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I was standing close to their destination, the bonfire, tall enough to get a good view of them as they marched forward. As the drum majors passed me and the dancers, the Romettes, came into view, I heard someone scream, “Get it, Brooklyn!”
My eyes scanned the bodies moving in syncopation before me, the dancers swinging their hips to the beat while gracefully moving their arms and although I was sure she wasn’t the only Brooklyn at the school, I still found myself scanning the band for her, and I found her. She was in the third line of Romettes, wearing tiny gold shorts and a royal blue cropped t-shirt like the rest of the dancers. The entire band was wearing practice gear, and they sounded phenomenal, but my attention was affixed to her, to the ease of her movements, to that body that made me feel like I was floating on air when I was inside her. The music, the hum of the crowd, was muted by her presence.
The band took their places around the fire, keeping a safe distance, and I moved to get closer to and a better view of her, standing with her hands on her hips as the song ended. They began another song, something mid-tempo. My focus was so locked on Brooklyn that I couldn’t name the song’s title even if my life depended on it. Brooklyn was magical with her movements, effortless, fluid, and seductive all at once as she danced. Her movements were in perfect sync with the music and the other dancers on her row as Romettes on the other lines performed the same eight-count routine but at different intervals, creating a true feast for the eyes.
I stood frozen, wondering if she could feel my eyes on her. She was just...damn. There were no words that could adequately describe her, but I knew I wanted to know more about her, about what went through her mind as she smiled widely while displaying graceful athleticism.
In what felt like an instant, but in reality was several songs later, the show was over. My classmates forgotten, I joined a small crowd of band fanatic spectators in following them...somewhere. The band room? I didn’t know or care. I just...I needed to follow them, to follow her like a crazy ass weirdo. Or like a man in lust?
That was probably it.
The destination did end up being the band room, which was off limits to non-band people, so I waited outside with band geek girlfriends and boyfriends, looking out of place and feeling it too. But I didn’t move a muscle and felt my heart jump when the musicians started filing out of the Wonder Fine Arts building where the band room made its home.
She saw me first, but I suppose my big red ass was hard to miss. When I noticed her approaching me with a look of surprise, I found myself grinning, a weird relief washing over me. Had I missed her or something.
“Sharla isn’t in the band,” she advised as she came to a stop right in front of me, still wearing that little outfit she’d performed in.
“You’re not cold?” I asked, sidestepping her statement.
She shrugged. “Only if I’m standing still. About to walk to my dorm, so I’ll be gone.”
“Wanna ride?”
Her eyebrow shot up. “A ride?”
“Yeah. To Kitt Hall. Or are you bunking with my sister and…”
“Nadia.”
“Yeah, her.”
“Kitt Hall.”
“A’ight. Wanna ride?” I repeated.
“Where’s your car?”
“On the Owens Complex parking lot.”
“You walked all the way over here?” she trolled.
“Yeah, and so did you.”
“True. Look, I ain’t got the energy to walk back over to Owens. Thanks anyway.” She turned to walk off and I kind of panicked.
“Wait. Wait here. I’ll get my car and come pick you up.”
She sighed. “In the time it’ll take you to come back, I could already be halfway to my room.”
I moved in closer to her and lowered my voice. “Let me take you to my hotel room. I’ll bring you back in the morning.”
I backed away and watched as she stared me right in the eye. “Okay, I’ll wait here for you.”
Gripping her hips,I slid into her tightness, releasing a low groan as I eased back and dove back in. She was calling my name and clutching the sheets. Between that voice of hers, the smell of her pussy, and the way it felt to be inside her, I was experiencing a bad case of sensory overload. Knowing this was going to end prematurely if I didn’t calm myself down, I pulled out of her, smacking her ass before dipping down to taste her from the back, and that only made things worse because she tasted just as good as she smelled and felt.
“Fuck,” I muttered when I came up for air. What the hell was going on?
I stood on my knees and stared down at her, taking in the flawless chocolate skin that traversed her ass and back, the plane of obscene curves that was her body, the braids that were wild, spread around her head.
