Due to length of story, this will be posted in installments
Part 1
Andrea unlocked the apartment door and dropped her briefcase and purse in the chair by the door. She sighed and closed the door behind her. Without slowing, she walked straight through the 3-bedroom apartment she shared with a new roommate who luckily wasn’t home yet and headed straight for her own bedroom. The new roomy worked a shift that caused their paths to rarely cross.
She stepped into the walk-in closet and slipped off the spike-heeled sling backs she’d worn to the office. Allowing herself only a moment to flex her calves and revel in the feeling of being flat-footed again, she walked over to the bed. Sitting down she began to remove the nude sheer thigh-highs she wore, taking her time, enjoying the feeling of her own hands running down the length of her legs, lightly massaging her thighs, her calves, her ankles. She had great legs, dancer’s legs, supple, firm, tanned, and thanks to great genes, very long. After she removed both of them, tossing them in the general direction of the dirty clothes hamper, she stood on tiptoe, luxuriating in the feeling of the carpet on and in between her bare toes.
Andrea sighed. She knew if she relaxed now, took even a moment to just sit, she’d never get any dancing done. So she walked back in the closet, removed the black pinstriped fitted jacket she wore, and then the matching skirt, tossing them in the dry-clean only pile. She pulled the jeweled sterling hairpin out of her hair and her dark brown loose curls tumbled down her back to nearly her waist. She then unbuttoned the white silk blouse she wore, quickly and deftly. Underneath, prickling at the sudden exposure, small pert breasts were embraced by layers of white lace, her areolas barely visible. She removed the bra, and the matching equally lacy white panties, tossing them in the hamper too. Andrea was tall, 5’8”, and possessed a dancer’s body to go along with her legs. Lean, muscled torso, long arms, naked, she moved with the grace of something recently trapped from the wilds of the Serengeti. She grabbed a sport top from the closet and put it on. She found the matching shorts and put them on. Stopping at the bathroom on her way out, she pulled the mass of curls onto her head.
It was her custom to dance everyday after work now. After leaving her dance instructor job for a cubicle job, she felt so lethargic. She’d solved the problem by dancing every afternoon before relaxing for the evening. And because the apartments to either side of hers was vacant, and the new roommate was never home when she was, she could turn the music up and really give herself over to it.
She walked into the living room and turned on the stereo, cueing up a CD a belly-dancer friend had made for her. The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds and sheers, rendering electric lights unnecessary. Andrea walked into the middle of the living room and began her stretches. Starting with her neck, and working her way down to her tight, aching feet, she loosened and then tightened, and then loosened again. As the current track ended with a quiet trilling of tambourine, Andrea straightened up from holding her ankles. Bending at the waist, she felt each muscle all the way up to her shapely ass loosen. She enjoyed this nearly as much as the dancing itself. She could feel the day’s stress leave her.
In the silence between tracks, Andrea stood and waited. As the next track began, she placed her feet in the appropriate positions and then a few notes later, began to move. Beginning slowly, her body mirrored the music in its graceful, careful movements. The dance seemed to move up her body, first her feet, then her legs, her hips, her torso, her shoulders, her arms and even her hands. The tempo increased steadily and Andrea’s body matched it beat for beat. Slowly, her body abandoned the choreographed steps and began to move more frenzied. Though she was classically trained in ballet, ballroom and a host of other styles, she had grown up learning and loving both Latin and Middle Eastern dance and when alone she gave herself over to them both, creating movements that were nearly primal, yet harmonious. Sweat began to bead on her forehead and tiny curls began to stick to the nape of her neck. Her torso, tight and moving like a rippling stream beneath her skin, gleamed golden in the late afternoon sun. Drops of sweat sparkled on her legs as she danced. The song ended and she danced through four more, only stopping once for breath.
At the end of the track, she spun to a stop, arms in the air, hands poised. Andrea could feel her legs trembling beneath her and knew it was time to stop. She stood for a few moments, consciously slowing her breathing. She walked over to the bar, pulled out a stool and sat down facing into the living room. The music had slowed down a bit anyway, and in a few moments she would go through her cool down exercises and then shower. She reached up to smooth her hair out of her face and at the same moment felt a soft hand rest on her the curve of her waist.
“That was amazing, I had no idea I lived with such a talented dancer,” was the whispered purr that fell upon Andrea’s ear a second before she flew off the stool in surprise.
