Monday, February 26, 2007

Dance Floor

After rocking the house down all night, the band finally slid into a slow song. You hold your hand out to me in a silent invitation, and I accept, allowing you to lead me back onto the dance floor.

Within seconds, I recognize it as “Cry Little Sister” from the Lost Boys soundtrack (a HIGHLY underrated song if you ask me). We start off barely moving, your hands resting on my waist, my arms around your neck, like we’re in the fifth grade. As the song moves along, the singers voice is husky and gritty and it seems we’re powerless to stop ourselves as the rhythm takes over. My hands start to caress the back of your neck, and your fingers trail down my waist to my hips, and then, after lingering for a mere second, move slowly down my thighs. My skin feels like it’s on fire and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning.

I slowly let my fingers move across your neck, down your back and around to your biceps. I lean into you, my hips starting to grind against yours, feeling you get hard. Your hands reach around to my ass and you pull me in tight. The bass is coursing through our bodies as we gyrate in time to the music. The music gets louder, and the crowd realizes that there’s something happening, and they all stop what they’re doing to watch the spectacle we’re making.

You dip me backwards, following my body down with yours. Your breath is hot on my neck, your lips inches away from mine. Your right hand entangles in my hair and you pull me up roughly, and kiss me passionately. I can feel your left hand caressing my thigh and my hands follow your example and come up to entangle in your soft hair. I moan against your mouth, no longer caring if everyone in the club is watching. Your tongue plays with mine, brushing up against my teeth and tracing a moist map around my lips.

The lead singers voice is echoing in my head, competing in volume with the pounding of my heart. My body is moving instinctively to the music, moving in ways it hasn’t in a long time. Sliding, winding, shimmering, twirling – I move around you like a woman possessed. You dip me again, this time quick and sharp, bringing my right leg up to your side in a move that I’ve only seen in Dirty Dancing. It leaves me off balance and unsteady.

My hands grasp your shoulders for balance, and I rub up against you, torturing you, feeling your hard on strain against its denim prison. You look deep into my eyes, your gaze smouldering, telling me exactly what you want from me, and exactly how far you’re willing to go to get it.

My breath catches in my throat, my pulse beating wildly. You slither down my body like a cobra, and when you come back up you grasp me under my butt and lift me into the air. My hair cascades over my face like a waterfall, and you spin me around. With that movement, no one notices that my buttons have popped open mysteriously, or that your face is buried in my clevage, your mouth moving down towards my breasts. You tongue my nipples through my bra, and I throw my head back in ecstasy.

You bring me down slowly, as the music comes to an end. The crowd whistles and applauds their appreciation for the erotic display. Blushing, I fumble with my buttons. But you are the perfect picture of cool, and you throw your arm around my shoulders, pulling my chest into you, and we walk off the dance floor, out of the club, and into the night to finish what was started.


0 horny thoughts: