On the Car Ride Home

The two of us were now alone.

We had just turned off the interstate and dropped two friends at the park-and-ride. Then we exited and began the long drive on the back roads to our respective homes.

We were swing dancers returning from a night out at our local dance venue. We had danced with multiple partners, as was the custom in social dancing, but three of those times we were in each other's arms.

We were good together. We were connected. We moved synchronously to the songs from multiple eras to the various big bands and groups that performed them.

We liked each other. A lot.

I felt her hand come to rest on my right thigh, and not tentatively either. She was telling me something new tonight. I was both anxious and excited to hear more.

The road was generally curvy, but this particular stretch was not, so I took my right hand off the steering wheel and placed it on her left thigh covered by her plaited skirt.

We drove on at 35mph, and reminisced about the evening, whom we had especially liked dancing with, and those whom we didn't. We talked about the latest news from our children, the recent interactions with our spouses, and the progress on our creative endeavors, all the while running our hands over each other's thigh covered by clothing.

Unexpectedly, she leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I'm not wearing any panties."

Then doubly unexpectedly, she slid her hand into my crotch and began rubbing my penis from ball sack to tip. I swallowed hard. The message seemed pretty obvious: "I want to get you erect," and "I'm going to make it easy for you to fuck me."

But was I ready--were we ready--for this?

We had traveled enough times to and from our swing dance events to get to know each other: our marital situations, what we were missing at home, and what might be acceptable to each of us in a relationship going forward. And with time that combination of curiosity and risk assessment--and of course, a growing love--kept us searching for the appropriate time and place. Given our current circumstances, though, that possibility seemed far enough off to me that I didn't even fantasize about such things.

What had gotten into her tonight, I wondered. I couldn't surmise a reason, so I reacted. I mimicked her action by moving my hand into her groin, which, concealed by folds of skirt fabric, made it awkward to find the folds of her vulva and the clit in between.

Trying to keep one hand on the steering wheel, both eyes on the road, and the other hand attempting to find her cloaked pussy was a multitasking set of actions I was not particularly good at. Mercifully she spread her legs a bit more and positioned my hand into a more optimal place for achieving her arousal. I began pressing my fingers into her.

Her more vigorous rubbing of my growing cock seemed to signal I was succeeding sensually with her. Or at least I imagined I was.

We lived in a rural part of the state but not one where there were readily-available places which were completely isolated. My brain scanned its memory map for nearby locations, for dead-end roads far enough away from a house that we could be unobserved and undisturbed by some random passerby.

Larch Road would be perfect tonight, I thought to myself, and I headed us there.

The evening's surprises weren't over yet, however. She undid her seatbelt, reached down to the hem and pulled her skirt up and over her knees, thighs, and out from under her raised buttocks. She then tucked it behind her lower back. Thankfully, to stifle the incessant beeping, she replaced her seatbelt, then sat nakedly from the pubic bone on down, on my leather seats.

It's funny, but I'm obsessed about keeping my new car clean. I'm very particular with who eats or drinks in the front seat. I never let the dog in with muddy paws. But for some reason the thought of vaginal liqueurs puddling out of my dance partner's pussy onto the passenger seat didn't stop me from accepting her offer.

My hand returned to her thigh, though, to make it look like I was not too eager. But she grabbed it and placed it right smack dab at the source of her heat.

I cupped what I thought was going to be her furry mound and its silky softness, but tonight after dancing and my preliminary massaging, I discovered her hairs to be sodden, sticky, and so unbelievably sexy. Her wetness was so arousing, in fact, that I unconsciously accelerated. When I glanced down at the speedometer, I was going over fifty-five. Take a fucking breath, I told myself.

So, with the slightest pressure of my fingers, I touched her firm little nub, hoping to awaken the nerve endings, and the subtle contractions in the muscles of her vagina. As my fingers moved downward I felt the sweat-matted curls covering her pliable labia.

I parted her plump nether lips and put the length of my long finger in between them. Squeezing my outside fingers together, gently pinching her clit, made her gasp with what I imagined was making her vaginal muscles tense with anticipation.

She was not idle. She made me harder and harder with her hand now resuming its massage through my pants.

We had made two turns in the meantime, driven another five miles in what seemed like no time, and were heading up a two-mile dead-end road. We stopped at the top, along a ridge line facing east. It was a clear autumn night and the Milky Way was offering itself for our viewing pleasure. But that's not the pleasure we were the least bit interested in right now.

My impulse was to climb into the back seat.

"We're not gonna try to do this in the car," she said.

Spying a dog blanket on the floor of the backseat, she reached over, grabbed it, and said, "Let's spread this out on the ground behind our car."

It's funny with swing dancing. There is a leader and a follower, and it's the leader's job to tell the follower what to do. So having my follower, who I've been ordering around all night, telling me what to do was kind of novel. It was also refreshing. Freeing. I didn't have to guess at what she might like, what she might not. She could tell me precisely what she wanted, and I could comply. And I'm sure with me having a hard dick and, she, a willing pussy, her lead would not be hard to follow.

"Lower your pants and your briefs and lay on your back. I wanna ride you tonight for all you're worth."

What could have been more clear than the night sky full of stars?

Despite being mid sixties, she was well lubricated. And I was harder than I'd been in years with my wife. Even in the pitch blackness, we had no trouble coupling. She raised up her skirt, and kneeling astride me, she lowered herself so that she could just touch my quivering cock with the matted hairs of her vulva. And she hovered there.

Our eyes were just getting adjusted to the dimness, and I thought I could see a twinkle in her eyes, or was it a mischievousness in her glare? Was she just delaying her gratification, or was she fucking teasing me...or...?

"You know what we are about to do will change things for us," she stated matter-of-factly.

Who the hell thinks about things like this? And now, I thought. But I answered in the affirmative.

"Is that what you really want?" she implored, descending a millimeter more, my erection feeling the warmth of her vaginal juices dripping all over its cockhead.

What the fuck. What the fuck. My mind raced. Of course I want that. And I arched upward to impale her, as I uttered, "Yes!"

But she was too quick for me and withdrew her wanting womanhood. She smiled coyly.

"I really love you. And I think you really love me too. But I want to make sure. We're crossing a big line here."

And holding her sopping invitation so close that I thought I couldn't stand it any longer, she declared, "With this act we will become love dancers. You and I. And I don't want any other love dancers coming between us. Do you agree with that?"

The Meatloaf song, "Waiting for the End of Time" played loudly in my head. But unlike that singer, I didn't want to think on it. I didn't want to give her my answer in the morning. I wanted her to know right now. I was ready even before she had her beautiful barrel over me.

"Yes!" I shouted. "Yes, Yes, Yes!" to emphasize my resolve.

And then she dropped down and engulfed me, withdrew, and did it again and again, banging her bigger pelvis onto my somewhat smaller one.

"I've wanted this for awhile now. To ride you. To fuck you. And now that I know that you have wanted it too turns the animal loose in me."

All I could manage was to say "I love you, I love you," over and over again, with her every plunge.

Sometimes she would only go halfway down on my stiffness. Perhaps to manipulate it against her magic spot. Sometimes I would arch up to meet her, which elicited an excited yelp, maybe again making the angle better for hitting that same spot. But with every plunge it was clear, she was in total control, using me for her pleasure.

She was starting to make those indecipherable animal sounds of rapture in a delirious state. I had never lasted this long, but something tonight was keeping me from ejaculating. That feeling of her tightness around me, which would disappear for a second, making me crave her surroundings again, would come back at last. I tried to rise up to meet her every descent. I kept my knees bent behind her as a backstop so she wouldn't come completely and agonizingly off. It was like we were dancing again.

She grabbed my chest through my shirt and began to squeeze my nipples, forcefully, painfully, and so immensely pleasurably. Believing she wanted something like this too, I grabbed her low-hanging fruit, through her top and bra and began to give her back the same form of painful pressure. She responded by fucking me harder and harder.

After several minutes, she began panting, "Come with me, come with me."

It was the lead that I needed. I followed, screaming probably louder than I should have in this remote but not completely deserted area. I couldn't help it. It was one of the best orgasms of my life.

She collapsed on top of me and echoed the same sentiments. Not having had sex for over ten years, she was absolutely deprived, but she whispered that even her two husbands and a handful of boyfriends had never made her feel so loved.

She arose, rested her outstretched forearms atop my chest. I looked up, into her eyes and beyond at the great dome of stars on this perfect October night, made even more perfect by what had just been consummated: our first love dance. And over the ridge top, I thought I saw the glow of the moon rise. I started to draw her attention to it when she shrieked, "Headlights! Get your fucking pants up."

She had only to pull her skirt down around her waist and straighten her blouse. I had to get on my knees, pull up my briefs and zip up my pants, all in the space of microseconds. Then we sat back down, looked into the east, and watched the waning moon complete its rise.

A Dodge Ram pulled up next to our car, and the driver, cigarette hanging from his lower lip, got out with a Winchester 30-30 in his hands. "This here is private property," he began.

Privates property, I thought, but didn't say a word.

She spoke first, "Oh. We're sorry. We were just watching the moonrise. It's a perfect spot for it, you know."

He gazed at us sitting on the blanket next to our car, smoke trails twisting around his face. Obviously he couldn't smell the sex that was perfuming the air, to our relief. He looked over the ridge at what we were gazing at.

"Ha,ha," he grunted. "Well, you gotta do it somewhere else."

We already knew that in the future, we would want to do it again. We hadn't gotten to where that would be yet, but obviously, now, it wouldn't be here.

"OK, we're sorry. We'll be on our way," I apologized, got up, extended a hand to my love dancer, helping her up.

We grabbed the dog blanket, tossed it on the floor of the back seat, got back in, and I started the motor. To the quiet hum of my EV, we backed up, turned around, and departed.

Once safely enough away, however, we began laughing. Laughing with the relief of having narrowly escaped discovery. Laughing with the remaining joy of an interrupted afterglow. Laughing with no immediate regrets for the intoxicated promises we had just made to each other.

Then we were quiet.

And as we drove the 3 miles or so to her home, we sat in the silence. The silence of the realization that we came close to being caught. The silence of reflection of our deepening connection. But more importantly, for dancers who, by nature, change partners with every song, the silence in the meaning of our promised commitment to be love dancers with each other and no one else. And that once the night's euphoria had faded, the uncertainty of just how things might feel in the morning.

Somehow I trusted that our feelings would remain the same. But I realized that that would have to be tested with time. Right now, though, I was content to ride the high all the way home. And that's what we did, holding hands in the blissful silence.