Author's Note:
This story contains casual, public, and anonymous sex with multiple partners, and interracial lesbian sex. Though parts are inspired by actual events, any similarity to any person, living or dead, is purely unintentional and coincidental, and everyone is over 18. I hope you enjoy it, and I always appreciate and welcome any constructive feedback you care to share.
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I don't know what angered me more: the betrayal or the hypocrisy. I suppose it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. My ex-boyfriend Leo was a total asshole either way.
But he and his asshole-ness are in the past now. Wiped clean. Flushed away. And his "last straw" shenanigans lead me to a fantastic evening of sexual awakening. Freed me. And opened a whole new world of libidinous pleasure. So, I suppose some good came from the bad—silver lining and all.
Leo and I had been together for almost a year. In hindsight, I recognize that I had fallen into the stereotypical "woman-in-abusive-relationship-but-doesn't-leave" situation. However, he was not physically abusive; he was psychologically abusive and a master of emotional manipulation.
Maybe Leo cared for me at some point, but I became nothing more to him than a possession, someone he could dominate and control. Over time, I withdrew and became introverted and insecure. I sought Leo's approval—or at least to avoid his disapproval—at the expense of my own happiness. Eventually, he convinced me I was not attractive and would be alone, desperate, and sad if I weren't with him.
Viewing the world through the veil of his irrational jealousy, Leo continually accused me of betraying his trust, "eyeing," and flirting with other men. Lusting after them.
But I never did. On the contrary, I actively avoided interactions with other men that might be perceived as flirtatious. I never strayed, never even playfully bantered with another man while Leo and I were together. Instead, I stunted my femininity and sacrificed being "me" to appease him.
Which made his betrayal all the more devastating. I returned to our apartment over lunch to pick up some files I'd been working on at home. Saw the coat. Heard the giggling. The familiar squeak of our bed frame. The sight of their naked bodies rutting. Screams, ultimatums, and the permanent ending of our relationship ensued.
I was alone. Ashamed, despite being the innocent one. I was royally pissed off. Sad. Lonely. Emotionally adrift. But free. As if a great weight had been lifted that was pressing me down. Suddenly I saw with clarity how repressed I'd been. And how it didn't have to be that way. I needed to get out, be free, be wild. Be me.
I called an old friend, Brad, whom I'd known since high school. Long before I was with Leo, Brad and I had a close, genuine friendship. We had occasionally hooked up sexually years earlier in college, but our friendship never evolved into anything romantic. Instead, he remained a great friend—we could talk about anything, including our romances or casual hookups. Unfortunately, we lost touch shortly before I met Leo, and we had had zero contact for almost two years by the end of my relationship with Leo.
Brad answered my call, and we fell instantly into our natural rapport as if no time had passed. I told him what had happened with Leo. Brad supported me, listened to me, and empathized with me. Finally, he asked what I needed and how he could help. I said I wanted to get out, forget, lose myself, and have fun without pressure, threats, or judgment. He suggested a night out dancing. It was the perfect idea.
I changed my outfit five times as I got ready to go to the club. It had been so long since I'd felt able to choose my own clothes and express my femininity without fear of judgment and condemnation.
How sexy should I dress? I want to be attractive but not look like a slut—skirt and blouse, pants, or dress? I need to be able to move, and I'm not trying to pick up a man; just let loose and have fun with Brad.
Finally, I selected a short black dress, one languishing in the back of my closet, unworn for years.
My dress had an angled bottom hem that hit just above mid-thigh on one side and above my knee on the other. It had several buttons down the front—adjustable sensuality—and spaghetti straps over the shoulders that provided secure support but showed lots of skin. It would not cover bra straps, and I didn't have a strapless bra, so I went without one after confirming that I could still get away with it with minimal jiggling. Finally, I chose dress sandals with low heels so I would be stable dancing.
I assessed myself in the mirror and gave a twirl to see how the dress moved. It fanned out nicely without lifting too high while showing plenty of my toned legs. I unbuttoned the top two—then three—buttons, revealing a fair amount of cleavage between my more-than-a-handful but still firm breasts. I opted to loosely pin up my long auburn hair, giving a soft feminine look that looked more casual than a bun or French twist but still left my shoulders bare. The dress showed the curves of my waist, hips, and butt without being overtly clingy. I was ready. I felt sexy. Terrified. And somewhat horny.
Brad picked me up and gave me a hug. "Wow, you look sensational. Dumping losers suits you." He gave a disarming smile I remembered so fondly.
I swatted his arm playfully. "You're not supposed to say that . . . I think. Anyway, thanks, you look great. You haven't changed a bit."
Brad wore jeans and a button-down shirt that did nothing to hide his tight chest and broad shoulders. His dark hair was always just a bit unkempt—it gave him a carefree, unthreatening look that had played well with women, including me. His blue-grey eyes seemed to change with his moods, giving him a perpetual air of mystery.
The nightclub was busy, and the dance floor was crowded. As we entered, I felt the throb of the music, the bass reverberating through my body. The lights in the bar and table areas were dim. But the dance floor was shimmering with bright, colorful flashing lights, alternately highlighting and backlighting the jumping, turning, and undulating mass of bodies.
Brad and I got drinks and surveyed the scene. I loved the exciting atmosphere, the energy, and the sexuality that permeated the air. Dancing couples, groups, and singles gyrated to the music. Some kissed, and many were grinding against each other, crotch to butt. I felt a mix of freedom, nervousness, and arousal. I was in my element, but without Leo looming like a dark cloud of judgment over everything I did.
I spun away from the bar and faced Brad. I backed up towards the dance floor, crooking my finger in a "come here" gesture as I swayed my hips. Brad grinned and followed me onto the dance floor like a cobra entranced by a snake charmer.
Brad grabbed my hand and twirled me—I felt the cool air on my upper thighs as my dress lifted. We danced several driving songs, sweat building, often laughing at an awkward move and occasionally smiling at a well-executed one. The crowd constrained our dancing to a small area, so we couldn't get too rambunctious. We were frequently jostled or bumped by other equally enthusiastic patrons.
We started to head back toward the bar when a favorite slow song came on. I stopped, pulled Brad into a close embrace, and began slow dancing. I pressed my body against his and felt my soft breasts compress against his muscular chest. I sensed more than felt my nipples harden with the contact. Then I looked up, and our eyes met. Our kiss was natural and spontaneous. Sensual and delicious.
I gave a little smile and began gyrating my hips. Brushing across Brad's groin, I felt with some satisfaction a responsive bulge in his jeans. We kissed again, our tongues tentative and playful. I turned, pressed my ass against his crotch, and began grinding against his now significant bulge. A surge of warmth spread from my groin to my belly, and little electrical pulses rippled through my vulva. I felt dampness soaking my panties.
The music flowed through and around us, and the lights flashed dynamic designs across our bodies. It had been so long since I'd felt so feminine, attractive, and uninhibited. Brad wrapped his arms around me from behind, just under my boobs. I lifted my arms and linked my hands behind his head and writhed sensuously against his body. My movement caused the fabric of my dress to pull against his arms and brush across my erect nipples, sending waves of pleasure down to my groin.
The slow song ended. I turned to face Brad and saw my lust reflected in his eyes. We joined our lips as if on cue, tongues entwined, a primal connection. He slid his hands down and cupped my ass cheeks, pulling me against his now full-fledged hard-on. Finally, we broke, breathing heavily.
"If this is you just acting out, seeking revenge, or in a rebound, be careful." Brad looked at me with a blend of concern and arousal. "I'd hate to see you get hurt or do something you regret.
"I've been falsely and unfairly accused so long of lusting after other men; my sexuality has been devastated." I shook my head and breathed in, then exhaled deeply. "It feels like I might as well justify the accusations and do things for real. You've been so kind, so sexy, and safe." I met Brad's eyes. "Part revenge, yes, but more, actual attraction and a sense of freedom. I feel like myself for the first time in so long and feel safe letting go, knowing you're here, and you're you."
Brad nodded with understanding. "I can see that. You need to let go, have fun, and be crazy. Be the "you" I remember. Whatever you need, I'm here."
"Whatever I need?" I said with a lilting voice, teasing and mischievous.
Brad nodded and grinned. "I like the new, old you." He placed his finger on my lips, ran it down my chin, then onto my chest and between my cleavage, swirling in a small circle. I felt a tingle in my vagina and caught my breath. He abruptly dropped his hand and stood back.
"And I need to hit the head—I've had to pee for the last half hour," Brad said. "You keep dancing and have a good time. And I mean it; you're here for
you
, to have fun. Should I grab some more drinks on my way back?"
"Sounds good to me," I smiled and bit the corner of my lip.
Within seconds after Brad left, a handsome Latino man approached and, with a slight bow, invited me to join him in a dance. I took his hand, and we moved onto the dance floor, the fast beat of the music propelling us onward. He was an excellent dancer, and I felt elated and controlled as we spun, twisted, bopped, and brushed against each other. I flirted seductively and outrageously—we laughed and had fun. He responded playfully; I presumed he knew I was with Brad and that I wasn't seriously trying to seduce him. After the song, he thanked me and left. I felt warm, aroused, and exhilarated.
Before I even turned to leave the floor, another man stepped up and started dancing in front of me, his hands offered in invitation. His vivid blue eyes and warm smile were enticing. I placed my hands in his—they were strong and solid—and we danced. Several times he spun me into him, and I pressed against him—I liked pressing against him. Then he put his hands on my hips, and I circled my pelvis, breathing heavily. I could feel my pulse increasing and heat rising in my cheeks, not just from the exertion of dancing. My arousal, already high from Brad and the first dancing man, swelled, sharpened, and permeated throughout me.
"You're so beautiful, so sexy." His voice was husky, and his aroma reminded me of woods. "I love the way you move, the way you feel.
I pulled away a little, smiling. The crowd jostled us and kept us close. With the tip of my tongue on my upper lip, I rolled my shoulders sensuously as I danced, my eyes locked on his. The man's gaze darted between my eyes and my chest, and I felt a wave of pleasure knowing he found me attractive and sexy. My confidence was building, and I felt our mutual attraction. Our eyes met, and I lifted my chin, lips reaching toward his; a kiss seemed natural and inevitable, and I wanted it. The anticipation of tasting each other's lips spread warmth in my belly.
Suddenly, I jumped and squealed in surprise as someone grabbed my ass from behind. And not by accident; they squeezed my whole butt cheek under my dress like testing a melon, even slipping a finger under the elastic of my panties. I turned with some difficulty in the crowd to challenge the pervert but didn't see who it was. I looked around, slightly peeved.
