Dance-versions of classic rock hits blasted through the speakers and Jennie rocked alongside the drunk, high crowd on the dancefloor, grinding up against a tall, robust man she'd never seen before, laughing at the jokes he screamed in her ear (and which she couldn't hear), wrapping her arms around his neck as she lowered her body, pressing her breasts, barely contained in her low-neckline dress, against his engorged crotch.
An adrenaline rush overcame her, as a second man grabbed her from the waist, his crotch tightly pressed on her ass; the threesome danced under the loud music, bodies grinding and shaking, unheard jokes and introductions exchanged, shots of questionable tequila drained.
Her already petite figure was dwarfed by her two large dancing partners; yet for Jennie that was simply another turn on, yet another reason her heart was racing in her chest and her faintly dizzy mind was eager to take the next step.
"I'M GOING TO GET A DRINK!" She screamed at the top of her lungs to the men, who both nodded in confusion; she watched them from the counter—whereon she leaned deeply, offering the bartender a clear view of her cleavage—exchanging a look of confusion, before they scattered and found new dancing partners.
Jennie's Long Island Iced Tea arrived very quickly, while a group of guys in the corner still struggled to grab the barman's attention; she watched them with a faint smile, as they raised their hands and despairingly gestured. She shrugged and had a long sip of her cocktail, turning her attention back to the dancefloor, letting her gaze aimlessly wander about the large, alcohol-reeking nightclub.
Her friends were somewhere on the dancefloor, lost amid the sea of bodies; so were her two former partners, now tag-teaming another woman. Someone approached her, a stranger in a leather jacket and worn-out jeans, and with merely a smile slipped his hand under her dress, giving her cheek a good, sturdy squeeze.
Jennie leaped, caught by surprise, but, simply smiled back at the long-haired stranger; they clinked glasses—he was drinking straight bourbon—and continued to smile to one another, as word-exchange was rendered nearly impossible by the blaring music.
He, too, left in search for other company; Jennie once more alone, leaning on the bar with her drink in hand. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deep; still glancing about at all the sweaty, dancing bodies, the occupied booths with groups trying to communicate, shouting their lungs out and ending up not exchanging a meaningful word.
It was one of those nights she truly cherished, the anonymous nights of wordless flirting and communicating through dancing and body movements. She peeked back, the guys in the corner were still struggling to place their order, as the bartender—overworked as he was—always favored the woman that leaned over the bar to order, often enough letting her cleavage show more than "intended".
She drew a deep breath and with a broad smile, she approached them; they stopped signaling at the bartender, suddenly all of them fixing their stares at her in disbelief. She leaned over the bar and in manner of seconds, the bartender was asking for her order; Jennie let the guys take over, thus finally allowing them to have their coveted second round of beer.
Then, without a word exchanged, she walked away, feeling their stares piercing her back.
When she finished her drink, she went to the restroom; it was a shared restroom, with the left side for women and the right side for men. As she walked in, she noticed the staggering man standing at the urinal and her gaze fell down to his cock; she gave him a wink and a smile, when he looked up at her, then stepped into the stall and locked the door.
