3 comments/ 46226 views/ 13 favorites Dancing for the Deejay By: MrPezman A draft of cold air, bitter, blew in as the front door opened and a small group of punks strutted in, college kids in Polo shirts and Nikes, laughing and bragging to their girlfriends or potential girlfriends. I sat from my deejay booth, picking up LP's out of one of seven crates full, selecting tracks to play for the next half-hour. The club was only six blocks from the college, so most of the clientele was college kids out to have fun after their boring classes were over. We'd occasionally get some people from the nearby town, Winchester, but most of them were worse than the college kids, since they seemed to have more to prove. On this particular night, the place was packed, and the hormones present were almost palpable. The dance floor was equally packed, and the dancing consisted of grinding and much gyration of the hips, which, I'm sure, was erotic for them, but for me it was all the same. The track on the LP spinning at that point was almost over, so I spoke quickly as I switched the LP's keeping up the witty banter as I had since I began working here about a year ago. It seemed to work, because all the college kids appeared to enjoy it, yelling out and waving their hands. I started the next song, which began with a flourish of bass, vibrating the place and working the kids into a frenzy. I stepped away from the booth for a minute and had my drink refreshed. That was one of the perks of working in the club, all the free drinks, within reason, of course. No club owner wanted a smashed deejay working the booth. As I waited for my drink, just a beer this time, I continued to look around. The light tracks on the ceiling pulsed in time with the music, spinning, revolving, strobing all colors. There were small booths all around the sides, and larger, round booths in the corners. The bartender was a sultry vixen named Tracy, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a mega-wattage smile reserved for work. Of course, she was also an ice-maiden, and behind all the smiles and teasing, she was a complete bitch. As she popped the cap on my beer and set it before me, I could tell how bored she was, even as she turned to chat with some testosterone-laden guy who perhaps thought he stood a chance with her. I picked my bottle up and took it back to the booth. Of course, another perk of being the deejay was the girls. They always seemed fascinated with me because of my job, as if I was mysterious. At the time, there were no less than four or five college girls to try and catch my eye, or ask for music requests, or even just to try and chat me up. I did my best to act as if I gave a rat's ass, but it was difficult. I'd already been on shift for four hours, and it would be another five or six before the club closed for the night. One girl in particular kept trying to offer me peeks of her considerable cleavage, but she was so drunk already that she could barely keep from swaying, and the look on her face was enough to be a turn-off, that look that said, 'Sure, I'm a bit drunk, but I'm so fucking hot that it doesn't matter who I fuck tonight.' I signaled one of the four bouncers on the floor by lifting my hand up and circling it, a subtle gesture that could look like I was just enjoying the music, but in reality it was a signal for the bouncer to come over and check the drunks out to see if they needed to be escorted out the door. Well, this particular girl qualified, so she was led out the door by the bouncer, arguing blearily, slurring all the way out. Have you ever seen somebody shooting seagulls out on the ocean? The other seagulls don't get startled, don't try to fly away; They just don't care. That's how the other girls acted as the drunk girl was escorted. I mean, they noticed, but they thought it was funny, probably filing it away for their gossip the next day. I took a swig of my beer and checked the song. It was almost five minutes long, so it should be nearing the end. I waited about thirty seconds, and then changed the track to something really quick. For some reason, I like the quick ones, and it makes them more awesome when there are sirens on the track. I'm not sure why. Three of the four girls had drifted off when I wasn't looking, leaving only one, but this one was much better looking than pretty much any girl I'd seen before. She had to be at least part Asian, with glossy and straight black hair that ended about half-way down her back. The maniacally active lights reflected rapidly off her hair, turning it different hues. She swayed as well, but not from drunkenness, but in time with the fast beat of the track. She appeared to have her eyes half-closed, almost in a trance as she swayed. Whatever ethnicity took up the other half of her DNA, it only gave her more shape than the willowy, full-blooded Asians usually have. Her breasts were a bit larger, a C-cup at least, and a thin waist that curved down to wider, fuller hips. She wore a simple dress, but with the lighting, I couldn't really tell what color it was. It offered a hint of cleavage, had no sleeves, and ended mid-thigh. Speaking of legs, hers was quite long and shapely, not bird-like at all, and as I followed her legs on up, I saw how round and supple her ass was through the skirt of her dress. I watched her intently as she swayed her hips, swirled her hair around, and it fell in cascades over her shoulders just to be swung around again. It was almost hypnotic watching her dance, and I just about didn't notice the end of the song coming up until I recognized the swell of the beat. I tore my eyes away from her with great difficulty to switch the LP's again, choosing another fast song just so I could watch her dance some more, but when I looked up again, she was gone. I barely saw her head as she walked right past the dance floor and out the door. Disappointed, I let the song play, set out another that was a bit slower, and let out a deep sigh. While this girl had been dancing in front of the booth, everything else just kind of disappeared. It was just me, my booth, and her. I wondered who she was, and for the rest of my shift, I just drifted along, my mind totally preoccupied with the girl, hoping she would come back, but I didn't see her the rest of the night. After the last song ended, and the last few stragglers were ushered out the door, I locked the crates up in the back, and went to the bar, where Tracy was standing there, counting her tips. "Hey, Tracy," I interrupted her, and she looked up at me, her mega-wattage smile gone, and she was just her ice-maiden self once more. "What do you want, sugar?" "You're pretty good at remembering faces, right?" "Sugar, after nine hours bartending, they usually just blend into a single face to me. Why do you ask?" I ran my fingers through my dirty-blonde hair and shrugged, "I saw this one girl..." She humphed, "Well, congratulations." "No, she seemed different. Sure, the other ones all seem the same, but she didn't say a word to me. She just danced in front of my booth for a song or two, and then disappeared right out the door." Tracy shrugged, "Describe her for me. If she was so different, maybe I'd remember her." I went through my descriptions, trying not to sound like I was gonna cream my jeans. "You know," she tapped her chin, "I think I do remember seeing that one. Half-Asian, you said? Yeah, she ordered a few sodas, no booze or beer. She tipped pretty well for her sodas." "Otherwise, you don't really know who she is?" "She didn't stay to chat with me or anything, sugar. She just got her drink and that was it." I thanked her, and she just shrugged and went back to counting her tips. I checked my tip jar that I keep in front of my deejay equipment, emptying it on the counter. 'Not bad,' I thought. About fifty bucks, almost average, sat on the counter. I smoothed and stacked the bills and stuffed them in my pocket. Being a deejay didn't pay a whole lot, but the rest was made up in tips. As I set the empty jar down, I noticed a small piece of paper on the counter. It had most likely been folded in with one of the bills. It was probably some drunken girl's phone number and a sexually suggestive come-on. It wasn't the first time, not even close. I picked it up and stuffed it in my pocket. Sad, I know, but I actually kept them all. Over four hundred were pinned to a bulletin board in my apartment in town, just a running count. As I left, I waved a goodbye for Stacy, whose tip count looked to be at least five times what I had gotten. I guess having tits had its perks, too. She waved back distractedly. I drove home to my apartment, which sat on the third floor of the building. My apartment overlooked two other apartment buildings across the street, and the sky, which was overcast tonight. Tossing the tips I had made into a moneybox with the rest, I plopped down on my couch and turned the TV on. Despite an actually decent movie on, my mind inevitably wandered to that girl earlier. In my head, she swayed erotically, her hair swinging. Absentmindedly I pulled the scrap of paper from my pocket and opened it, expecting seven digits and the usual come-on, but there was no digits at all, just a question: Did you enjoy my dance? I reread it three or four times, and there was no doubt in my mind of who left it in the jar. At first, I thought it might have been intended to be angry, like she felt my eyes on her and got pissed, but then I noticed how curvy the question mark was at the end, and the punctuation mark underneath the curve was a heart. No pissed-off girl ever draws a heart! I was intrigued all over again. Apparently she had put on that little show just for my benefit. I just hoped it wouldn't only be that one show. The next night, I set the crates of music back out, tested the equipment, found it in working order, and put out the first couple of tracks to be played when the club opened. Tracy had the night off, so Grady, the club's co-owner was tending bar this time. Grady was an interesting specimen, not quite the club-goer look. He was clean-cut, wearing a pair of slacks and a striped, button-up shirt. But when it came to serving drinks, he had apparently learned all he knew from watching 'Cocktail,' that one movie with Tom Cruise in it. He was a wiz when it came to twirling bottles and pouring just the right mixtures in peoples' drinks. A lot of people just ordered the drinks to watch him pour. The club opened at five, and I started the music, flipping the dance floor lights on. Nobody really showed up until seven, except for a few couples wanting to have the place to themselves. The bouncers didn't even come out front until six-thirty. I organized all the tracks while I had nothing else to do. Then I looked up, and halted, my fingers in between cases. The girl from the night before was standing there right in front of my booth, her arms folded over the counter, her eyes right on mine. She was wearing a tight pair of black pants, low-cut, and a gray, no-sleeved blouse that ended mid-riff, so that her taut stomach was exposed enticingly. "Evening," I managed. "Are you gonna answer my question?" she got right to the point. I played dumb, which was not so far-fetched right then, "What question is that?" She flipped her hair playfully, "The question I left in your tip jar last night." I shrugged, "You'll have to refresh my memory. When I go home, I'm pretty wiped out." She laughed and leaned in closer, "Did you enjoy my little dance?" I pretended to think about it, and then leaned closer to her until we were only inches apart. I could smell her perfume, not potent, yet still intoxicating. I winked at her, grinning, "Why ask a question you already know the answer to?" She shot right back, "Why ask a question with another question?" I laughed, "Isn't it a pretty fun game to play?" "Should it be?" "Of course it should." She grinned back triumphantly, "Then does that mean I just won the game?" My grin slipped from my face, "Shit, I guess you did, huh?" She laughed, "We should play this game more often." To that, my grin returned, and she also swore, and then laughed again. It sounded quite musical and natural coming from her full, shiny lips. We talked for another ten minutes, pausing once so that I could switch the tracks. I found out a little about her. Her name was Maya, from Atlanta, Georgia, here to study Literature at the college. She was on her second year, and usually was a bookworm, but the pressure had gotten to her, so her friend dragged her here one night, and she liked it so much that she came here most every night since. "My grades don't seem to suffer too much, and it's actually easier to study after coming here, so it all works out." I nodded, "And I notice you don't imbibe while you're here, either." She eyed me suspiciously, "How did you know that?" "I asked the bartender, Tracy, last night if she knew who you are. She told me you only ordered soda." "Oh, so you were asking about me, then?" I tried to change the subject, "Are we playing the game again?" "I'm serious, why were you asking about me?" Deciding to be honest, I answered, "I'd never seen you before last night, so I wanted to know who you are." She nodded, and then smiled coyly, "I won again." I had to laugh, "It's true. And at least I know that you're a good dancer." "Is that a prerequisite for you to talk to me?" "Well," I added, "That and not being drunk enough to throw up on me." The place was filling up more quickly now, and she drifted away for a while, talking to a few of her friends, getting a soda at the bar, and, of course, dancing. I kept the tunes pumping, playing music just for her to dance to. I had to admit, I just loved watching her dance, it was so sensual that I even forgot to drink any beer, which was good, because I was sporting a sizable erection that was only hidden by the booth. I grew a bit jealous when a few typical drunk and horny guys tried to dance with her, pressing up against her. She edged away from them, repelling them with a few words. While this was happening, the space in front of my booth was filling up with tonight's little fans, six girls, a few of them with bad breath from their drinks, trying to get my attention, and I tried to hurry them along while my eyes stayed on Maya. A few of them seemed disappointed that they weren't getting my attention. One actually called me an "Asssole!" before stumbling off. I paid them no mind. Then I saw Maya looking directly over at me, still dancing, even though I was sure it had to be hot out there on the floor, and she'd been dancing for three songs straight, about seventeen minutes. Indeed, when the lights hit her just right, I could see the perspiration on her face and arms, but rather than be turned off by it, her perspiration only made her look that much better. Her arms shone with it, and a few drops even glimmered on her stomach like little jewels. My breath caught in my throat as I watched. Her generous hips gyrated in the lead, and the rest of her followed. She flowed. As I watched her, Grady walked up to my booth, followed my eyes, and whistled, "Jesus, man, she's gorgeous! I thought I saw you watching someone. Now I see why!" I nodded, "That she is, Grady." He shook his head, amazed, and asked, "You need anything to drink?" Thinking about it, I decided I wanted to keep sober, "Maybe just a Coke. No ice." Laughing, he walked off, and one of the several waitresses dealing with the tables brought it over, "Here you go." The waitress followed my stare as Grady had a few minutes ago, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's got the hots for you. You probably shouldn't pass that up." "Let's hope I don't." Maya eventually drifted on over to my booth, panting from the exertion, but absolutely beaming. "I have to admit, it's interesting having your full attention on me," she purred, "It definitely has me in a mood to show off!" "Believe me, the way you've been dancing, my eyes weren't the only ones on you. You've commanded quite a lot of attention on the floor." Grinning slyly, she replied, "Sure, but I wasn't dancing for them." With that, she walked away, squeezing up between people at the bar to order a soda. Then she winked at me, and went to find an unoccupied table. For pretty much the first time since I first saw her, I focused on my job, enticing the little cronies in front of my booth, exchanging some witty compliments while trying not to gag on the stench of their booze-laden breath. A few more tips went in the jar, plus a few more scraps of paper for my collection. When they finally left me alone for a minute, I looked back up, and, for the second night in a row, Maya had made her exit, but this time I hadn't even seen her leave. I made up my mind that I would ask her out the next time I saw her. It turned out that I didn't get to see her again until two days later. Sunday and Monday nights, I'm off, and the music just plays at random. The crowds on those nights are minimal, so there's no need for me on those days. Besides, I do need a couple days off during the week. Unlike normal, though, I showed up at the club anyway, hoping just to see her there, but she never showed up either night. I waited until most of the night was over and the club was a few hours away from closing for the night, but I did so in vain. When I clocked in on Tuesday night, sure enough, she was there in a different dress, pretty much like what she had on the first night I saw her. This particular dress showed slightly more leg, though. I put off setting out the tracks, walking over to her where she sat at the bar. She was chatting with Grady, sipping a soda. She glanced over at me when I got close, and greeted, "Well, hey there." "The club hasn't even opened yet. How'd you get in?" "Grady here let me in." Grady nodded, "I saw her standing there, and couldn't leave the pretty lady out there alone." Maya winked at him, "Such a perfect gentleman!" He grinned, "My pleasure, ma'am." I smiled at this exchange, "Well, since you're here, maybe you can help me decide what to play for you tonight." She stood up, soda in hand, "Sounds like a blast! I'll see you later, Mr. Grady, and thanks for letting me in!" Grady tipped an imaginary hat in response, and began cleaning the bar top. Over at my booth, I dragged out the crates, and she browsed through them, tucking her hair behind her ears. She picked out several tracks, nine in all, so I set them next to the equipment to be played. She continued to peruse the selections, pointing out many others she was interested in hearing. I tabbed those with post-it notes for later. As she was browsing, I had plenty of time to take in her figure, especially that round rump, the way her tight dress accentuated it perfectly, and those long legs. When she was done, I showed her how to test the equipment and speakers, playing a test track with a myriad of sounds, bass, treble, tones from low to high, things like that. I moved the switches for each speaker in the club, testing it for proper function, and she watched, her head close to mine, and that intoxicating perfume she was wearing wafted pleasantly. I breathed it in, enjoying her closeness. When I was sure the equipment was working properly, I cleared my throat, and then said, "That's it. Now it's time to try out a few tracks. If you want, you've got the floor to yourself." She batted her lashes, "I take it you want to see me dance some more?" I answered truthfully, "Maya, I came to work tonight just to watch you dance." She smiled shyly, "Oh, really?" "I'd work for free, if only to watch you dance." I hoped I wasn't laying it on too thick, but it was the honest truth. She blushed prettily, extremely pleased at my answer, and backed away to dance. I flipped on the lights, and then leaned back to enjoy the show. She danced with more exuberance, her hair flying as she moved to the heavy beat. I was fully entranced by her, and her eyes were on me as well. I watched her beautiful legs scissor, her arms moving with her body, a little faster as the beat picked up pace. Even Grady had stopped what he was doing to watch Maya dance. When the song ended, I couldn't move, nor did I want to. She walked back over to me, slightly out of breath. Dancing for the Deejay "I practiced in my room. What do you think?" It took me a second to find my voice. "What do I think?" "Is there an echo in here?" "You want to know what I think?" "I asked, didn't I?" "Has Grady had a heart attack yet?" "Should I go check?" I chuckled, "Will you give him mouth-to-mouth if he needs it?" "Would you get jealous?" "Wouldn't you?" "Why, were you planning on giving him mouth-to-mouth?" "Would it turn you on?" "When are you going to answer my question?" "Didn't I already answer it?" "No- Oh, shit! You win!" "Cool. As for your question, I think you're terrific." Her grin faded a little, "Really? Terrific?" "Most terrific, exquisitely terrific." Her grin faded away completely, and I knew I'd gone too far. I waited, anxious, and she looked at my eyes. One minute passed, and then another. Thinking that I'd offended her somehow, I apologized, "Listen, I didn't mean it to sound so forward, I just-" She interrupted, her face serious, "You'd better take that back." I was baffled, "Which part?" "The part about not meaning it, take it back." "I wasn't being too forward?" "Terrific? Exquisitely terrific, even? That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me. Ever! You'll hurt my feelings if you didn't mean it." I was taken aback, "I meant it. I was just afraid I'd overstepped my bounds, that's all." "So you think I was terrific?" "No." "What do you mean, 'no?' You didn't I was terrific?" "No. If I did, that would mean that I think you used to be terrific and weren't terrific right now. And I think you're as terrific now as I did while you were dancing, so...no." She shook her head in wonder, "Did you take classes on talking to women, or is this something you were born with?" "Why, do I pass?" "What do you think?" With that, she leaned forward, and her lips brushed mine, lingering for a few seconds before she leaned back. It had been enough to shock me to silence. She blushed, seeing my reaction. When I had regained my senses, I breathed out, "Wow!" Her blush went brighter, "Yeah. I have to see you again." I answered, totally enthralled, "You can see me anytime you want." "Tonight, then? After you get off work?" I nodded, "Well, I don't get off work until almost two. Is that okay?" "Of course. I'll stop by at two." "You're not gonna stay?" She smiled, "It wouldn't do any good to get all worn out, would it?" "So you'll see me at two?" "Do you want me to mark it in my appointment book?" "You have an appointment book?" "Do you want to see it?" "Is there a reason I shouldn't see it?" "What if I didn't have one?" "Would that mean that you wouldn't mark it down?" "Would it make you feel better if I did?" "How could you if you don't have one?" "Do you think I won't go out and buy one just for that?" "Just to mark me down in your appointment book?" "Why else would I buy one?" "Don't you have other appointments?" "Like what?" "I don't know. Oh shit!" Grinning back at me, she left as the place filled up. The hours crawled by, and I was anxious to be done. The place was jumping, making me wonder for the umpteenth time what the maximum capacity for the club was. I juggled the LP's, setting new tracks to play the instant the previous track stopped, managed to keep up my witty repartee to make the people respond, and chatted up the fan club perched in front of my booth. Not even the slurring, sluttish drunks blowing their fetid breath in my face as they whispered half-coherent questions at me could ruin my mood. Finally, the club began winding down, and bit by bit the place emptied out, until the bouncers had ousted the last reluctant group, and Grady locked the door. I locked up the crates, turned off the equipment, and folded the money from the tip jar, stuffing ten or eleven scraps of paper into my pocket. Grady walked up to me, seeing me with the scraps of paper. "Hey man, what's with all the paper in your tip jar?" "The scraps? They're phone numbers." "Really?" I nodded, "Yeah, they're just phone numbers." "How many did you get tonight?" "Ten or eleven, why?" "You got all those in one night?" "Sure." "How many have you gotten since we hired you?" I did the math in my head. The four hundred seventeen on my bulletin, plus...I pulled the numbers back out, and they totaled twelve, actually, so that made four hundred twenty-nine. I told him the grand total, and his eyes almost popped out of his head. "Holy shit! Have you called any of them back?" I shrugged, "A few of them. Four, I think. Every one of them seemed shocked for having given me their numbers, so I didn't pursue it." Grady laughed, "Four hundred thirty-two drunk college girls gave you their phone numbers? You could have yourself a bonfire with all those scraps!" I laughed with him, "I probably will." Grady heard the knock on the door and went to go see who it was. He grinned and held it open, and Maya walked in. She had changed into a pair of jeans and a T shirt. Grady greeted her warmly, and she giggled, "You sure know how to win a lady's heart, don't you?" "I wouldn't know. I'm still waiting for Tom Cruise to walk in the door." It took her a second to get it, but then she replied, "And I'll bet that when he finally does, he won't know what hit him!" They shared a laugh over it, and I grabbed my jacket from the booth. I started toward the back to clock out, but Grady called out, "I'll clock you out. You don't want to keep this young lady waiting." I wished Grady a good night, and walked out with Maya. I only saw Grady's Datsun and my own Honda in the parking lot. "Where's your car?" I asked. "I walk here." "I could've picked you up." "I've got legs, you know?" "You definitely have those." She laughed, "You beast." I opened the car door for her and she got in. When I got in the driver's seat and started the car, I noted, "It's not safe walking by yourself at two in the morning." "I can take care of myself." "Knives can hurt." "I'm sure bullets hurt just as much." "Exactly, and there's two reasons you shouldn't be out by yourself." "I'm not alone." "You were when you walked here." "And that's why I wasn't worried about it." She threw me with that last reply, "Huh?" "I might have worried more if I wasn't alone." "Yeah, I guess that's true." I pulled out of the parking lot and headed to my apartment. She seemed a bit nervous, so I asked, "Just so you know, I wasn't expecting company, so if my place is a bit of a mess, stand warned." She smiled a bit, "Okay. Um, I don't normally just go home with people I don't know." I arched an eyebrow, "Are you worried about coming to my place?" "A little bit. I don't date a lot, so I'm not really used to it." "Well, I don't want to pressure you into anything you don't feel comfortable with." I meant it, too, despite the pressure against my zipper that said that I didn't care. She looked over at me, grateful for the gesture, "Thanks, but I wouldn't want you to think I was a tease or something." "I already do." "Why is that?" she blinked. "The way you were dancing for me in the club, that was an ultimate tease." She laughed, "Oh yeah." I offered, "But seriously, I'm not bringing you with me just for that. I think it would be nice to spend some time with you while I'm not on the job, you know, with the booth between us. We could watch a video, or I could try cooking something, although it'd be a better idea to order out." She seemed dubious, glancing down at the traitor in my pants, straining to be released to wreak havoc. "Are you sure?" "Sure, because I really shouldn't try cooking, it always backfires." She corrected, "No, I mean about not... you know." I, trying my best to be a gentleman, reassured her, "Absolutely, let's just watch a movie, and maybe sometime in the future you can decide for yourself if you want to go down that road with me, okay?" She looked as if she was ready to cry, "That's so nice of you. If we did 'go down that road,' it would be my first time." I almost ran off the road, "Really? I mean, I'm not saying I thought you were, I don't know, experienced, but you sure dance like you know what you're doing." "Yeah, but that was just dancing. If you want to know the truth, you never see my dorm mate at the club because she works late. She's an exotic dancer at that strip club at the edge of town. Really, she taught me those moves, and I practiced in front of her so she could tell me how to dance better." I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. Her response was a bit of hurt in her eyes, so I tried harder to contain my laughter, "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, it's just funny that your dance moves were really a strip routine without the stripping, and I had no idea." She eyed me, "It's not that funny. I saw you there, and I liked you right away, but I knew you'd never pay attention to me, so I went to my dorm mate for help. A lot of the girls that were grouping around you look so much prettier than me, so I had to try something that would make me more attractive to you." I was astonished that Maya would go to such great lengths to be noticed by me, and a bit flattered, "Wow, you stood out all right. If I didn't notice you, it's only because I tried not to really notice any of those girls. And it's not true, either. Those girls may have been pretty, but their attitudes and the booze on their breath made them the kind of girls I would've chewed my own arm off just to get away from." "That can't be true. A lot of those girls had dynamite bodies, and I know, because my dorm mate is built like that, and I've seen her naked enough times to know." "There's an image: the both of you walking around naked in your dorm room." She hit me on the arm playfully, "Neanderthal!" "At your service. But, sure, maybe their bodies were nice. It's not just bodies that make the woman, though. Do you realize that if I'd played that 'question game' with any other girl at the club, they'd just talk away, having no idea what was going on. I'd essentially be talking to myself. That's not the kind of thing I like. But you not only understood the game, you played it right back at me and beat me. Not only that, but you seemed to have fun playing it. That, as much as your knockout dancing and your gorgeous smile, sold me." All through my explanation, she stared at me, her mouth slightly open in wonder, her eyes wide. When I stopped talking, she blushed, lowering her eyes for a few seconds, absorbing what I had said. "I'll bet you aced that class, didn't you?" It took me a second to realize that she was talking about that "Talking to Women" class, and I grinned, "The teacher never knew what hit her." We both burst out laughing, and some of the tension was dispelled. About that time, we reached my apartment building. I parked the car, and led her upstairs to my third-floor apartment. I had warned her about my apartment being a mess, but that was an exaggeration. I'd become pretty good about picking up after myself. The messiest area in my apartment was the stacks of c.d.'s and records in the corner, next to an old-school turntable and nearby stereo. "Interesting science project," she replied cryptically, eyeing the haphazardly stacked music in the corner. "What?" "Your indoor tornado project. Man, you must have succeeded, this place is such a disaster area." I laughed, "Yeah, maybe I did exaggerate a bit." "Other than your science project, it's a pretty nice place, especially the extensive movie collection." We wandered over to my movie collection. When I wasn't at work, or absorbed in music here, I loved watching movies. Almost any category I could think of, comedy, science fiction, horror, drama, etc, I had at least a couple movies of each, and I stress, 'at least a few.' In some cases, I'd find every movie with certain actors or actresses in it and buy them in bulk. Like I said, I love watching movies. She ran her fingers down the spines, tilting her head slightly to read the titles. She picked out more than a few that she would want to see, showing me one she wanted to watch now. I popped the movie into the DVD player, and we sat down on the couch. This movie, a comedy with Adam Sandler, was one of my favorites, which is probably apparent, since I've seen it eight times. She started to scoot closer to me, seemed about to lean up against me, and then stopped, glancing at me, perhaps to see if I noticed. I pulled her against me the rest of the way to show her that it was okay, and she relaxed, her cheek on my shoulder. I keep my arm around her, enjoying the feel of her against me. It had been awhile since I'd had anyone close like this and not just wanting to have sex. We watched the movie for about half an hour, and by some mutual, unspoken consent, I slid down on the couch, my feet more towards the other side, and she lay mostly on top of me, her head on my chest, with my legs on either side of hers. That treacherous part of me that sometimes speaks up to try and betray my intentions began doing just that, growing ever harder to control. Gradually, she became aware of it, too. I felt her head move to look down, and I felt her breath stop for a second or two. But rather than being offended and our short time together being over, she just looked at it for a minute or two, the movie instantly forgotten. Then her breath stopped again for a few seconds, and I suddenly felt the pressure of her hand on me. She rested her hand on it for almost a minute, and then lightly stroked me through my jeans. I was more than a bit surprised, as she said earlier that she'd never had sex. Of course, that didn't mean that she'd never fooled around a bit. As her hand rubbed me slowly, she looked up at me tentatively, and I just looked down at her, waiting to see what she'd do next. She continued to move her hand on me, looking at me, slightly surprised at her boldness. "It feels so weird. I-I've never really done any of this before. My dad was really strict, and I wasn't allowed to date, so I never really tried it. Am I doing this right?" I nodded, amazed at her change from confident, sexy, to this girl before me who seemed completely unsure of what she was doing. It threw me for a loop. "This isn't a proposition or anything, but do you want to stay the night?" "Well, I have a few classes, but they're in the afternoon, so I think it'd be okay. Why?" "Nothing has to happen tonight unless you want it to, but either way, I really like having you here, tonight, and I'd like it if you'd stay." She chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip for a minute, making her look much younger than the nineteen years old that she was. "I'd like to stay the night, too." "You can have the bed, and I'll take the couch-" She shook her head, "I don't want you to take the couch." "You want the couch?" "No," she elaborated, "I want the bed, but I don't want you to take the couch." Starting to get what she was saying, I nevertheless acted clueless. I think I wanted her to spell it out to dispel any confusion, "I'd rather not sleep on the floor, if that's what you're suggesting." "No, you goof! I want you to sleep in your bed with me." Her face went red after she blurted it out, and eyes went wide. I chuckled, "I know, I just kinda wanted you to say it. I'd be delighted to." She buried her face in my chest, embarrassed, and the hot breath I felt through my shirt made my skin tingle pleasantly. I touched her hair, watching the glossy strands spill through my fingers. When she looked up at me again, I waited to see what she would say. She was silent for a minute, just looking at me, a storm of conflicting emotions passing through her dark, luxurious eyes. I was so lost in the depths of her eyes that I almost jumped when she finally spoke. "Do you have any, um, pajama pants or anything like that? I can't really sleep with jeans on, and..." I told her I had a few pairs, so she stood up reluctantly, and I followed her into my bedroom. Then she saw the bulletin board. I could imagine the thoughts going through her head. She got up close to it and read the suggestive comments and the various phone numbers for a few minutes before she stopped on one. "I know some of these girls. Jasmine...Katie...Nicole, wow, she had some things she really wanted to do to you, didn't she?" She stood up and looked at me questioningly, "Did you, um... do it with any of these girls? Is that why you have all this?" I clapped my hand over my eyes for a second, and a big grin spread on my face. "Um, no, I never had sex with any of them. It was just this idea when I started working at the club and these girls just started giving me those. I decided to see how many I collected in a month, and then here it is, one year later, and you can see how many I have found in my tip jar, or given to me directly." She exclaimed softly, and her eyes took in the hundreds of little scraps of paper, "How many are there?" "Four hundred seventeen. Oh," I dug the twelve scraps I'd gotten earlier, and added them one by one. When I'd tacked the last one, I amended, "Four hundred twenty-nine. I keep thinking about what I want to do with this bulletin board once it's completely full. I mean, it probably looks kind of sad, keeping all these, but it was so amusing once they began piling up." Maya smiled wonderingly, "Four hundred twenty-nine drunk college chicks gave you their numbers over the course of a year. Is the scrap of paper I gave you already up here?" I laughed self-consciously, "Um, no. I went over to the scratched up nightstand I had bought off a friend, and picked that particular scrap up to show her. She laughed, "What, because it didn't have a phone number, it didn't qualify to go up there?" "No, it doesn't qualify for the Board of Shame because it doesn't belong up there. That's why I put it on my nightstand." "How sweet! You just came up with that name a second ago, didn't you?" I admitted, "Yes, because I just got the greatest idea ever." "Do tell," she waited, curious. "I'll find a place to hang it at the college, somewhere everybody can see it, but nobody can get to it. I think I can fit all the numbers on there stretched out, and if not, I'll get another bulletin board to make it fit. Then all those girls can see if they can find their names on the Board of Shame and be humiliated for being so drunk as to hit on a lowly deejay!" Maya laughed, "That'd be perfect! Oh, I'd pay to see the looks on their faces as they find their names. It would be the greatest joke! But there's a problem." I asked what the problem was. "If you're just a lowly deejay, then does that make me desperate?" "No, that makes you lucky." "Oh, is that so?" "Of course. A lowly deejay is a great friend to have. Especially at parties." She stepped up to me, turning away from the board, put her arms around me and kissed me. It wasn't like the kiss at the club, this one beat the first one hands down. Her mouth opened slightly, and her tongue poked out a bit, touching my bottom lip, and I brought my tongue out to meet it. The kiss grew even hotter as our tongues contested each other, and my arms went around her. Her body pressed against mine, heedless of the erection that was presently poking her stomach. We kissed for almost five minutes straight before she backed up a step, and we were both panting. Her eyes were wide, constantly surprising herself with such forwardness. She went over to the bed and drew back the covers. Then her hands unbuttoned her jeans, peeled them off, revealing a pair of the hottest black, bikini panties. Of course, I would've bet everything that those panties wouldn't look anywhere in the galaxy as hot as they did on her. Before I could stare for more than a few seconds, she slipped into the covers, drawing them up on her. Her face was again flushed, because she knew I saw her taking her jeans off. I decided that I would be fair, so I took my own jeans off exposing the boxer-briefs I was wearing, turned the light off, and slipped into bed next to her. Dancing for the Deejay I wasn't sure that she would want for me to be touching her when she felt so vulnerable, but as I got into the bed, she pulled her body against mine, slipping one of her legs between mine and snuggling her face against my chest. I put my arms around her and held her close, breathing in her perfume as if it were my only air. I fell asleep that way, quickly slipping off, though it usually took me at least an hour to do so. Somehow, around four or so, I felt eyes on me, and my sleep fell away. I opened my eyes to see hers on mine in the wan light of the green glow of the alarm clock. She continued to gaze at me, again biting her lower lip. "Is something wrong?" I asked. Had I been fondling her in my sleep or something? "You've been so sweet to me, even understanding when I told you how I'm...a virgin, and I've been so wrong to you. I'm being...I don't know, but it feels so wrong." I was a bit worried that she wasn't enjoying the closeness as much as I'd been. "You mean you being here is wrong?" She emphatically shook her head, "No, being here so close to you is heaven to me, but I'm just really scared that it's not enough for you." Still not sure what the problem was yet, I assured her, "You being here with me is great. It's plenty just being able to put my arms around you, having you lying here in my arms." Her eyes glimmered with yet unshed moisture, "But I want to show you in some way how I feel about you, about how I feel with you." "You already have, Maya, and I hope you can grasp how much I lo-... care for you." Oh shit. The word had almost come out, but that didn't matter. She knew what I had almost said. She breathed, shocked, "You were... you...were going to say 'love.' What made you stop?" I fumbled for the right words, finally managing, "I didn't want to scare you away by saying it, in case you don't feel that strongly in return. I'm sorry." She blinked, still stunned by my use of that word, and my heart plummeted, as I was sure I'd just ruined a great thing by opening my stupid mouth. It took her a minute to recover, and I expected this night to end with me in bed alone, furious with myself. I could already see her leaving the bed, yanking her jeans up, and just simply walking out and away. Instead, she looked away, unable to meet my eyes, "I was thinking that I felt like that too, but I thought it might make you uncomfortable." I needed to hear her say it, even though we'd only met a few days ago, even though this contact was the first time we'd shared, except for the kiss only last night. I knew how I felt, and I needed that same feeling reciprocated. "I do love you. I think I realized it the first time I saw you," I took the first step, completely showing the hand I'd been dealt. She searched my eyes, searched for something to dispute what I had just said. Finally, not seeming to find anything untoward, she confessed, "I love you. I sure wouldn't have danced like that for anyone else, ever." I had to kiss her, and she needed to be kissed. My hands slid down the back of her shirt, nestling in the small of her back, massaging lightly. She sighed into my mouth, kissing me back with increased fervor. Her hips pressed more insistently against mine, and her tongue delved into my mouth. My hands, Roman hands, if you'll excuse the little joke, roamed down to cup her generous buttocks, kneading, assisting her as her hips practically ground into mine. She purred sensually, "I need you badly. Show me what to do." I helped her out of her shirt, and saw that the lace-fringed, black bra matched her panties. I reached up to cup them through the thin fabric of the bra, and the nipples underneath were already stiff, thrusting against the bra, immediately found by my fingers. She sighed with pleasure as I touched them, and reached behind herself to unclasp the back. She slid the bra off, and her C-cup breasts were in my hands, no fabric at all between. Her aureoles were dark, no bigger than silver dollars, the nipples as small as raisins. I ran my fingers over her nipples, catching them lightly between my index and middle finger, and then I had to taste them. I drew a nipple between my lips, and slipped my tongue out, running it over the stiff, jutting flesh. She gasped, and her hands went from my shoulders to my head, scratching a bit as she cradled my head and pressed it harder to her breast. I lapped and sucked, flicked and teased, using her moans and gasps to tell me what she wanted. As I tended to her breasts, her hips moved against mine, severely teasing my manhood with her intensity. I probably could've stayed like that the rest of the night, but she was going to need more pleasuring, and I felt like I should give her plenty more of that. My hands on her breasts still, I rolled her onto her back and began teasing my tongue on her stomach, leaving butterfly kisses on her smooth skin. When I grasped the sides of her panties and slid them down, she lifted her hips up, mewling in anticipation. As my eyes beheld her, I realized that she had been experimenting with the razor. She had shaven all but a thin strip of her pubic hair, and the strip was thin, as wide as one of my fingers, as I found out. My tongue circled the thin strip, and she drew her next breath sharply as the tip of my tongue left fiery little trails on her razor-sensitized skin. I slid my hands under her to fondle her buttocks again, it served to lift her hips up, and her legs spread a bit. I kissed the skin around her vagina, and she cried out, surprised. Her legs spread a bit further, and I resumed my kisses, careful not to brush my chin or nose or cheek across her just yet. Just as my head felt ready to just explode with the suspense (the one on my shoulders, just to let you know), I finally brushed my lips against her fully, just as she had kissed my last night, and she about bucked, thrusting herself against my face. I kissed again and again, at the bottom of it, focusing more on the soft, swollen flesh of her outer labia, and worked my way up, and she throatily urged me to pleasure her down there, please, because she felt ready to explode as well. Using my tongue to spread her inner labia, I thrust my tongue between those thin lips and drew upward with the tip, all the way to where her clitoris, already supersensitive, pulsed against my tongue. Her legs spread more to provide me better position, and then they wrapped around my head tightly. As much as her eager pleading, her legs around my head urged me to lick her deeper. I tasted the fluid that drizzled from inside her, and was dizzied by how wonderful she tasted, how her tightness only grew tighter against my tongue as she pushed herself against my face repeatedly. I thrust my tongue inside her, and began rolling, wagging inside her, searching for the spot in her that would take her where she so badly needed to be. A few more minutes of this was all she could stand, and the fierceness of her orgasm brought forth wild cries from her, her thighs gripping my head tightly as she rode my face helplessly, more of that sweet fluid flowing out onto my tongue. When at last her cries quieted, her legs let go of me and fell to the bed. She pulled me up onto her. "Is it bad to kiss you right now?" she asked. "No, you can kiss me." She did, slowly, sampling for the first time her orgasmic secretions. Finding them to not be that bad, she kissed me more passionately, and then pulled my shirt off. Next went my boxer-briefs, and she bared my manhood, which pointed up and out stubbornly. Her hand slid around it, feeling it pulsing with desire, the head velvety and purple, the veins along the shaft prominent. Her hand encircled it, and at my urging, stroked the entire length. It was only seven inches in length, but it was thick around. Her hand went up and down on it, barely gripping it at first. As I closed my eyes and expressed my pleasure, she became bolder, and her grip tightened and moved a bit faster. When she stopped suddenly, I almost cried out in frustration. I opened my eyes, and she wrapped her hand around the base, trapping my curly blonde pubic hairs in between. "Is it okay, if I, um, put it... you know, in my mouth?" I nodded, and she focused her attention back onto my erection. Her head came close, her hot breath on me making me shiver. Her tongue came out and drew directly across the tip, tasting me. She licked again more slowly, with more of her tongue this time, and then again, around the head. Her lips enveloped the head, stopping at the corona, and her tongue licked and circled again. Bit by bit, she pulled me into her mouth, exhaling her warm breath through her nose now, tickling my pubic hairs. Deeper and deeper it entered, until she almost gagged as it touched the back of her throat. She stopped there and waited for the reflex to pass, relaxing her throat as best as she could. A little bit deeper, stopping, and then more, until the head of me rested in her throat. Her tongue moved, testing it, and she found that it became easier. My hands moved down to caress her hair as it fanned out on my thighs and groin. I swept her hair to the side, and she looked up at me, a little apprehensive, yet stubbornly eager to pleasure me to the best of her ability. As she became more familiar with what she needed to do with her throat, she began expelling me out to the head, and then pulling me slowly back in, and her wet mouth enveloping me made me groan with the intensity and ecstasy of it. More confident now, she plunged me into her mouth, from the tip to the base, back and forth, her tongue manic in its movements, lathering me with her saliva. Her full, amazing lips stretched around me like that brought me way too far, and I knew I was ready to climax. I warned her between gasping breaths, and fully expected her to relinquish me, but she pumped more insistently, her eyes on mine, whether sensing it or seeing something in my eyes, thrust me fully into her mouth and began sucking hard, and that was all it took. Spurt after spurt, I emptied myself into her throat, and she instinctively swallowed it down. After about seven or eight good spurts, I gave one last, weak spasm, and a bit more spat out, and I collapsed back onto the bed, still gasping. She swallowed it, and then licked the tip of me, collecting that last bit of straggler. For the first time since she took me in between her lips, she let me go, and it flopped out of her mouth, fully bathed in her saliva. She laid her head on my stomach, most definitely tasting me still in her mouth. She stayed there for a few minutes as I calmed down, and my erection faded completely. When it was completely flaccid, she finally moved back up and snuggled up next to me, her head now on my shoulder. I could smell the faint tang that was my seed. "Was I any good down there?" As if that was a necessary question! "No girl has ever even tried to go that far on me. It's always been disappointing, but I think you've definitely went there. God, yes, you were terrific!" Smiling against my shoulder, she asked, "Exquisitely terrific?" I grinned, "So exquisitely, absolutely, completely terrific." "Good," she sighed, relieved. She finally looked at me, and suggested, "Maybe later this morning, I can have you inside of me?" "Later this morning, later after that, after your classes, in the evening, on and on." "What about work?" I grinned like a dope, "I don't think the club would crumble to pieces if I called in sick tonight. Do you?"