0 comments/ 16016 views/ 0 favorites Let's Dance By: Loverman This is the way it would be for you and me. I would invite you to a very private party. There would be just you and me. I see you arrive, and I am reminded of your beauty. I can see that red hair from my living room window. I rush to open the door for you. I get a hard cock at just the sight of you. I take you by the hand, and I lead you to my bedroom. Now that you are standing in my bedroom, the lustful energy starts to flow. I start rushing around the bedroom closing the bedroom door and drawing the curtains and turning down the covers of the bed preparing for what is to come. It is evening so I turn down the lights to set the mood. I am about seducing you. I approach you and start to loosen your belt and the snap of your pants. You are wearing tight form fitting blue jeans and a tight rose colored blouse which accents your big beautiful tits. My cock is fully erect now, and I am starting to go into the blood fever for you. Thoughts of reason are evaporating now, and all that I want to do is to fuck you until you moan with pleasure. I unzip your jeans, and with one motion I reach into your panties and pull them down along with your jeans. I drop to one knee placing my arms around your hips grasping the pretty curves there behind. Your pretty red bush is directly in front of me, and I move to kiss your pussy. I start to French kiss your clit and lips, and I feel your knees weaken at my touch. I rise to my feet, and I cradle you in my arms. Lifting you up off your feet, I lay you down on the bed. I proceed to undress you. I take off your shoes and remove your blue jeans and panties from your legs. Next, I am undoing your blouse. Underneath I find a black lace bra, which has the tips cut out to expose your beautiful nipples. No man could resist suckling this gem like treasure. Now that I have you totally nude on my bed, I move to the other side of the bedroom where I have concealed a compact disk player. I have chosen some of the most low down blues music that I could find. It is the hottest stuff worthy of making even a nun come. I start the music, and I quickly discard my clothes. I turn to see you lying there, and I am stunned with your nude body. I first look at your big tits with those pretty nipples, and I just want to fuck you like a brute. I move my gaze upward to your hypnotizing blue eyes, and I want now to make love to you tenderly. You in your feminine wisdom note the look on my face. You know that I am hopelessly confused. You smile and let out a small chuckle. You say, "Well, are you going to fuck me, or are you going to ask me to dance?" I say, "Let's dance." I reach out my hand to you, and you come into my arms. Oh heaven, I feel that wonderful nude body of yours close up to mine, and I start to move with the music. I have you in my arms. My left arm is draped across your shoulders. My right hand begins to travel up and down your back. I feel you tremble with the touch of my hand. I reach down to cup your shapely ass. I begin to squeeze it in my hand, and I then move my hand down into the cleft of your ass. I whisper into your ear, "Stroke my cock darling." You do this for me with amazing skill. You have me now in your hand, and you are in control by gently rubbing my balls as you stroke my cock. We are moving now as one riding the currents of the blues music. You whisper into my ear, "Put on your cock extension for me Loverman." I move to the night table where my cock extension is residing, and I role it on quickly for you. The heft of it with the stirring in my balls makes me feel like I am armed and dangerous. I am quickly disarmed when I look at you. You are standing there with your legs wide open, and your knees are bent. Your left arm is dangling down while your right hand is finger fucking your pussy. "I love it when you fuck me like this Loverman!" you say. I move toward you, and I put my arms around you. We move to the bed in a fluid movement. We hit the mattress with your back and with me on top of you. You grasp my cock, and you guide it into your pussy. Your pussy is so wet I easily slide into you. I grab you around the shoulders with my arms. I start pumping hard and fast. This is going to be a fast bang. I can tell this because you are hot into it as much as I am. The bed is bouncing up and down making squeaking noises. You raise your legs up, and point your toes toward the ceiling. You say, "Oauw Loverman oauw Now! Now! Now! Oauw you fucking cock I love you." Let's Dance! Zoë gasped as the liquid hit the back of her throat almost burning her and wide eyed she viewed her friends around her, they were also gasping with their pointing pink tongues greedily searching their lips for more before slamming the shot glasses down on the bar. 'Another girls?' The rather energetic barman returned to where they stood draped across the bar, now giggling, some with Marlboro lights dripping coolly from between their slender fingers tipped with glistening nails in a variety of moist looking colours. He gazed longingly at a petite blond, her arm resting on the smooth bar, her full breasts beneath her tight electric pink top being forced upwards into the most delicious cleavage by her other arm which was clutching a tiny, pink purse. The blond turned to him, her huge brown eyes surveying him before giving him a winning smile. 'We'll have, two vodka and cokes-' 'Ice?' he asked 'Hang on, Fiona – ice?' she called, her melodic voice floating across the heavy beat of the music playing to a redhead who nodded enthusiastically, then, 'what about Sam?' 'She's gone to the loo,' shouted a very tall girl with black hair. The blond turned back to him, 'Both with ice, a Smirnoff Ice with blackcurrant, a Tia Maria and coke, an Archers with lemonade and a raspberry schnapps with cranberry juice – actually, make them all with ice it's so much easier!' She gushed as he poured four drinks at once, spinning bottles and throwing glasses into the air. She handed the drinks across to each of the group as they shouted their thanks to her. 'That's seventeen fifty please,', he watched her hair hanging like a smooth curtain of gold as she searched for money in her purse, 'Thanks, keep the change,' she grinned at him, before wrapping her pouting lips around the bottle, the barman shivered as he took her money, imagining them around his thick cock as she sucked another shot out of him. 'Zoe, ' he remarked, 'pretty name,' 'Oh, thank you, I try to live up to it,' she joked 'You do a good job!' she threw her head back exposing an almost edible caramel neck and laughed. He turned away as another customer called, but even whilst pulling five pints of lager, he watched her, the most effervescent of the group she was with. Zoe glanced across at Megan on the dance floor. Megan's face was turned upwards to the man she danced with their lips locked together, showing tantalising flashings of their tongues massaging each other. Zoe looked at the man, his hand was firmly caressing Megan's breast, her nipple protruding through the thin fabric of her shirt. Suddenly she was swung around by a tall man with piercing blue eyes, they began to dance neither bothering to try and speak over the music. One hand rested lightly on her hip, gently guiding her to the beat, the other held a drink. As they music began to get heavier, her drew her closer until she could feel the hardness of his chest against her nipples, becoming stiff as they were rubbed against him whilst they danced. He slipped his thigh between her legs and drew her closer still with a firm hand on her ass. Zoe could feel his cock growing beneath his trousers as they gyrated, grinding against each other, never parting eyes. She gasped as his hand now free from his drink, he pinched her nipple. It was so quick she couldn't quite tell if she had imagined it or not. She could feel her heart beating faster and faster as her clitoris was pressured by his leg. She leaned her head back drinking in the pleasure she felt and she felt his lips on her neck. She felt the slight stubble against the smooth skin and his soft lips kissing her. He opened his mouth and began to suck gently as they still rubbed themselves on each other. She righted herself, he leaned forward and their lips met for a split second before they were torn apart and Zoe noticed something extremely cold and wet all over her breasts. 'Shit, sorry,' an extremely drunk man apologised as he tried to rescue the culprit who was now sprawled on the floor. Zoe looked down, her top was almost transparent as the drink seeped slowly into her skin and the ice melted between her breasts. Angered she muttered 'Bloody drunk bastards,' before turning to her dancing partner she leaned in close and spoke into his ear as he inhaled her sweet perfume, 'I'll just go get cleaned up, sorry about that,' 'Don't be stupid,' his breath warmed her neck , 'I'll wait here for you don't worry.' Zoe hurried across the dance floor, pushing past the dancers and ran into the toilets. She rushed into the nearest cubicle and grabbing sheet after sheet of paper, began to blot the drink from her top. The fabric was soaked and clung to the skin of her breasts, the coldness of the ice and the excitement of dancing with the man had caused her nipples to stiffen and they were now protruding proudly through the sheer material. She couldn't help but stroke them as she rubbed at her top and this only intensified her longing for someone to pleasure her stiffening clitoris. Although she was eager to get back to the strange dancer, she didn't want to return until she was starting to dry. She sat heavily, and idly began to run her hands across her breasts, her palms circling her grape sized nipples. She leaned back and massaged her neck and then ran her fingers through her gleaming hair. She pinched her nipples, then pulled her top up allowing her golden breasts to sit freely. She squeezed her breasts and circled her nipples with her fingers, moaning softly she leaned her head back allowing her hair to sweep across the soft skin of her bare back and closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensations she was experiencing. She stroked her way down her smooth stomach and then spread her legs, her fingers creeping slowly up the satin skin on the inside of her thighs. When they reached the top she teased herself by returning them to caressing her round globes. She pulled her skirt up around her waist and gently ran a finger across her clitoris which pushed through the dampening fabric of her satin thong which disappeared up the perfect curves of her ass. She pressed her palm against her heat and felt the silk darken with her wetness. She then lifted herself up and deftly removed her underwear, permitting them to slip to the floor, left draped around one slender ankle as she spread her smooth thighs again. She gasped as she felt the cool air hit her heated pussy and again ran her fingers up her thighs, skimming over her clit before returning to her acorn coloured nipples. She pulled gently on her pussy lips and then ran a finger between them, still teasing herself. Spreading her lips with two fingers, she bit her lip as unbearably slowly she slid her longest finger inside her dripping pussy. Suddenly she heard a gasp not emanating from herself and opened her eyes to view three cocks wrapped in stroking fists in front of her and she froze. The men stroking their cocks looked at her sheepishly and also froze in their actions before frantically trying to put their cocks back into their trousers looking slightly disappointed. Though embarrassed, she was pleased that they were stroking themselves over her. She then realised that she had never locked the door to the cubicle and then realised she was glad she hadn't as she recalled the recent memory of hearing the men jacking their well-lubricated cocks. She leaned back again and gazing at each man in turn she alternated between sliding her fingers in and out of her wet pussy and circling her clitoris with the end of her finger. The strangers pulled their cocks back out each breathing a sigh of relief as they began stroking again. Zoe looked at one, a tall man with spiked blond hair and licked her lips before looking longingly at his glistening cock and sliding her finger inside herself again. He groaned gently and she noticed all the men's eyelids leaden with lust. She was building up to her orgasm and by the look of the men, so were they. They fisted their cocks faster and faster and their hands were almost a blur. Zoe felt a rush growing inside her and circled faster on her clit, feeling her body tensing. One of the men stepped forwards and with a huge groan unloaded his cream all over her breasts spurting load after load from the end of his jerking cock. Zoe gasped as she felt its heat over her nipples and quickened her pace, one hand stroking her clit, the other pulling roughly on her left nipple the colour of caramel, sending electric impulses to her clit. The other men were nearing their peak and both now stepped forward. It was obvious they couldn't contain themselves looking at her full, pert breasts covered in thick cream as it oozed down over her nipples. The first began to shoot over her breasts some of it spurting onto her face and he let out a deep growl. This was too much for the next man, and putting the head of his cock near her whirling fingers, he began to come, The heat of his load and the site of the men with their spurting cocks sending their cream all over her sent her over the edge. Her body jerked and tensed as she let wave after wave of sweet orgasm rush through her body right down to her toes. She opened her eyes to find the men gone. Had she imagined it? Then looking down at her body covered in their cream it was obvious she hadn't. Gasping she began to clean herself up. She was shocked at their brazen attitude, the three of them marching into the women's toilets. As she stood up and opened the door viewing a row of urinals, she realised it was she who had walked into the wrong ones. So that was what went on in those places! She returned to the dance floor and found her dancing partner. 'You were gone a while,' he remarked, winking at her slyly and looking her petite figure up and down. 'Ah, well, I was pretty wet,' she whispered tantalisingly in his ear, 'Let's dance!' Let's Dance Heads up! This story does not contain sex! Turn back now if that's a deal-breaker for you. This story lives in the Lesbian Sex hub because it's an exploration of one woman's erotic intention, the hopefulness of her attraction to another woman, and what it feels like to want without getting. In other words, it's a story about lesbian sex, without any lesbian sex in it. You should read it if you like stories. ;) -Robin ***** I made a dance for you. To show you how I feel. It's simple. Nothing more than it needs to be, nothing less. I should have just written you a love letter like a normal person. But you're so lovely. You're so alive. Longing has tied my tongue and I'm full of clichés; that's why I made a dance for you. You're so _______ that words come up short. ————— "Hey." "Hi!" "Cute shirt." "Ha, thank you. It's so old." "The best shirts always are. I think the fashion hive-mind only makes cool stuff once every couple years." "Seems like bad business." "No, it's so they can separate the wheat from the chaff. So they can see who keeps wearing the good stuff and who follows the trends." "Haha." "I'm sure they've got their eye on you." "Wow, haha, so they can recruit me?" "Something like that. Watch out for men in suits with shades." "Will do. See ya!" "Bye." ————— I made a dance to do with you. I made a dance for you, with you, about you. I made a dance so I could hold you close under the pretense that on stage it's somehow symbolic, not real. That the act of choreographing an action necessarily abstracts it. I made a dance for you so I could pretend that holding you in my arms isn't everything I wanted. So I could pretend the dance was more important, like my purpose was to create a dance, not to take any path I could think of to get closer to you. I know art is supposed to be a representation. It's not supposed to be real. So even as I sway and circle with you, I smile and say "We're just playing. Are you having a good time? We're just dancing." Meanwhile, my heart hides behind my ribcage and hammers away. I made a dance for you and I dance it when I'm least expecting it. I danced it at the Asian grocer downtown last Tuesday. I danced it at the water park in June. I danced it in New York City when I left the subway station. I danced it trying to figure out how to get into a pay toilet in London. Every time I push through a turnstile, I dance the first few steps of my dance for you. ————— "Happy Tuesday." "What?" "Happy Tuesday." "Is it a holiday?" "Nope. Just a Tuesday." "Haha, do you always wish people Happy Tuesdays?" "Just the ones I like." "How was your weekend?" "Uneventful. Yours?" "It was great, thanks! Could you hand me that stack?" "Here you go." "Thanks." ————— I made a dance because we're always passing, always in motion. I've tried to stop and talk but you just keep going. You smile at me and walk right by. Hey, would you stop a second? Come here. Would you do this dance with me? This dance I made for you? Come closer. Let me kiss you. Has anyone ever loved you how you deserve to be loved? Slow down a second. Tell me what you want so I can give it to you. ————— "Hey." Hey beautiful. "Hi." "How are you?" Has anyone told you how lovely you look today? "Pretty good. How are you doing?" "Doing alright. Same old, same old." If we slept in the same bed I'd tell you the second I woke up. I'd mumble-kiss it to your skin and wrap you up in my arms. "Did you see a red folder come through here? Maybe in a stack with some of the big white binders?" "Hm, I don't think so." Sit on my desk a second and let me search around. Give me a chance to kneel at your feet and look up at your face. Stroke your fingers through my hair. "Okay well, if you see it—" "Hold on, let me look in here real quick." Don't go. Stay here. Just slow down a second. Do you like to dance? "It's okay, I'll come back." ————— Maybe I'll write you a poem. Or a short story. Something more direct, but just as abstract. Maybe I could write you an over-reaching, pop-philosophy self-help book, narrated in that god voice, like there's nothing so imperfect as a human being behind the words. I need something to suggest that the answer is obvious without having to actually provide it. That way I could tell you, without it being Me telling You, that there's nothing like a stomach-turning attraction to change you from a taker to a giver. You might think that you are self-absorbed, because I think we all fear that we are, but believe me, it all changes when someone catches your eye. Inescapable desire sinks a hook in your gut and the world gets a lot simpler. Let me tell you about pining. It's not a quiet want. You'll rebuild your thoughts to consider her imaginary opinions. You'll want to defer to her judgement, as though she's already an important person in your life. Pining is a long lean to the left. You reach without moving your feet. You see, the solution is self-evident; it is self-actualizing. Consider the conversations with friends about crushes and hook ups and love interests. You just nod and feel nothing. You don't need any of that. There are so many questions implicit in every relationship. Even the weird relationship you have with the guy at the cafe that always remembers your drink, but never remembers your name. That relationship is brimming with ambiguity. Pining draws your loose fibers up, like a magnet pulling on filings, and replaces the curly questions with straight lines of loyalty. You drive home with the car windows down. The hot summer air feels a little cooler when it's whipping your hair into your face. You watch the city's night lights and realize you have everything you need. You're full up on people and things and experiences. Time to give. Time to empty out. Time to take what you have and heave it up into the air, watch it splash on the concrete. Time to make a beautiful girl cry out in a supply closet. Time to fuck again, just two hours later, because you can't help it. She's right there, smelling incredible, and you're itching for it, kissing her ear, grinning and saying you've got something you forgot to give her this morning. The path to her flows forward from your feet like a shadow. It illuminates only a few steps at a time. So what if she's unattainable? And so what if the path only leads you around the perimeter of her moat and back to where you started? At least you know what to do. Even if you won't do it. Do you see how words are worse than a dance? At least dance doesn't leave you hollow. At least dance is ambiguously positive, because aren't bodies in motion always hopeful? Isn't that what optimism looks like? Picking ourselves up from the floor and moving? ————— "Hey. What's for lunch?" "Oh, this? Just yogurt for now. I think they're ordering in sandwiches for the 3:30." "Nice. What flavor?" "I don't know. Just normal sandwiches." "No, I mean your yogurt." "Oh, haha, it's peach." "I love peach yogurt. I have a friend who puts torn up mint leaves in it." "Wow, that sounds crazy." "Yeah. You just have to try it. Tastes a lot better than it sounds." "Sounds like it would taste like grass clippings." "Yeah... I guess it depends on whether or not you like mint." ————— Let's dance. Let me whisper in your ear. I know you've got a girlfriend but how air tight is that situation, because if you wanted something fun on the side— Let's slow dance in an empty parking lot. I'll be as romantic as a movie designed to make you cry because I would do that for you. I want you to feel whatever you want to feel. So if you want to be wooed, I'll woo you. I'll hum along to the music and sway with my arms around your waist. I promise not to fall in love with you. I've already fallen in love with the you that dances with me in my head. So, nothing to worry about there. Let's grind, make nasty circles against each other. The lights are out and we're just another pair in a crowd that can't hear itself over the music. I can't see anything because my eyes are closed to the strobe. It's just my hands on your hips and your ass in my lap. I'm breathing on your neck and pushing into you. I'm wanting you out loud, moving against you the way I'd fuck you. I'd tackle you to the ground if you weren't pushing back into me too. Let's do it the way we know. Let's keep it just like all our other interactions: a dance of words, perfunctory and polite. I'll take off your shorts now. Cool, great. Did you want it fast or slow today? Let's go fast for a change. Just watch out with your fingernails. Do you have a meeting after this or I can keep eating you out after you come? Can I just bury my face, licking all over, tasting and fucking a little, moaning and holding your hips? No my schedule's wide-open, go ahead. Thanks. Just give me a five minute warning when you want me to wrap things up. Let's do it the way I always imagined it. Let's do the dance I made for you. In a turnstile. Can you picture it? It's a waist-high metal post with four metal arms coming out the top in a rigid, rotating cross. We enter on opposite sides. You take a step forward and press the metal arm in front of you into motion with your hips. The turnstile turns and the arm behind me swings into the back of my legs, so I have to take a step to match. You push forward again but this time I'm ready. You lean into it, trying to complete the turnstile's rotation, and I lean back. I match your force and hold you in place. I watch your face and you watch the floor. You push harder and I brace against it. ————— "Good morning." "Good morning!" "You look lovely today." "Oh, haha thank you! I feel super cute. New earrings!" "Ah yeah, very cute." "I thought, you know, they're really better for Easter, with the pink and green ovals, but what the hey, they look good!" "Yeah, they do. Particularly with the way your hair covers them. So you just see these glimpses of gold." "Hm!" "You always look good though. Is that practice or does it come naturally?" "Haha! Oh, just practice. Just a few minutes every morning is all anybody needs." "And an eye for color. And some fashion sense." "Yeah. Well, you know, practice makes perfect!" "I don't know about that. I've been practicing this uncombed look for years and it's not getting any better." "Oh sure it is! It looks much better than it did a few months ago." ————— It's not just about getting you on your back. But it's not about falling in love either. I guess it's not all give, no take. I want you to let me make your body feel good, but I also want something from you. I'm not sure exactly what that is, but it's more than surrender. I expect your pressure when I push back on the bar. I bet you think I lean back because I want to hold you in place, but really, I want to keep walking around and around. I'd step forward with you if I thought you'd stay in the turnstile and wander around in little circles with me. I just don't trust that if I let you take a step forward, you wouldn't walk right out of the thing. And keep going. Stay here a second, just revolve. Let's walk around and around. Look at me. Can I touch your hand? ————— "Hey." "Hey." "Having a good Friday?" "So far! You?" "It's going alright. I just had a friend cancel on our weekend plans though." "Aw, sucks." "Yeah. We were going to pick blueberries. Perfect weather for berry picking too." "That sounds like fun. I've never been berry picking." "Seriously?" "Yeah. Do you just pick them by hand?" "Yeah. You fill up a bucket and pay by the pound. You wanna go?" "I'm sorry?" "Do you want to go with me? And pick blueberries?" "Oh, uh." "Whenever, it doesn't have to be this weekend. But that's a life experience you should have." "Yeah, maybe I'll go next time my family is in town. Seems like a good family activity." "Yeah, alright, totally. Great for kids. As long as you wear clothes you can get muddy." "Haha, thanks for the tip!" "Yep. See you." ————— Hold on, hold on. I feel dizzy. Stop the wheel. I need to ask myself if I really thought this would go anywhere. Did I really think I'd do anything? The dance ends. It has to end. The dance ends, and then? What happens after that? I just want that fuck-the-world buzz without the run-away-from-it-all implications. I made you a dance after all. I didn't write you a letter, or a story, or a self-help book. I didn't spill my emotions in front of you for judgement. I made you a dance—not because I'm a coward—but because that's all I needed to do. Was it catharsis all along? I thought it was an ode to dedication, but was I just looking for a way to let you go? Maybe dance was a way to pour all those feelings into something tangible, because I knew I was never going to catch you around the waist and kiss you. The dance ends and— The dance ends. It just ends. That's the great thing about dances. They're not stories. They don't have to have a happy ending or a sad one. Not even a purposefully opaque one. The end of dance doesn't feel as final. It doesn't feel like the last chapter of the dancers' lives. The dance just ends, the performers walk forward, they bow, and the lights go out.