Going out on the weekends can be so tiresome, especially on Fridays. Fridays were usually really long days for me. I would wake up for my job at the student union building. Then, after a full day of classes, I would hit the gym for my last workout of the week. By the time I got done with all of that, I usually just wanted to come home and spend the night with myself. To just shower and relax. And most of the time, that's just what I did. But, every once in a while, I would tell the guys that I would go out with them to Lights, a dance club just south of campus. Strange name for a club, since it was always dark inside. But there were plenty of strobe lights and disco balls, so I guess there is that. But I digress. I guess going to Lights was Their way of winding down after a long week. This story starts on one of those Fridays.
As you might expect, I spent most of the day lamenting the looming trip to Lights. At least, until I got there. I have a love-hate relationship going with Lights. With dance clubs in general, really. But every time I actually got inside of one, I couldn't help but to enjoy myself, even if it was only for a little while. I don't like to listen to club music on my own; it rarely has any real substance. But as far as providing a good beat to dance to, it was second to none. And I loved dancing. So was going out tiresome? Of course it was. But I found a way to enjoy it all the same.
When we finally took to the dance floor, I was just doing my best to have a good time. I knew that, despite my love of dancing, I would eventually grow tired of the club and want to leave. I guess I was just trying to squeeze as much fun out of that dance floor as quickly as possible. Trying to maximize my time. And I think I did a pretty good job. I was just dancing with any girl that looked like she was interested. Laughing, pulling outrageous moves, belting out the lyrics to the songs that I happened to know. I was having a blast.
One girl in particular seemed to take notice. Either that, or I happened to really notice her taking notice of me. She was a pretty attractive girl, at least, as far as I could tell through the darkness of the club and the haze of the drinks I'd had. She was tall, especially for a girl (she was only a few inches shorter than me, and I have above average height for a guy). Her silhouette portrayed a slender build, complete with understated curves, and big, frizzy blonde curls. But her silhouette was good enough. Like I said, I was just looking to have some fun. I didn't mind not having access to the finer details of her appearance.
For most of the night, she danced within just a few feet of me and my friends. I kept looking at her, making eye contact and smiling. I think I even winked at her a couple of times. That isn't usually my style, but the alcohol was flowing. They don't call it liquid confidence for nothing. Anyway, she seemed to really be feeding off of my positive energy. Laughing whenever I did, returning my winks. But I guess she eventually got tired of being coy. She danced her way right over to me. And now, we weren't just sharing a dance floor. We were sharing each other's personal space.
The atmosphere between quickly transformed from playful to sensual. Without prompting, she had turned around and planted her ass firmly into my lap, grinding it against me. Then, she slipped a hand between us, teasing my cock through my jeans. I took this as a signal to really let things escalate. I explored her body with my hands. Her waist was narrow, her stomach was firm. I brushed her curls aside and buried my face in her neck, taking in her aroma. I detected traces of her perfume -- something floral, maybe lavender -- as well as her more potent, feminine musk. The smell that her body would likely give off only after a long night of dancing. The combination drove me crazy. I wanted her. I wanted her badly. I probably would have taken her right there on the dance floor if she would've let me. Who knows, maybe she would have let me. I never bothered to ask.
Dancing is just about the sexiest thing two people can do with each other short of actually having sex. It is the ultimate aphrodisiac. Just you and one other person, writhing against each other to the beat of music that is engineered to make you squirm in your seat until you just can't help but to move. Put two people in such intimate contact for that long, and in an environment like Lights, and soon, they will begin to explore each other's bodies. Urged on by the relentless thump of the bass, and protected by the anonymity an overcrowded dance floor...well, people seem to lose all inhibitions in such circumstances.
But, alas, our dancing came to an end, as all good things must. She went off with her friends and left the club, going God knows where. Without my mysterious partner, the club suddenly lost all appeal. I had made one physical connection that night, and that was enough for me. It was time to go. I told my friends that I was tired, and I took my leave.
I got home and plopped down on my bed. It had been a long, long day, and I was exhausted. For hours, however, sleep evaded me. Convinced that rest was going to be hard to come by, I got out of bed, turned on some light music and laid in my bed, and reflected on the night that I'd just had. It wasn't very often that I danced with someone the way that I danced with that girl. To be so close, so intimate with someone was a rarity for me.
I remembered her silhouette. The way her body felt pressed against mine. The firmness and femininity of her minimal curves. But most of all, I remembered her scent. Every time I thought about it, my sexual fire blazed anew. They say that smell is the strongest sense tied to memory. And, after that night, I had a new appreciation for that fact.
As my music played, adding ambiance to my fantasizing, I felt my hand drift into my pants. I'd hardly noticed that my cock was fully erect. But it made sense. All of the tension of the night had been built up, but never released. I undid my jeans and pulled out my cock. It was throbbing in rhythm with my heart beat, performing a little dance of its own. I wrapped my hand around it and started to stroke it slowly.
I closed my eyes as I thought about her sexy specter. Dancing for me privately, stripping her clothes of piece by piece. I fantasized about her mounting me, rubbing her pussy lips up and down the length of my cock. An agonizing tease, but a welcome one. It meant that sex was on the horizon. My stroking grew more furious.
Then, at long last, she sat on my cock and slowly pushed herself down onto it, inch by inch, until the whole thing disappeared. No small feat, to be sure; I'm not ashamed to say that, at just under nine inches, my cock is pretty impressive. But this was my fantasy. She would have taken twenty inches if I wanted her to. And she would have liked it.
My cock would have to suffice for now, though. It made it more real for me. She rode me furiously. Her pussy was tight and silky smooth. Then, she sat up straight and bounced up and down, her blonde hair blocking out the light from my ceiling lamp. Even now, in one of my mind's best dreams, I could only make out her slim silhouette. But, even now, the finer details weren't important.
Before long, I felt my balls start to contract. I teased the head of my cock, now slick with precum, until a thick rope of cum shot out, followed by a few more. My breaths were as sharp as my body's contractions. My entire body twitched every time I touched the head. With a hefty load now covering my stomach, I finally felt my eyelids being pulled shut by the sleep that my body needed. Powerful orgasms had always been soporific for me; they left me completely satisfied, but completely drained. I was able to stave off sleep long enough to clean myself up. And then, it was off to dreamland.
--
The following Thursday, as I did every Thursday. I had the day completely off. Thursdays were my personal retreats. I had no class or work to worry about, so I spent Thursdays doing whatever I wanted. Working out, reading, writing, catching up on TV shows. Anything that allowed me to spend time with my own thoughts. Today, my chosen activity was to venture out to the local bookstore. There are few things in the world I enjoy more than reading, and I always relished the opportunity to get out and spend a good hour or two searching for new books to read.
That day, my search brought me to the fantasy section, looking for a new series to start up. I'd found a book that looked promising and was reading the first chapter silently to myself. While I was reading, I felt someone brush by me quickly. I couldn't imagine why someone would be moving with such purpose through a bookstore, but I didn't think much of it. That is, until the person's lingering scent drifted into my nose -- it was the same floral scent that I'd encountered at the club not even a week prior. The very same lavender.
My mind was flooded with images of my delicate dance partner. The moments that we shared on the dance floor. The extensive fantasizing that I did about her that night. Could it really be her? Suddenly, in a place that had always given me peace, I found it very difficult to relax. I glanced up slowly, and the image that greeted me arrested all doubt. I saw the big blonde curls. The tall, lithe frame. The same silhouette. And with the same perfume? It had to be her.
