Media Platforms Design Team
My friends and I ordered a round of shots. Two women, a blond and a brunette, approached. "Double-trouble boobies for you?" the blond asked in a thick Russian accent. The brunette was tall and toothy; she exposed one of her nipples. But double trouble wasn't what I had in mind. Not for my first time.
After another drink, I spotted the one. Plump, perky breasts, long legs, and dark, shiny hair pulled back like she wasn't trying to hide her face. She sat on the arm of my chair, crossed her legs, put an arm around me, and began stroking my shoulder, all one graceful movement. We exchanged names (sort of -- hers was fake). A few long moments passed in silence. Then she slid off the armrest, plopped into my lap, and said, "So have you had a dance yet?" We moved to a black leather bench adjacent to the stage. She smiled, dropped her top, and moved in close, putting one leg in between mine. In a way, it was like having sex for the first time -- I had no idea what to do with my hands, no clue where to look. I remember the sweet smell of perfume and how everything else disappeared. I remember the silver charm dangling from her belly button and the small heart tattooed on her hip. I remember her butt in my face. It was somehow more embarrassing looking into her eyes than at her tits. When she said she was a Pisces like me, it didn't occur to me that it was just a way of pretending she might want to screw. "I think being a Pisces is why I'm so sensitive," she giggled. "Me, too," I said. God, I'm an idiot.
As the song ended, she pressed her thigh into my crotch and started moving it in circles to the beat. She put her hands on my neck and ran her fingers delicately down my body -- over my chest, stomach, waist, thighs. I swear she grazed my penis for one millionth of a second. Then she stood, pouted a little, and said, "That's one dance," waving a lonely finger in the air. "Do you want another?"
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