Preppy Girl

My Dancer tonight stops by my table, finally. I've watched her before, working the room. She's relentless. I know she'll be by.

Some clubs, some girls, are not pushy. Some are. Dancer wasn't pushy, but she was focused. No sitting and chatting away the hours. She's working here and she has dances almost every song.

My turn: "Do you want a dance?"

Dancer is impossibly lovely, a vision. Not exotic, very natural. Shoulder length blonde hair, tight athletic body. Probably a college girl. Probably a sorority girl. Very preppy. Is it really possible that she's standing in front of me, enticing me?

A choice. Table, couch, bed? Couch it is, and off to the VIP area we go, hand-in-hand. Topless with a thong.

First song: she's very skilled. We move thru the paces: straddle, stand, reverse. Breasts against my face, a graze of the hand across my lap to check where I'm at, grinding on my lap. There's the smell, the instant recognition that I love of whatever shimmery body powder that strippers use.

She has a routine and she moves confidently thru it. I'm completely enjoying myself and it shows.

Second song: We're getting into each other. Am I imagining it, or is the straddle getting closer, the grinding more urgent, the breathing erratic? Now standing, facing away. As the DJ in this club likes to say, "get some ass in your face". In a nice way.

Then it happens, the only time it's happened to me. As the thong backs up, presses against me, millimeters from my face. The strong, unmistakeable, musky fragrance of a young lady aroused. Wow! My brain explodes and locks in this memory.

The song over, the wallet out, payment, dressing. "Thank you" says Dancer, sweetly. "Thank you, you're lovely" say I.

Back to working the room for Dancer. And I'm out.

(Originally posted by DanceFan at 11/7/2003 12:48:07 AM )