The Dance They New

She knew as soon as she laid eyes on him. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was; his thick-as-a-carpet jet black hair, his square jaw, his dark green eyes that melancholically drooped at the outer corners, the shiny purplish shadows below them, his full well-defined lips, the way his sweater stretched taut across his chest or just the way he looked at her from across the bar? But there was something.

It wasn't a crowded bar. It was one of those cozy, friendly, easy-to-pull-up-a-stool places. Of course the fact that she was vaguely acquainted with his friend helped matters somewhat. When he asked her to change stools and sit between him and his friend, she knew things were starting to roll. What they said didn't really matter, but he was one of those men that you look at and wonder what his kisses are like “well, frankly, what he is like in bed. Ridiculously enough, what got them going was that he said he was a Scorpio. "I am too," she told him and they both smiled knowingly as if they shared a secret.

Some people have it and some people don't. And when you have it and you meet someone else who also has it, you know it from square one. She knew he had it. She also knew that he had just about next to nothing else in common with her. They went through the motions of small talk, but they both knew that they were just motions. He could care less that she was a journalist for a snobbish cultural magazine and she wasn't really interested in the fact that he traveled around the country in a van selling shower curtains, although deep down she expected someone who emanated such sexuality and machismo could have put his talents to better use.

Then they danced. She later tried to remember who had made the first move, but it just seemed that all of a sudden they were gyrating their hips to the same beat in perfect sync. She could tell what he was going to be like in bed by the way he danced. She knew that well. Rarely did she find a soul-mate in her dance. Most people didn't feel the rhythm enough; they could usually get the beat by shifting their weight from foot to foot, but the rhythm and melody escaped them. They didn't use enough of their body either. They forgot they had a head, shoulders, arms, hips; plus they were too concerned with the people around them to really get into what they were doing. But he wasn't like that. He knew just when to grab her by the small of her back and pull her into his hips and just when to let her twirl away. He knew just when to lock his legs between hers and grind his pelvis against hers and just when to release the pressure. He was a tease and so was she.

When she went out to the toilet, he waited a discreet interval and followed her. When she came out, he was waiting. From there on in it was easy. She felt she was being engulfed by his arms and chest. Their lips jigsawed perfectly together. They had the same softness. His knew just when to suck hers and when to let hers pull his into her mouth. He knew just the right second to dart his tongue towards her teeth and how to coax her tongue to do the same. There wasn't too much moistness, just enough to let their mouths glide over each other’s. Their tongues did the dance “the dance they knew was just an intimation of the one they had just shared and of another one they would enjoy later on.

They left the bar and all the way to his van they were groping at each other. When they climbed in, she let him slip his rough hand under her waist-length sweater, but that’s as far as she would let him go. But, damn it, he knew. He knew just how to fondle her, just how to make her groan. He knew how to first cup her breast from below and lift it up, not to go straight for the nipple. He knew how to slowly take both breasts into his hands and gracefully push them up and together in a circling motion creating a luscious cleavage. When he did go for her nipple, he knew how to gently roll it between his fingers, making it stiff and erect. No tugging, no twisting. When he bent his head down, she knew he would take her breasts into his mouth and it was just as she expected - utter delight. The way he licked the roundness with the flatness of his tongue and then made the nipple pointed and circled the areola leaving the faintest trail of moisture. Oh, he was good. She knew it and he knew it and he knew she knew it.

She was enough of a tease not to go all the way with him that night. But it wasn’t easy extracting herself from his stranglehold. The only thing that kept her from climbing on top him then and there was that she knew that the anticipation would grow to a frenzy if they waited. Fortunately, he didn’t protest too much about waiting. He also knew that waiting would heighten the excitement. They exchanged phone numbers and said they would call each other the following day.

She couldn’t remember who called first. It was as if they both called each other simultaneously, as if neither could wait to make a date. “When do you want to meet” was the question and it came immediately.

She took a long time deliberating over what to wear. She didn’t want to be too obvious, but she still wanted to be sexy -- classy and sexy. But she didn’t want the classiness to be too overpowering either. She finally decided on an above-the-knee-length black and white checked skirt and black opaque tights (to play up her legs, one of her best features), a black ribbed turtle neck sweater (close fitting, but not too tight), a red (the allusion to sex) wool jacket, and low-heeled black ankle boots (the intellectual touch). She didn’t wear too much make-up, dark smoldering eyes, no blush, but red matte lipstick (to pick out her well-defined, full lips). He was dressed to the same degree of casualty. Dark corduroys, and an olive green turtleneck (accentuating his eyes). A brown suede jacket completed the costume (how had he known that she had always loved running her hands over soft suede jackets?)

They met on a busy street corner. She thought she’d leave it to him to suggest a place to go. She was surprised when he made a gentlemanly attempt at inviting her for coffee first. Amused, she agreed. She knew that this was the lead-in and he knew it too. So they sat in some nameless coffee-shop and told each other a little about themselves in between the long pauses when they just looked each other up and down, from side to side and all around. They were both consciously working on letting the desire and anticipation build. She finally said, “Let’s go,” and they got up.

He took her to his apartment. He awkwardly mumbled that he had just moved and hadn’t settled in yet. They went straight to his bedroom. There was a double mattress on the floor and cardboard boxes all around. One bare light bulb hung from the ceiling and shed a glaring light over everything. They stood at the foot of the mattress, took a step towards each other, and touched their full and tingling lips together. From that point on it was just one long, penetrating kiss. They wanted to feel each other’s bodies pressed together. She wanted to feel lost in his arms, she wanted to feel the effort he exerted to bend his head slightly down to meet her lips. She wanted to feel the angle of her head tilted back to meet his lips. Their hot hands gradually started running over each other’s bodies. She could feel the muscles of his back contracting through the softness of his wool sweater; he could feel the fullness of her breasts and the small of her back through the texture of her ribbed sweater. They pressed their bodies harder and harder together. She could feel his cock swelling against the givingness of her belly. Their movements had a roundness to them, a continuous fluidity. They were arcs drawn in space, crossing, and falling back. And their motions were in perfect time with the inner erotic pulse they both felt compelled to listen to. They swayed to the beat moving their hips. He slipped his hand under her sweater when he knew she just had to feel the warmth of his palm and fingers against her skin. She pressed her hand against his hot bulge just when he would have screamed out in agony if another second went by without it there.

Their clothes came off gracefully, no fumbling, as if it was all choreographed, as if they had danced this dance many times before. In one sweep they were on the mattress, slowly and urgently. Their lips did not leave each other’s bodies for a second. There was an unspoken agreement that at all times at least one part of their bodies had to be touching.

The light glared down on their bodies. They wanted the light, harsh as it was. They had to see each other, take as much in with as many senses possible. When their underclothes came off, it was because they had explored the rest of the territory at length and it was now time to conquer the most private regions. She was glad that his cock was thick and long. It formed a gentle arc. It was dark and the smooth helmet-like head was almost purplish in color. She had to have it in her mouth. Her warm lips slipped over the tip of his cock as if they were meant to be there. She could hear with her ear pressed against the hardness of his abdomen a low groan rumbling within him. She wanted nothing more than to have his delightful cock fill the cavity of her mouth. She took him into her mouth slowly, gradually, millimeter by millimeter savoring the musky smell and taste. As she sucked, she could feel her pussy swelling, the blood rushing into the lips; she could actually sense them parting and the juice smearing the insides of her thighs. For now the only thing she wanted to do was to devote all her attention and prowess to this delightful cock bouncing before her face. She wrapped her fingers firmly around the base of his hardness, and licked up the length of him slowly, teasingly, luxuriantly, tasting, inhaling, watching his eyes taking in her every move, his fingers buried in her dark thick hair, not pushing, but feeling, following the movements of her head. How she loved this view! A hard, thick member, standing to attention just for her! She worshipped this length of engorged flesh and displayed all her appreciation in the most propitiating manner, rubbing the slick veiny muscle against her flushed cheeks, cradling it in the crook of her neck, squeezing and massaging it with her hands, occasionally rubbing it between her round breasts, grazing her hard, erect puckered nipples against the tip of its wet helmet-head. At times the urge to fill her mouth with his cock was so strong that she practically devoured him and then smiled internally at his deep groan. She moaned and sighed too, loving, savoring every second she could lavish her adoration on this wondrous temple. Her other hand wandered to the full swollen balls, dark and wrinkled but filling her warm caressing hand. Rolling them around in her palm as she licked and suck the veined underside made her hotter and stickier still and she was suddenly aware that she was on her knees, her hips gyrating frantically against the air. She wanted him to come. She wanted to see his semen spurting out. She wanted it on her face, in her hair and deep in her throat. As if on cue, his pelvic thrusts became harder, his breathing shallower, his grip on her hair tighter and she applied more suction to this lovely length and sucked as if her life depended on it while gently squeezing his swollen testicles. Up and down her dark head bobbed on this column of worship until she felt the tightening, heard the long drawn-out moan and felt the first spasms in her mouth. How sweet and thick he tasted she thought as she drank from the fountain. More it spurted and she held firmly with both hands while pulling it out and let the jets hit her cheeks and lips and chin. She continued to massage him till the throbbing subsided and then rolled over onto her back wiping the cum from her face with her fingers and then licking them clean. He lay there, on his back next to her, spent and half in shock at the ecstasy he had experienced. She was thankful that he didn’t feel that he had to give her pleasure at that moment, that he knew he could just lie back and fully enjoy the pleasure she was offering him. Her time would come. She knew he would provide it.

He provided that and many more pleasures that night. He knew what she wanted and when she wanted it. United, their bodies possessed a rhythm that was an amplification of the one they shared when they had first danced together. This was the ultimate dance. And they danced it superbly.

When the dance wound down to a close, they lay on the mattress in the glaring light in sweet exhaustion, their arms touching. But they did not look at each other. They were replaying the moments, the phrases in their minds. When the final notes faded away, they got up, showered and dressed. He drove her home in silence. A final full kiss before she stepped out of the van, but no parting words.

She was relieved they hadn’t tried to analyze the act, comment on it or glorify it. It was what it was and they both knew that.

They met again several times. If possible, their coming together was even more graceful, more synchronized, but for some reason, perhaps because society insists on verbal exchange in the communication of people, they talked. They talked about the way they fucked, how good it was, how in tune they were with each other, but the words were not enough. They limited it, somehow placing a boundary around it, making it ordinary. Perhaps if they had shared the same love of words, they could have found the right ones to describe what bound them, but they didn’t. The only thing they shared was their love of lovemaking.

Words were also the key to entering other sectors of each other’s lives that should have been left well alone: “What do you do? Who do you love”One day when she called to arrange to meet, an elderly woman answered the phone. “He’s in the hospital with a broken leg.” She went to see him. He was surprised: not pleasantly, but awkwardly. She had crossed the line into his other life, a life in which a girlfriend or a mother might walk into the hospital room and want to know who this woman was. They went through the motions of conversation, but after a short while he said, “You’d better go now.”

She knew that shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did. The dance was over; the rest of the world had cut in.