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I blushed self-consciously, looking at the floor, afraid to face his comfortable grin. I felt silly and out of place. I didn’t know how to dance, how to be with a man, how to behave in a bar. My God! It had been years since I’d done anything like this.
The handsome Jeff didn’t seem deterred. He moved closer, taking my hands in his and forcing my eyes to meet his. I trembled, feeling terribly awkward. “I’m really not much of a dancer.”
“You’re doing just fine,” he purred, as his lips came so close to my ear that I could feel his breath on my skin. My body seemed to come alive, but my tattered nerves begged me to flee. Still, Jeff’s easy confidence kept me steady, and though I was determined to sit down at the end of the first song, he kept me on my feet through the next song, and then a third, a slower one that had me pressed to his chest so tightly that I could feel the pulsing in his crotch. By the time he backed away, there was such a riot of activity in my body that I could barely keep my fears suppressed. It didn’t help that I couldn’t stop thinking of that fantasy bar where I’d so lewdly exposed myself. Fantasy was one thing – this was real, and the very attractive Jeff was a real, flesh and blood man, not some handsome hunk born in my imagination, who’d disappear as soon as I opened my eyes.
While I sweated through those tumultuous minutes, Jane danced next to me as if she’d been born in dancing shoes. She moved with ease, nestling up next to the hot young blond an
d pressing her body into his, wiggling her crotch against his thigh. His hands were all over her, on her ass, a tit, against her thigh. Their lips met for small, seductive kisses. I imagined she’d take him home to screw.
If only I could move like her, be like her, dance like her. So free, so uninhibited.
The curious heat that rose up deep inside me – was this desire, real desire? What a silly question! I knew exactly what it was. And as the desire grew, the images from my fantasies came back to me – how I’d stripped away my clothes and gave myself to men; how I’d shed inhibition and dove into sex as if I were as sexually free as Jane. For a moment, I felt a taste of that freedom. But when the music slowed again, Jeff pulled me close, his one hand on my ass and the other fishing through my blouse for bare skin. My head felt light, my hands went cold and in a sudden panic, I pushed away.
“I gotta sit down,” I gasped, and I stumbled to the table, Jeff closely on my heels.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just a little dizzy.”
“How about a drink of water.”
“No, no thanks,” my words rushed from me as I shook my head. “I need to go home, tell Jane I’ll see her at work, will you?”
I found myself suddenly on my feet, purse in hand, running for the door. Within seconds, I was in my car, my foot to the floor, accelerating away from the bar and Jane and the best chance I’d had for sex in years, lost to the fear that drove my panic. By the time I was home, my body was raging with need. I stripped in seconds on the way to the bedroom, my imagination consumed with thoughts of the handsome Jeff, and his hands, and his cock sliding into me. I fell to the bed and began to masturbate, the only way I knew to get off, the only way I’d gotten off in years. It took just seconds, ruthless, wild orgasmic seconds for my body to come.
Finished, I lay back exhausted, the adrenalin rush slowly easing off. Dammit. Damn you, Alex! You could have had him! You could have had him. He was yours and he wanted you. A real man…and look what you got!
I went to sleep trying to forget about that night, but the picture wouldn’t go away. I wanted to go back…to Jeff, to the bar, to Jane. I almost began to rub myself again, but I put on the brakes. Alex, go to sleep! I insisted until I finally did.
My head throbbed with a dull ache the next morning, and suddenly everything in my apartment reminded me of my mother. My behavior of the night before disgusted me. Dirty. Disgusting. Sleazy. Everything I was not! Or so I told myself until I was starting to believe it again.
I dressed for work in the most conservative thing I could find in my closet, a long grey skirt, high-necked blouse and bulky sweater.
Chapter Three
I went to work, furiously rehearsing in my head the excuses for my hasty exit. However, when I poured them out to Jane, they felt flat. She knew the truth and I was a terrible liar. I was frightened of my own feelings and my physical body, and sex, yes sex. I would never confess that in so many words and thankfully, she didn’t seem compelled to explore my motives.
“You’ll have to come with me again,” she stated simply, and the subject was closed. Yet in spite of her easy acceptance, I knew she was aware of my fears. I could hide nothing from her.
On the way home that evening I drove by the bar, seeing the blinking pink flamingo in the twilight hour, beckoning me inside. My body reacted as I knew it would, warming, pulsing as it had the night before. What was I doing, anyway? I’d never go back there. Never!
That night instead of fantasizing about the bar with neon and flamingos, I imagined myself in a seedy roadside tavern. The ‘Red Rose.’ There were burly men in leather and dirty jeans, playing pool, guzzling beer, smoking joints and fondling their women like toys.
I dressed myself in leather pants and a cut off t-shirt that stretched across my breasts revealing every nuance of my erect nipples. The men in the Red Rose didn’t make love, they fucked and screwed like hellions. They used their women hard, knowing the sluts would come back for more. My body ached to be taken over the nearest table, and fucked from behind, pawed at, used, demeaned. Yes! Yes! My body screamed back at me.
The gruff-voiced man ran his hands over my flesh, roughly squeezing my tits.
“C’mon, bitch!” he growled, pulling me out the door into the firecracker night. Lightning and thunder in the distance charged the air with electricity and fired the animal inside the brute who held me close to his side. He dragged me to the edge of the woods, where, barely hidden by the brush, he threw me down on hands and knees…
Writhing in my bed, it didn’t take long. Tonight, as I imagined the crude violation, my hands pulled and tugged at my pubic hair. I even slapped myself and pinched my nipples. Mad, angry thoughts pierced through all the pretty fantasy to these rough ones. I wanted rough. I wanted the Red Rose and its beastly men.
When the cumming was over, my shame was even greater, my outrageous thoughts deeply despised. Once the dream was just a fading memory, I completed my ritual, washing my hands and donning the pink nightgown that buttoned to my neck. I swore to myself that I’d never indulge myself that way again. All the while I knew I was lying to myself.
***
“Hey, girl, we’re going shopping tomorrow,” Jane said as we were headed toward the elevator at the end of the day. It wasn’t a question, or offer, but a stated fact.
“Okay, but—?”
