A Flame In The Night Ch 04

Spoiler alert: Although this is posted as a fetish story, be forewarned there aren't any actual sex scenes in this chapter. So please don't be disappointed about that.

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Fetish: ...sexual attraction to objects, body parts, or situations not conventionally viewed as being sexual in nature. (Wikipedia)

DANCE WITH ME--A TALE OF DANCING AND OTHER FETISHES

Here's what happened when I (male) went dancing, many years ago:

Perhaps, I'm timid about meeting new people. Indeed, I'm rather certain that finding random dates and snagging women with faux-shallow pickup lines is not my calling. Surely, I don't believe I've the greatest aptitude for that. But I like dancing. So instead, I mostly go alone since really it's not so bad that way, once you get use to it.

Besides, it's not as if I go dancing so as to razzle-dazzle everyone with my fancy footwork, because forasmuch as I can tell, I don't have any dancing talents. However, listening to the music, especially the loud music in the disco clubs, is still a lot of fun. I love the deep base as it pounds in my ears and pulsates on my body. Plus, I love it more when I become lost in ecstasy from the wild, cool rhythms. Techno and trance are two of my favorite styles of dance music; in addition, I also like alternative, drum and bass, and hip-hop too. And though the booming, ear-piercing music, often featuring breakneck metronomic drum beats, is admittedly great for trancing, the constant blasting does make it tough to start a conversation. "HELLO!" I could try yelling. "WHAT'S YOU'RE NAME?" I could scream, loud as I can. But then even if she happened to answer, with the noise volume so high, I wouldn't likely hear what she said anyway.

Therefore, when I go dancing, I definitely stick to the plan. I prepare myself to be alone, on my own, dancing partnerless. Then when I walk inside the club and scope out a place where people are congregating, I stand there plainly for a period doing nothing but watching the actions of others cutting it loose. It's an adjustment at first, when I'm there by myself, because I feel a little nervous upon arrival. I've no support team, or groupies, or others to identify with, especially because I'm probably too old for most of the younger adults anyway. And in the event I can't find a suitable place to stand, I bug off to the restroom, kill time, and then relocate to a new position.

Next, as I stand watching the dancers, I grant myself ample time to savor the music and feel the acoustics. I block out my anxiety and gradually begin to feel at peace with the vibe. I permit myself to ease into a musical hypnotic rapture and not worry about who I am or who I can dance with. So as I let the music sink deeply inside me, it bleeds into my character and I become renewed and energized. Confidently then, I head solo to the center of the floor and start moving and dancing to the wonderful flowing sounds.

And that's why I'm there: the energy of the music, the breathing hard while dancing, and the feeling of being whimsically intoxicated while dancing in a smooth melodic rhapsody. Consequently, then, dancing alone can be a satisfying experience. However, despite that I do my best to mind my own business, there're times when I simply can't do that.

Such was the case that night as I was dancin' along and having fun; I was also having a challenging time keeping my concentration. With the slippery mind that I have, it's easy to get sidetracked. Naturally I become preoccupied. And often I'll be absorbed with the frolicking, mischievous activities and scrumptious sights that are all around me. It'd be better to ignore all that tempting stuff and stay focus on dancing and grooving with my higher consciousness. If only I could be steadfast enough to do that. But it's not that simple. Not for me. Not with all the amusing and interesting things that surround me. Hence, distinctly, that was the situation as I recall that evening. Three such incidences kept throwing me off my mission to dance, chill, and relish in my own doings.

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So there I was that night, dancing away on the dance floor. Bodies everywhere, mostly in pairs, but a few dancers were also on the floor dancing stag exactly like me. Meanwhile, as I was busy jumping and getting wobbly, I did a poorly executed stomp step, which I hoped I counterfeited decently enough to pass for dancing. But otherwise during that time, in addition to raving, I was also scoping out my vicinity, of course, just in case I needed to spot any special treats that might be close to my area.

And sure enough, I couldn't help but notice as two frisky women adjacent to me were dancing together, so I watched them--as best as I could--this female couple. Both were blonde, but that seemed to be the end of their similarities. One of the women was more mature, slightly taller than the other, and had longer shoulder-length hair that appeared a tad bit unruly. Her partner, on the other hand, was a slim and younger gal who boasted a short and cute bob cut.

In my head for certain, it was a mismatch of a couple, or so I thought! For while I watched them body-dancing, the trim, younger, shorter lady was seductively lavishing herself onto her clearly older partner. And it was one or the other, I couldn't figure out who--but whoever it was or whatever it was--it defied my expectations of what I thought I wouldn't see. For it seemed implausible, to me, that this sassy young pet would allow herself to be so surely devoted with her cause, because despite of my doubts, she was zealously draping herself senselessly all over her dancing playmate, who just happened to appear so very different--and also, by chance as it turns out, was quite a large, full-bodied woman.

And to be respectful, the bigger lady had a sweet, kind face, but she wore a fairly loose fitting dress that wasn't particularly fashionable for dance wear. Conversely, her admirer, who was the younger of the two, had a lively aura, and she was obviously more fashionably bold as she wore a brown, trendy military-style hat; a long, double-wrap pearl bead necklace; a dark denim skirt; and a pair of outrageous rainbow-striped knee-high socks. Indeed, she liked to be liberal and show herself off like the young and sensuous-looking lass that she was!

Queerly, all around and lovey-dovey, the spry tenderfoot of a woman danced with her older, mellow 'lover' with such vigorous enthusiasm. The relatively undersized girlfriend would laxly encircle and bustle all around her heavy-set companion, yet frequently she'd pause to nestle up tightly against her, as well. And although the older, larger honey didn't move all that much, she kept pace floating side-to-side while observing and appreciating her smaller associate, as her female suitor was actively adoring her very soft, voluptuous shape. Meanwhile, then, while dancing, the younger miss occasionally would lower to a squat, shake her butt, and appear to go down, all the way down, on her cheerfully accepting dancing mate. However, when dancing upright, the hot, thin babe seemed to get a charge out of garnishing the much bigger dame with her smaller physique, and I say this since she often rubbed herself wantonly and affectionately all over the hearty-sized buns of her conservative, well-rounded queen. So then, while I conveniently watched them doing their skit, I even got a chance to nab them in the act--as they rubbed and squeezed their breasts to one another. And boy, you know how I liked it!

Therefore, no matter the size or age disparity, they both seemed to like each other. And despite my preconception of what a good pairing should look like, I discovered I liked what I saw and surprisingly welcomed it too. In fact, I dug it so much, I found myself enamored with seeing this odd couple mixing it together. Women on women! Oh, what a beguiling, fanciful sight! I don't know why I like it, but when I see them, it's amazingly delightful. Seeing women with each other--dancing, or kissing, even holding hands, or perhaps having sex--is so offensively improper. Without a doubt, it turns me on like a switch when I see them that way. So then, it makes me wonder if women are that much different from men. That is, do women also like watching such similar things? How about a man with a man, or a woman with a woman... Does a female find pleasure in seeing combinations like that?

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Then, not much later in the evening, I saw another delicious disturbance. Dancing beside me was a very attractive lady--or so I thought! And if you'll excuse me and give me a moment, I'll try to explain more fully what I mean about that. But for now, as it was, I was having a splendid time devouring the music when I caught sight of her: this tantalizing woman who was neighboring by me. She was enjoying the melody, like I was, yet it was as though she was in her own private world. Except then she began to face me while dancing, and I, by all means, promptly followed suit, mimicking her neighborly invitation.

Then on cue, cautiously I adjusted my posture to align with hers, hoping I appeared to be cordial and friendly. However, I wasn't truly acting that noble-minded and caring, because secretly within, I was going nuts examining who she was and bursting with curiousness to snoop upon her parts.

So accordingly, I scanned my eyes across her landscape, determined to zoom in and clear up the broken image I'd been perceiving amongst the assortment of party lighting and special effects used in clubs. Between all the LED moonflower lights, the neon lasers, and the flashing strobes reflecting off mirrored balls, substandard visibility was rampant. So granted, the psychotic illuminations are ideal for gettin' crazy and shakin' some ass--it all works great, unless of course--there's something you want to see sharply and unobstructedly. And unquestionably, now there was someone here I wanted to view better, in Blu-ray high-definition clarity.

Hence, in this way I checked her over thoroughly from head to toe, and boob to boob, as I started to dance with my newly arranged temporary sidekick. And even with the poor, inadequate lighting, I just knew--she had to be a beauty! She'd milky white skin that looked soft, healthy, and fair, yet not too pale. And that contrasted pleasantly with her chestnut, medium-brown loosely streaming hair, which was also so silky and smooth. Then kapow! Oh, her body was heavenly: nice, fit, and firm. She sizzled like the afternoon on a hot, muggy summer's day. And I felt the hot wind blowing when she flung her fleshy, half-moon contours perfectly in sync to the musical rhymes.

Thus, I imagined she'd the structure that was carved from months and months of doing elliptical exercises and loads of heavy breathing in some sort of aerobic type classes. And her firm, fit frame came delivered in a stretchy and tight dark dress with a stingy length that was cut well above her knees. And even though it was sexy, it was also classy how she modeled superbly that form-fitting one-piece body dress, which clung snugly and flawless to her luscious, robustly-toned curves.

Somehow, I gathered she was Russian or possibly British, although who knows, I'm not really sure of her ancestry. But I fantasized she was foreign and European because she possessed a distinctive appearance suggesting she had an international flair. And for me, such a worldly spice is like whipped cream on a warm, homemade pumpkin pie, very tasty!

So in a way like that, I was fascinated by her apparent beauty for she was eye candy for sure. And yet, as sweet as I thought she might be, I couldn't legitimately verify with 100 percent certainty. No matter how I tried, what I couldn't properly account for was her face. Or to be more specific, I couldn't see enough of her face and eyes with as much detail as I'd wanted. Damn those glaring party lights!

But what I saw, I really liked. So I continued dancing informally with her, while striving not to lose my rhythm or my concentration. And for the most part, I made every effort to conceal my eventual goal, which was to pry deeper and get a better look at her valuable resources. But at the same time, I also wanted to be inconspicuous and camouflage my real intentions; after all, I didn't want to come on to her too eagerly, as if I were a genuine nerd or a dorky loser. What if she rejected me? Oh no, I'd be scarred for life. I just couldn't let that happen!

And yet, notwithstanding my nutty fear with approaching her too forwardly and being unreasonably concerned about carrying on like a lame sleaze, regardless of my noble convictions, I was completely resolved to see more; so I attempted to maneuver a little nearer to her--to see what I could. But as if she was deliberately conspiring to remain anonymous, she persisted in dancing in perpetual motion. So while I was gazing at her, she was off entertaining herself and gettin' jiggy with it, making it absurdly difficult for me to sneak a better peek.

Meanwhile, I kept admiring her from a safe distance; nonetheless, what I saw in the dimly lit dance floor had me obsessing over her and wishing to see more. And although I strained myself looking to improve my line of sight, trying to find a gratifying read of what I reckoned were marvelous exciting eyes and a picture-perfect face--for the life of me, I still couldn't say conclusively--if she was actually as awesomely beautiful or whether she was as perfect as I'd been thinking. That's because her eyes and much of her face were being obstructed! You see, the problem all along, to state directly, was that she was wearing very pretty eyeglasses, which limited my ability to see her clearly, like I'd wanted.

And as one might surmise, yes, even the glasses looked stunningly fabulous on her face. They were vibrant, nearly glowing, bright 'Ugly Betty' red colored, which aesthetically paired well with her hot, bold, cherry-red lipstick. And while from my viewpoint, the lenses were thin enough, but the frames, however, were oversized and so profoundly thick; they seemed to explicitly hide and cover the peripheral boundaries of her eyes and mask her potentially very gorgeous, angelic looking face. So as I tried to get closer to her in the murkiness of the dance floor, the only sure thing I could snag was a partial glimpse at who was precisely there. Therefore, I was left feeling hollow as I pleaded inwardly to know her better while I yearned to uncover more of this dreamy woman hidden behind the veil of her red-framed glasses.

Thus assuredly she'd tormented me immensely with her scantly displayed, riddling facial properties. And yet, despite how frustrated I'd become, struggling to unravel her facial mysteries, I was still lust-smitten with her and very aroused by the predicament she'd laid out on me. Oddly, it was her--and her colorful, big-as-a-barn spectacles--that had convinced me I wanted to have sex. And contrary to the usual triggering, it was my subconscious mind--and not my ignorant penis, that was controlling my urges on that particular affair. Because for me, beautiful eyeglasses on a lovely woman makes my intellect think I could be delighting in sex with a super-sexy, smart-brainy woman.

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Then, lastly that evening, I had more than I could stand. And though I'm hesitant to say it so plainly, in truth, it did make me very, very horny. So I suppose then, of that night of dancing, that perhaps this was my favorite surprise. And there again, I was on my own, tripping and raving on the floor and having a good time, when, ultimately, once again, I was disrupted by another succulent, sensual-looking fetish girl.

So, predictably, like a bad habit, I watched that lady nearby, much like I would've done so before; only this time, as I was noticing her from top to bottom, she was threatening to dance nearer than I anticipated. In fact, she converged on my harmony--and also into my spacing--such that I thought my presence there was largely oblivious to her. Yet for all that, in all honesty, I wasn't quite certain if she was truly dancing with me or merely toying around and having fun while simply dancing alone. Conceivably, she was playing hard to get, I suppose, but there she was dancing smack-dab in front of me! And increasingly, her troublesome behavior was making it painfully difficult to concentrate on my beat, my precious dance steps, especially considering she happened to be so perilously cute--and incidentally, as fantastic as it sounds--she also happened to be Asian!

Well, there it is, ah yes, my lust for cute Asians kicks into overdrive. And sure enough she was perky and hot with a very fresh looking build. In all likelihood she was of Japanese or Chinese descent, which by my assessment, at least superficially, correlated from seeing her strikingly nice Asian qualities. What's more, those spicy oriental attributes were agreeing admirably with my biased appetite for Asian delicacies. Because, insofar as I judged it, she'd the most incredible, breathtaking dark almond-shaped eyes. Plus, those electrify, alluring, slanted eye-openings were sparkling brightly with silvery glittering eyeshadow highlights. And then combined with her polished glossy gray-colored lips, which shimmered under the flashing disco lighting, her fantasy styling, with glistening mirrorlike make-up, reminded me of potential futuristic style trends from scenes in a fashion-forward, surrealistic 22nd-century movie.

Now in rare circumstance like this, when I'm overloaded with external stimulation, I usually survive through it by being stern and blocking out those noisy sensations. So, I went on here and there, shuffling my feet to the music, and I went about endeavoring to enjoy the night that remained. Unfortunately though, my eyes didn't want to obey or follow with my plan since, nevertheless, I steadily gazed at her; curiously, I lingered on, fully marveling her savory shaped outline. Then, like I'd found a new schoolmate, I hung out abreast of her, my new comrade and co-ed tutor. And I continued educating myself with this cutie who was auspiciously nigh me and virtually 'sitting' in my front row.

Indeed, my thirst for knowledge had brought to light what was all too obvious: As she nested herself ahead of me, while dancing away and staying so awfully tight in my grill, I couldn't escape from being ruthlessly mesmerized by the metallic gray leggings she wore. Moreover, if I were to make a guess, there weren't any panties inside her Lycra knitted pants as her petite little buns seemed to be roaming spryly in a free-range yarding. Ah yeah, those shinny, excellent, farmers' market-fresh bottoms were cupping her small meandering cookie-dough rolls. And that little bundle looked as juicy as skinless tomatoes and so hot they could've morally seared my eyes to her rear and roasted me like a Beijing duck when she shook her hips my way. Oishii! Hao-chi! Yummy-Yummy!

Maybe I should've dropped to my knees and ate her out of her nylon snacks or popped myself into her edible looking fabric, except I still had more on my plate yet to sample. For even more importantly, I'd be remiss if I didn't provide the details which would eventually lead to my downfall. It was that skimpy top she wore, which showcased her fine yellow-olive, radiant skin. And on her--that sleeveless, xx-small, Asian-style halter top was an absolute jaw dropper. It was turquoise colored, looked satin soft, and printed with dragon-phoenix motifs. Furthermore, the blouse was cropped at the waist, which revealed a generous heaping of her naked, fairy-tale flat belly, while at the same time the mandarin-collared halter-neck glorified her sleek shoulders and her lovely slim arms. I, myself, love nice body skin--and she was offering me plenty of what I like to see!

In summary, this cute oriental tart, waltzing over me, was a real exotic dish. Plus, to make things more uncomfortable, the foxy, flippant gal wandering in my shadow had the audacity to be yanking my weenie, because as she was dancing, she was also holding a little red candy sucker, just to taunt me that much further. And she held that spherical, sweet lollipop upwardly in her hand as if to stop traffic; she brandished it proudly and displayed it before me as she made her sugary, nimble movements. But then frequently she'd place it in her lips and let it roll suggestively inside her mouth, and I couldn't help myself as I became stupefied with her behavior. I lusted incessantly as I watched her seemingly enjoy popping that candy in and out, presumably to get more flavor.