Bright Nights

I saw her at the store, walking towards me. At the time all I thought was that she was lovely; a bit taller than my average height, a bit heavier than me, but with firm breasts and generous hips. She had dark hair and eyes...probably some Spanish in her somewhere...but I paid little attention, simply passing on to the pasta section.

I had no experience in dating. Men, women...all a mystery to me. I'd dated before, but never enjoyed it. The men and women I truly liked all seemed so unapproachable, with their boyfriends and girlfriends all neatly in line. And I hadn't the courage to just go up to someone and tell them what I felt: that they were beautiful, amazing, and I wanted to touch them softly, there and there... Not that the people I wanted were the truly stunning type; after a certain point, beauty seems to make a person less real, less interesting. I preferred people I could really believe in, people with bodies that were perfect only in that they were so thoroughly themselves.

My co-workers and I had planned to go to a club that night; I was an infrequent member of the group and dressed carefully for the night out. A black zip-up top with no sleeves; a pair of black stretchy pants and a set of clunky black boots with zippers on the front. Makeup was carefully applied; one eye came out better than the other, as always. I was delighted with the result. The top was tight enough that I didn't really need a bra; and the zipper made me feel naughty. When I met the others in front of the club they definitely approved; it was gratifying to see the amazed looks of the people who never saw me in anything but my carefully concealing work cloths.

In the club, the lights were dim and randomly flashy and the music was loud enough to dance to by feel alone. There were dollar rail drinks for a couple hours; I got a lemon drop, smiled, looked around...and saw her.

I almost didn't recognize her. She was wearing something black and tight, and there wasn't much of it once it got past her hips. She was dancing to the music as though it were a lover, as though she were breathing it in and exhaling pure lust. I couldn't take my eyes off her. Neither could anyone else, it seemed; she was one of the rare people that got a spot on the dance floor all by herself. A couple of men tried to dance with her, but she didn't notice; eyes closed, swaying and spinning and smiling.

I had another drink, and another, and got my courage up enough to get on the floor myself. I'm no great shakes at dancing; only when I'm very drunk do I imagine any great talent waiting to be born in darkness and sound. And this was proven again, when I bumped - quite firmly - into something warm, soft, and smelling like musky sweat. She smiled; I stammered, blushed, and tried to evaporate.

She grabbed my hands, placed them on her hips, and began to move very slowly and simply to the music. I felt shock coming on, decided this was a dream, and smiled brilliantly. Her hands settled firmly on my hips and began to guide me to the beat; it took a bit, but I found it. Or it found me; I don't know. Our bodies began to move at the same time, gradually becoming faster and more complex. I was sweating freely; she had soaked her little black dress a while back. She smiled at me, eyes dark and mysterious; and her fingers left my waist to tug the front zipper of my top down a few more inches. Her eyes went to the pale skin exposed and widened at the realization that there was nothing underneath; in the dark of the club there had been no way to tell before.

She began to dance closer, shielding me with her movement from the others on the floor; and traced her finger down into my top, feeling the sweat gathered there, sliding down the edge of one breast. I felt dizzy, lightheaded, and the beginnings of heat between my legs. My dancing slowed, and her eyes raised to meet mine; she smoothly took my hand, turned, and led me off the floor. I couldn't really process it, just went along willingly; she led me outside to the back patio, where the music still played (if not as loud) and there was a small volleyball court and dance floor. People were gathered on groups everywhere, talking and laughing; we went past them all, to a corner that was lit by the streetlight on the other side of the fence but somewhat hidden from view by a large poplar tree.

She sat on a bench and pulled me down beside her. Leaning forward, she took my face gently in her hands...and kissed me softly, sweetly, on the lips. It didn't stay soft and sweet very long, though. I was shuddering when she broke away, the glide of her tongue on my bottom lip burning like electricity. Her kisses deepened, and her hands squeezed my arms. I reached up and pushed my fingers into her damp hair, felt the heat radiating from her; massaged her scalp gently with my fingers and kissed her back. She slid her hand in and dipped it into my top again, this time brushing my nipple. The cool air she let in brought it to a peak instantly, almost painfully. She tweaked it, then began slow circles... sweet torture! I dropped a hand to her generous chest and found her as ready as I was, and began to return the temptation. She gasped, and a low moan convinced me that she was as aroused as I was.

The heat between my legs exceeded anything I'd felt before; this was all new to me, and only the alcohol was keeping the fear and embarrassment away. I knew that this was something I would never do sober; and I was very, very glad I was drunk as a skunk. It meant that when she unzipped me completely, there in the light at the club, I felt no shame; only tipped my head back and groaned as her lips sucked my nipple to a greater point. The warmth of her mouth after the cool air was a shock. I arched and caught my breath, unable to hold all the feelings that were blazing through me; she lifted her face, her hair brushing my skin, and I leaned forward again to kiss her. But now my hands were much lower, caressing her breasts, and sliding down over her belly to grip her hips. She parted her legs... and she, too, was wearing nothing under her outfit. Her damp curls were the first thing my fingers encountered.

I froze, eyes closed; but her hips thrust gently against my fingers, so I continued. Slick folds of her labia enveloped my fingers. She was soaked; the exertion and arousal had her full and pulsing. I stroked her gently, then gave in and pulled my lips from hers and knelt before her. I pushed her dress further up and buried my face between her thighs, the scent of her musk filling my brain and driving me wild. I lapped at her, stroking her clit and thrusting my tongue into her heat; she caught my head and arched off the bench. A second later she soaked my face in her come; I felt like a kitten at a bowl of cream. Her shudders subsided; she pulled me away. For a moment I lay my head on her leg. She stirred; I looked up. Her eyes were huge and dark as they gazed into mine. She smiled, softly, and leaned forward to kiss me. Then she stood, turned so I was at the bench, and pushed me down until I was laying back along the bench.

By now we had a small audience, watching from a small distance away; they were careful not to intrude, and I didn't even notice them. Her hands grazed over my exposed breasts, pale in the night; and down to my pants. She pulled them down over my hips, making me feel even more naked and chilled; I began to feel a bit unnerved; but then her fingers found the heat that had been building between my legs, and I forgot everything but the sensation.

The slipped her finger past my clit, then dipped it into my ready pussy. With her thumb she stroked me while her fingers thrust in and out; her other hand played with my nipples alternately. I felt mad and full, tense and unbearably tight.... her fingers didn't stop, and didn't quite go on enough.

I writhed, forgetting everything, abandoning everything to her touch...to the glide and slide of her fingers on and in me...and then she drove me over the edge, sliding over and around my clit and bending to suck again on my nipples. I cried out, moaned. The shudders passed. The cold air seeped back. She was leaning over me, zippering up my top; smiling; kissing me again and again. In my ear, she murmured; I smelled her hair, sweet and deep. My name is Tatania, she whispered; I'll see you again. And she was gone.

I went home that night in a cab, and slept it off. And in the morning it seemed too fantastic; but my co-workers knew, and the next day I received congratulations and laughter and a few nasty looks. And when I went to the store, I looked for her....and was disappointed. Until I came out into the parking lot, and saw her waiting with a bag and a thick coat and a smile...and she wasn't wearing anything under that coat, either. But that was later.