young, well-dressed, artsy men. With my hair in a pixie cut and my loose sweater hiding the curves of my body, I’m not exactly advertising my femininity, but the positive energy of the dancing crowd makes me optimistic.

On the dance floor, comfortably alone, I’ve noticed the guy dancing near me, and I know he’s noticed me too. The details I pick up: my height, suit jacket, fit. I’m too shy to examine him any more closely yet, and beyond those three criteria, I don’t really care anyway. Now, the challenge: can I get him to dance with me?

I keep doing my thing, shagging my butt a little more clumsily than the seasoned funky hipsters around me. I can sense him behind me, becoming more confident, ready to touch me. And just as a new song starts, an explosion of synths and drums, he gets in close. Perfect timing! I almost turn around and tell him so, but I don’t want to do anything but dance for a while. So I just smile, turning to let him see my profile, and relax into him. He puts his hands on my hips and gently guides them to sync with his own. His touch doesn’t have the jaded roughness of some guys, nor the awkward hesitance of others. It’s just confident enough. He brushes his lips and nose against the nape of my neck and I feel the stubble on his jaw, the luxurious sensation of skin against skin.

We continue like that for what seems like a while, then we turn to face one another. I’m still too shy to make eye contact but I smile in the general direction of his face, noticing the dark hair and eyes. I need a few surreptitious glances to Escort bayan be sure: How does he look? Pretty cute, actually. He puts his hand on my neck, in my hair, and brings his face close to mine once or twice, but I don’t really feel like kissing yet. This is the point of no return: do I extricate myself and call it a night, or go ahead and kiss the stranger? I feel good and there’s a faint tenderness in his face, so I let him touch his lips to mine — softly, lazily.

I’ve never really enjoyed trying to combine kissing with dancing — I can concentrate on the rhythm in my hips and shoulders or the art of kissing, but not both — so I ask if he wants to go sit down somewhere. I’m intensely aware of how cute and sexy I appear, and I feel like I’m not even trying. It’s like the music and the darkness and the heat bring out this confident, sensual alter ego who smiles and bites her lip and always says the right thing.

The music echoing in our ears, we go out to the patio and rejoice in the chilly air. We find an empty section of the dark green bench, slide in, and sprawl out, my back and knees sore already from pressing my body against his. We chat about places and weekends and music; he puts his arm around me and smiles like it’s a date and not just an anonymous rendezvous. And we just kiss each other for a long time, slowly, greedily, for all the world to see, with the warm light and cigarette smoke and retro music hanging in the night air around us. His arms are wrapped around me, his hands in my hair, and in that moment I care about nothing at all. He’s touching my legs, gently sliding his hand under my skirt, and I don’t know if I want him to stop or to continue.

So we go back to dancing. I love the sensuous feeling of his hands on my ass or his fingers pressing into Bayan escort the crease of my inner thigh. I can feel his erection as he guides his leg between both of mine. We sing along loudly to Aretha Franklin, laughing R-E-S-P-E-C-T in each other’s faces; boldly, I look straight into his eyes (I think it surprises him a little!). He pets my soft, oversized sweater affectionately and puts his hands under it, touching my waist through the thin fabric of my camisole. The crowd is getting wilder, jostling us around on the asphalt, and soon we decide to go inside and return to kissing. He takes my hand and leads me back into the club, where we find an unoccupied dark corner.

I lean back on the seat and let him tilt his face over mine. We kiss softly, his hand between my thighs, my body arched toward his. I sit up and drape my arms over his neck, kissing him more firmly, running my fingers through his hair. As he kisses my neck, I open my eyes and survey the dark, steamy club and the dancing crowd, feeling like a queen. My body is tingling and I can feel my heart beating fast, my libido taking over. He leans in to kiss my lips again, keeping one hand in my hair and placing the other on my cheek. No more second thoughts — that move is my Kryptonite. I would let this guy do anything to me.

So this time, when his fingers travel up to my crotch, I don’t stop him. The club is dark and nobody is watching us. I’ve run out of reasons to resist what my body is telling me. His fingertips touch the front of my panties and massage me gently, making my breathing fast and shallow in his ear. Still kissing my neck, he tugs my panties off, leaving my skirt intact. I place my hand between his legs and feel his throbbing cock through his pants as he lets out a shaky breath and bites the hollow of my neck.

We Escort move quickly, the urgent mutual arousal palpable as I unzip his pants and he slides two fingers into me. My moan is swallowed by the incessant beat of the music. He is fully hard and I feel my own wetness as he stimulates me.

I straddle him on the narrow seat, everything except my panties still on, keeping our act a secret. He removes his fingers from inside me and places his hands on my thighs beneath my skirt. He doesn’t need to say anything: the look in his eyes tells me to lower myself onto him. I feel him filling me completely as his grip on my legs tightens and he whispers in my ear exactly what he wants me to do to him. I press my body closer to his and begin to rock slowly, guiding his cock in and out of me. I’m so turned on that I can barely think straight; I wrap my arms around his head to steady myself as he pulls down the front of my sweater and kisses my chest. His fingers are biting into my thighs and I know that we are both seconds away from orgasm.

I bury my face in his hair to cry out as I come, feeling his body tense and then relax as his seed erupts into me seconds later. We stop, entwined, breathing hard, relishing the feeling of chemicals electrifying our bodies. Sweat shines on his face and neck, and I feel it running down my back and between my breasts. He kisses me once more, aggressively, and I lift myself off of him and back onto the seat next to him. I collect my panties from the floor as he zips up his pants and wipes his forehead with his hand.

It’s late, he says; he came with friends and he has to go. He joins his two buddies and becomes stoic and casual: the spell is broken. I don’t mind. I am sexual, beautiful, powerful as I put on my coat, stuff my hands in the pockets and walk to my car, feeling the chill night air on my wet skin. I let myself get lost in downtown for a while, cruising along the empty late-night streets, before I encounter one of the twisting Los Angeles freeways and find my way home.

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