Dancing with the Stars.
She insisted we watch Dancing with the Stars before any intimacy commenced.
We would meet on certain Thursday nights in the winter of 2006 for our long-distance trysts. I looked up the meaning of 'tryst', and it was defined as 'a private romantic rendezvous between lovers'. Yes, that describes what we had.
We met on-line several months prior. An electronic seduction evolved slowly yet gradually. I was undoubtedly the pursuer, hopefully in a charming but persistent manner. My plan, such as it were, must have worked.
She lived in central Ohio. I had both family and business matters that brought me to the area occasionally from my home outside of Philadelphia. I was a project manager for a shopping center developer and I was in charge of an expansion of a strip shopping center in Circleville.
When I discovered that her job as a business manager in a medical practice allowed her to be off on Fridays, it didn't take me long to conveniently schedule my own project meetings mid-morning on every other Friday, which meant I would to fly to Columbus every other Thursday evening.
After increasingly provocative conversations over the weeks and months, we mutually agreed to meet at a hotel for our initial get-together several days before New Year's Eve 2005, to 'test the chemistry'.
We got an 'A', let's just summarize our first joint project that way.
Pam is this lovely woman's name, by the way. The first initial of her last name starts with the letter D, so I reverentially refer to her as Ms. D.
Ms. D. texted me upon her arrival at the hotel, and in a word, she was sensational. In two words, stunningly beautiful. But a thousand words couldn't adequately convey my attraction.
Candidly, I was intimidated at the beginning, but careful not to show it. After all, the lion doesn't exhibit anxiety to the gazelle, now does he? She was elegant and reserved, yet I sensed, correctly as it turned out, a vulnerability. As with most beautiful women, she realized she could evoke almost any man into a quivering mass of protoplasm with a few glances and strategic words.
Ah, but as almost equally certain regarding beautiful, confident women, they surrender to the man who can provide a mix of confidence, respect, and the aforementioned charm. Dominant is not quite the proper word because it exudes that the man takes what he wants without considering the woman's pleasure.
No, sexually authoritative might be a more accurate depiction of characteristics that intrigue such a woman. That woman, suitably captivated, willingly succumbs to his charisma. A conductor leading an intimate orchestra of two, navigating a path by instinct and experience. A sexual GPS device not required to achieve intense mutual gratification.
And Ms. D. indeed proved to be quite the willing and submissive partner in our sexual evolution.
She had soft, straight, jet-black, shoulder-length hair. Dark, blazing eyes. Full, rich lips surrounding a mega-watt smile of brilliant ivory teeth. When we got to the room and she removed her coat, it revealed a bountiful (yes, sensational would also be an apt word) chest encased in a black ribbed sweater. She was all in black, head-to-toe, tight designer jeans molded around her voluptuous hips and round, firm ass.
Yes, as they say, there is only one chance to make a good first impression. And if a barometer for being impressed is a raging hard-on, well, I was duly inspired and incurably smitten.
But that was then, a preamble to serve as an introduction. This tale brings me to that one night in February when Pam insisted that a rather curious form of foreplay had to include watching Drew Lachey and Cheryl Burke being crowned the initial season's champions. (No, I didn't remember. I had to look it up. Hey, I was distracted.) But now it was time to celebrate their victory in our own private way.
She rose from the couch and flashed me a coy, Mona Lisa smile. "Be right back", she purred huskily. "Can I get you anything?"
I shifted my weight and watched her eyes gravitate to the prominent bulge in my pants. "Oh, I think you know what you can get me." Not the wittiest reply, perhaps, but a rock-hard dick often lacks for humor.
She turned and walked towards her bedroom, hips swaying a little bit more than needed, just for emphasis that the games were about to begin. "I'm guessing we both want the same thing."
It was a good guess.
She returned a few agonizingly long minutes later, but it was well worth the wait.
She walked slowly towards me, positioning her splendid torso perhaps eighteen inches from my face as I sat upright on the couch's edge, in rapt attention mode. She was adorned in what she later told me was a "sheer lace and satin open cup underwire shelf bra and a scalloped embroidery lace crotchless thong."
Couldn't have said it better myself. Black, of course, with bright pink trimmings and strings.
I gushed out the first thought that went through my head. "Amazing, Ms. D."
She did a slight bow in gratitude, imitating the performers on her favorite show, pressing her perfectly-shaped zeppelin-like tits together as she bent over. Her breasts were more spherical than oval. Thick, like massive olive-hued frozen water balloons.
"Do you mind if I dance for my star?", she asked coquettishly. Her eyes flashed with a combination of mischief and lust.
I had learned that Ms. D. was very much the exhibitionist, sending me frequent email photos of her in various erotic poses and lingerie, many open-legged, much to my constant delight. A steady arsenal of masturbation artillery, except tonight's bi-monthly show was live and in-person.
Not waiting for my obvious answer, she rocked her hips gently to and fro, as though she was balancing on a surfboard on a gentle wave. She described it later as a 'kizomba' solo dance, a type of Latin merengue dance.
I could relate to the irony as I concentrated on her gorgeous kizombas as she let her hands wander over her body, cavalierly flicking the front snap of her with bra with her thumb and index finger, peeled it off, and tossed it onto the couch next to me.
As she gyrated in front of me, she cupped her left breast in both hands and lifted her deep chocolate areola to her lips. Her tongue snaked out to lick her erect tan nipple for several seconds and she then repeated the actions with her right breast.
