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Going out on the weekends can be so tiresome, especially on Fridays. Fridays were usually really long days for me. I would wake up for my job at the student union building. Then, after a full day of classes, I would hit the gym for my last workout of the week. By the time I got done with all of that, I usually just wanted to come home and spend the night with myself. To just shower and relax. And most of the time, that’s just what I did. But, every once in a while, I would tell the guys that I would go out with them to Lights, a dance club just south of campus. Strange name for a club, since it was always dark inside. But there were plenty of strobe lights and disco balls, so I guess there is that. But I digress. I guess going to Lights was Their way of winding down after a long week. This story starts on one of those Fridays.
As you might expect, I spent most of the day lamenting the looming trip to Lights. At least, until I got there. I have a love-hate relationship going with Lights. With dance clubs in general, really. But every time I actually got inside of one, I couldn’t help but to enjoy myself, even if it was only for a little while. I don’t like to listen to club music on my own; it rarely has any real substance. But as far as providing a good beat to dance to, it was second to none. And I loved dancing. So was going out tiresome? Of course it was. But I found a way to enjoy it all the same.
When we finally took to the dance floor, I was just doing my best to have a good time. I knew that, despite my love of dancing, I would eventually grow tired of the club and want to leave. I guess I was just trying to squeeze as much fun out of that dance floor as quickly as possible. Trying to maximize my time. And I think I did a pretty good job. I was just dancing with any girl that looked like she was interested. Laughing, pulling outrageous moves, belting out the lyrics to the songs that I happened to know. I was having a blast.
One girl in particular seemed to take notice. Either that, or I happened to really notice her taking notice of me. She was a pretty attractive girl, at least, as far as I could tell through the darkness of the club and the haze of the drinks I’d had. She was tall, especially for a girl (she was only a few inches shorter than me, and I have above average height for a guy). Her silhouette portrayed a slender build, complete with understated curves, and big, frizzy blonde curls. But her silhouette was good enough. Like I said, I was just looking to have some fun. I didn’t mind not having access to the finer details of her appearance.
For most of the night, she danced within just a few feet of me and my friends. I kept looking at her, making eye contact and smiling. I think I even winked at her a couple of times. That isn’t usually my style, but the alcohol was flowing. They don’t call it liquid confidence for nothing. Anyway, she seemed to really be feeding off of my positive energy. Laughing whenever I did, returning my winks. But I guess she eventually got tired of being coy. She danced her way right over to me. And now, we weren’t just sharing a dance floor. We were sharing each other’s personal space.
The atmosphere between quickly transformed from playful to sensual. Without prompting, she had turned around and planted her ass firmly into my lap, grinding it against me. Then, she slipped a hand between us, teasing my cock through my jeans. I took this as a signal to really let things escalate. I explored her body with my hands. Her waist was narrow, her stomach was firm. I brushed her curls aside and buried my face in her neck, taking in her aroma. I detected traces of her perfume — something floral, maybe lavender — as well as her more potent, feminine musk. The smell that her body would likely give off only after a long night of dancing. The combination drove me crazy. I wanted her. I wanted her badly. I probably would have taken her right there on the dance floor if she would’ve let me. Who knows, maybe she would have let me. I never bothered to ask.
Dancing is just about the sexiest thing two people can do with each other short of actually having sex. It is the ultimate aphrodisiac. Just you and one other person, writhing against each other to the beat of music that is engineered to make you squirm in your seat until you just can’t help but to move. Put two people in such intimate contact for that long, and in an environment like Lights, and soon, they will begin to explore each other’s bodies. Urged on by the relentless thump of the bass, and protected by the anonymity an overcrowded dance floor…well, people seem to lose all inhibitions in such circumstances.
But, alas, our dancing came to an end, as all good things must. She went off with her friends and left the club, going God knows where. Without my mysterious partner, the club suddenly lost all appeal. I had made one physical connection that night, and that was enough for me. It was time to go. I told my friends that I was tired, and I took canlı bahis my leave.
I got home and plopped down on my bed. It had been a long, long day, and I was exhausted. For hours, however, sleep evaded me. Convinced that rest was going to be hard to come by, I got out of bed, turned on some light music and laid in my bed, and reflected on the night that I’d just had. It wasn’t very often that I danced with someone the way that I danced with that girl. To be so close, so intimate with someone was a rarity for me.
I remembered her silhouette. The way her body felt pressed against mine. The firmness and femininity of her minimal curves. But most of all, I remembered her scent. Every time I thought about it, my sexual fire blazed anew. They say that smell is the strongest sense tied to memory. And, after that night, I had a new appreciation for that fact.
As my music played, adding ambiance to my fantasizing, I felt my hand drift into my pants. I’d hardly noticed that my cock was fully erect. But it made sense. All of the tension of the night had been built up, but never released. I undid my jeans and pulled out my cock. It was throbbing in rhythm with my heart beat, performing a little dance of its own. I wrapped my hand around it and started to stroke it slowly.
I closed my eyes as I thought about her sexy specter. Dancing for me privately, stripping her clothes of piece by piece. I fantasized about her mounting me, rubbing her pussy lips up and down the length of my cock. An agonizing tease, but a welcome one. It meant that sex was on the horizon. My stroking grew more furious.
Then, at long last, she sat on my cock and slowly pushed herself down onto it, inch by inch, until the whole thing disappeared. No small feat, to be sure; I’m not ashamed to say that, at just under nine inches, my cock is pretty impressive. But this was my fantasy. She would have taken twenty inches if I wanted her to. And she would have liked it.
My cock would have to suffice for now, though. It made it more real for me. She rode me furiously. Her pussy was tight and silky smooth. Then, she sat up straight and bounced up and down, her blonde hair blocking out the light from my ceiling lamp. Even now, in one of my mind’s best dreams, I could only make out her slim silhouette. But, even now, the finer details weren’t important.
Before long, I felt my balls start to contract. I teased the head of my cock, now slick with precum, until a thick rope of cum shot out, followed by a few more. My breaths were as sharp as my body’s contractions. My entire body twitched every time I touched the head. With a hefty load now covering my stomach, I finally felt my eyelids being pulled shut by the sleep that my body needed. Powerful orgasms had always been soporific for me; they left me completely satisfied, but completely drained. I was able to stave off sleep long enough to clean myself up. And then, it was off to dreamland.
The following Thursday, as I did every Thursday. I had the day completely off. Thursdays were my personal retreats. I had no class or work to worry about, so I spent Thursdays doing whatever I wanted. Working out, reading, writing, catching up on TV shows. Anything that allowed me to spend time with my own thoughts. Today, my chosen activity was to venture out to the local bookstore. There are few things in the world I enjoy more than reading, and I always relished the opportunity to get out and spend a good hour or two searching for new books to read.
That day, my search brought me to the fantasy section, looking for a new series to start up. I’d found a book that looked promising and was reading the first chapter silently to myself. While I was reading, I felt someone brush by me quickly. I couldn’t imagine why someone would be moving with such purpose through a bookstore, but I didn’t think much of it. That is, until the person’s lingering scent drifted into my nose — it was the same floral scent that I’d encountered at the club not even a week prior. The very same lavender.
My mind was flooded with images of my delicate dance partner. The moments that we shared on the dance floor. The extensive fantasizing that I did about her that night. Could it really be her? Suddenly, in a place that had always given me peace, I found it very difficult to relax. I glanced up slowly, and the image that greeted me arrested all doubt. I saw the big blonde curls. The tall, lithe frame. The same silhouette. And with the same perfume? It had to be her.
My breath got shallow, and the aisles of my favorite bookstore suddenly started shrinking and getting hotter. Was I sweating? Was my nervousness tangible to anyone but myself? I certainly hoped not. I didn’t normally walk up to random girls and talk to them. It wasn’t really my thing. But I knew that I would have kicked myself later if I didn’t at least say “hi” to her. I fought with myself for a few more seconds. Then, reluctantly, I started my approach.
I got a little bahis siteleri closer to her, and managed a sheepish “hi.” She looked up from the book that she had picked from the shelf and smiled as she returned my volley. “Hi to you too,” she said. Despite our intimacy at the club, I realized that this is the first time I’d actually heard her voice. Even in my fantasies, she had been wordless. A few seconds of silence followed as I searched the recesses of my mind for something to say. Anything at all. The longest few seconds of my life, it felt like.
Finally, I noticed the book that she was holding. It was the first novel in a series of nine written by one of my favorite fantasy authors. I made a comment about it. “So you like Tracy Easton’s writing as well? She’s definitely a favorite of mine.”
“Yes, I like her a lot actually. Well, I’ve only read her standalone novels so far, but I’m really excited to read her series. Have you read the whole series?”
Her words had entered my ears, but I’d only barely been listening to her. Instead, my train of thought had been hijacked by her full, pink lips; her icy, blue eyes; and her milky, pale skin, dotted with with light brown freckles. The finer details of her appearance were, as I had just discovered, were quite enchanting.
Finally realizing that it was my turn to talk, cleared my throat and answered, “Yes. Yes I have. You know, Easton is a master at building expansive worlds. Did you ever get the feeling that, in her standalone work, the worlds she built were actually too big?”
She excitedly replied, “Yes! I got the exact same feeling. Especially in “The Search for the Commodore’s Raven”. I would get to the end of the books and always want there to be more story. But in a good way, you know?”
“I know exactly what you mean. Almost like there was so much more that her characters could have done. Well, her epic worlds were a perfect fit for her nine-novel series. It’s excellent, I’d definitely recommend it.”
“Well thanks. I was going back and forth between this book and another one in the next aisle. But I think you’ve made up my mind.”
Silence again as she glanced back down at her book. I was so excited that I probably was on the verge of bursting into flame. Then, I did something else that was totally out of character for me.
“Say, are you doing anything tomorrow night around 7? I have something I have to go do right now, but I’d love to get together and chat with you again. I’ve really enjoyed this.” Of course, since it was Thursday, I didn’t really have any other plans. I was too worked up, but I didn’t want this to be our last interaction.
“Sure, I’d like that too. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I know a bar around here, Tavern at 10th, that is pretty cool. That sound good to you?”
“It surely does.” She took a scrap of paper out of her purse and scrawled something on it. “I’m Emma by the way. Here’s my number in case you need to get in touch before tomorrow.”
“Alrighty. Well, I’m Jon, and it was nice to meet you. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Yep. Oh, and thanks again for the book recommendation.”
“You’re welcome, Emma.” I waited until she was safely out of sight before I finally let myself take in a huge breath. I felt on the verge of passing out, but in a good way. I walked away from the bookstore without a new book to read, but I was exuberant. My big, indestructible smile must have made passersby think that I’d just won the lottery or something.
As I’m walking home, though, I realize that she doesn’t have my number, in case she should have to get in touch with me as well. I put her number into my phone and sent her a short text.
*Jon: Hey, this is Jon. And here is my number too, in case you end up needing it.*
A few minutes later, I got my reply.
*Emma: Thanks! I’m really looking forward to tomorrow =]*
Smiley faces are a good thing, right?
*Jon: Me too. I’ll see you then.*
The previous Friday, like most of them, was arduous. This Friday was easy by comparison. I was energized, more so than I could ever remembered being. The day before, I’d gone out on a limb and done things I’d never done before in my life. And my reward was a date with Emma, that pale beauty. After my workout, I went home to shower and get dressed. Then, off to the bar I went.
I got there about 20 minutes early, hoping to get a beer in before she got there. I selected a potent IPA. It calmed my nerves, but not much. Judging by my body’s reaction when I saw her walk in, I may as well have been drinking water. She was stunning. She was wearing a slim, navy blue dress that had skinny shoulder straps and went down to just above her knees. It looked like she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, the points of her nipples were just barely visible through the fabric. She had her curls pulled back into a bushy ponytail. Her pale skin was like a well of stored light in the dimly lit bar. Her icy bahis şirketleri blues scanned the crowd until, eventually, she found me.
She ordered a beer after we greeted each other. We started talking about books, continuing the thread from the previous day. But we ended up talking about lots of different things. Our tastes in music, movies that were coming out soon, even debating about the candidates for the upcoming presidential election. I even found out that she was a pretty advanced practitioner of yoga. I guess that’s where she got her fierce physique. And all the while, I was simply awestruck at her beauty. Her eyes were honest, and always betrayed her emotions. But I liked that about her. I liked most everything about her, actually. The way the skin on the bridge of her nose wrinkled whenever she laughed. The way her lips moved as she talked. The sophistication brought on by the deep raspiness of her voice. I felt like a creature in the desert, welcoming the warmth of the sun after a long, cold night. Being around her set my senses ablaze.
Where before I had struggled to make conversation with Emma for even a few minutes, I now found it easy to talk with her. I hardly noticed the minutes changing into hours. Talking to strangers in public had always intimidated me. But now that I was getting to know her, really connecting with her, I felt right at home. And it made sense. Even at parties, I often enjoyed them more if I had only one or two long, deep conversations with people, as opposed to “working the room” and connecting with many people only minimally. Hanging out with Emma that night, I was in my element.
As the night continued, the bar started to fill with more and more people. It was a Friday, after all. And normally, I wouldn’t mind. But my voice is low, and it was being too easily drowned out by the din of the crowd. I found that I was having to repeat myself often. So, I broke the touch barrier, placing a hand on the small of her back as I leaned in to ask her a question.
“Hey, this bar is getting a little too loud for my taste. Why don’t we go somewhere a little quieter?”
She placed an arm around my neck and whispered in my ear, her lips grazing my ear, “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we go some place where our words will mean little and less. Some place where we don’t have to talk at all.”
I asked her what she had in mind, but she replied only with a devilish grin. I got the feeling that I knew exactly the place she had in mind.
Not much longer, we were standing at the bar in Lights, and my suspicions were confirmed. I wondered again if she remembered me, or if I was just one of the many fixtures in the club that night which served only one purpose: to please her. I thought about it for a few more seconds, but I concluded that, at this point, it didn’t much matter. As ever, I was just determined to have a good time.
She brought me a fruity mixed drink; I don’t know what it was called. It was quite tasty though, and strong. I looked up at her to thank her when, in a flash, she had brought a finger up to pin my lips shut. A playful “shh” hissed from between her teeth. No words. I reminded myself. We took to the dance floor, drinks in hand, and just started to have fun. Dancing, laughing, trying not to spill our drinks. Again, we were feeding off of each other’s positive energy.
I finished my drink first and sat it on a nearby table. I pointed at hers, motioning that she needed to finish hers too. She stood tall and downed the rest of it, a bit of the red liquid spilling from the corner of her mouth. She slammed the glass down on a table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then, with one eyebrow raised, she pulled the elastic band out of her hair and wrapped it around her wrist, unleashing her frizzy curls. Then came a “come hither” motion with one finger. Apparently, the gloves had just come off.
As before, we started to dance with each other seductively. I wasn’t as drunk as I had been before, but I felt closer to her. Like we’d actually connected. And we had. So, I allowed my exploration of her body to be a bit more liberal. With her back to me, I again felt the definition of her stomach, the subtle roundness of her hips. But now, I went lower, rubbing and squeezing her thighs with both hands. I teased her on the way back up, letting one of my hands lightly graze her pubic mound. I could swear that I felt a small tuft of hair. Was she wearing underwear right now? The prospect of dancing with Commando Emma only made my pulse increase.
I continued my upward journey over her body, my hands pausing at her breasts. I squeezed them firmly, pinching her nipples through the fabric of her dress. In response, she brought her hands up to cover mine, joining me in teasing her body, owning her own sexuality. My sentiment about the sexiness of dancing rang truer than ever before.
Then, she started to do a little exploring of her own. She performs a familiar maneuver, sliding her hand in between us and teasing my cock, squeezing it firmly. Then suddenly, she froze. I got the feeling that she finally recognized me. And what a way to do so. I guess I’d left a good impression on her after all.
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