Introduction
This story slots in between Like Mother, Like Daughter, Ch.03 and Blackmailed by Brenda. Again, it is fact-based on personal memoirs! Therefore, there is quite a lot of scene-setting before the action begins! It is much longer than my other anecdotes, but as I wrote, over a period of time, I remembered more and more of that unusual relationship.
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As I had been banned from ever again seeing my first proper girlfriend, Lena, I was bored and frustrated. Bored because I had no-one to go out with, and frustrated because I had thoroughly enjoyed my early sexual encounters, and wanted more. Sure, there were plenty of girls who would oblige after a ride on my new motorbike, but I was really quite fussy about who I got intimate with, having no desire to acquire a nasty little rash!
In my late teens, I was living at home with my widowed mother, and it was she who suggested, probably with a sympathetic understanding, that I tried what she called "proper" dancing. Which meant ballroom style, but with the emphasis on Latin American. That conjured up images of long-legged, dusky beauties, wrapping their thighs round me while grinding their pussies into my groin. As it turned out, I was both right, and wrong!. But in the end, I had no regrets!
There being a dancing studio in the town centre, one Friday night I put on my best, skintight, pale blue jeans with three-inch studded belt, red shirt with buttoned collar, narrow spangled tie and the dark blue jacket from a full suit I never wore, mounted my motorbike, and rode into town. The icy November wind blew my luxurious, slicked-back hair, but that was easily rectified at the studio as I always carried a comb in my top pocket. (No crash helmets in the late 1960's!) Arriving outside the large, brownstone block, I left my bike on its stand on the pavement (sidewalk), there being little car or bike crime in our small town in those days, and went inside.
The studio was on the second floor, which had probably been several large offices back in the day, but was now cleared to make one large room with wooden flooring. Swaggering inside to cover a feeling of uncertainty, I looked around the dimly lit interior. At one end was a gramophone (remember them?) and a small coffee bar at the other. A tall, slim woman in her mid twenties was setting things up on the gramophone, obviously the instructor. She certainly had a good figure, nice shapely long legs, and a well rounded arse. I felt encouraged, and hopeful!
She looked up as I entered, smiled at me and pointed to the coffee bar.
"I'll be over in a minute to enrol you." She called.
I walked to the coffee bar , ordered a coffee, which cost the princely sum of one shilling (pre-decimal days, 5p in today's currency in the UK) and looked over the other drinkers. On the good side, they were mostly female, on the not so good, most over fifty! Although there were one or two of my own age group. The only good looking one unfortunately had her boyfriend with her, the other two were not particularly good looking. The older ladies were dressed up to kill, and the dim lighting hid any facial blemishes, helped by the heavy make-up of the day. Not an encouraging start, from my point of view, anyway.
After a few minutes, the instructor came over, and we completed the enrolment. As I handed over the fee, I had a good look at her. The twitching in my pants as I noticed how her nice tits threatened to escape from her dress, was quietened as her fellow instructor, and boyfriend, appeared from nowhere. As he was over six foot tall, and muscular, and I was a devout coward, I immediately lost interest. So, I lined up with the other novices and waited to be enlightened on the mysteries of Latin American dancing.
Learning the basic steps wasn't very interesting. One step sideways, two steps forward, etc, in a line with the other males, on and on until we had it right. The females were in a line opposite us doing the same routines, but in reverse, as it were. I caught the eye of the most reasonable-looking girl, and smiled at her, to which she shyly responded. She was no beauty, but had enough flesh on tits, thighs and arse to make it worth grasping her in a dance routine. Perhaps, after a lesson or two, I might get my wicked way with her, as it was obvious she had no current boyfriend. I was only in my late teens, so that must excuse my chauvinism!
By the time our instructor considered we had learned enough to actually practice in pairs I was getting a bit bored. However, when she said the women could now choose a male partner I perked up. Now to get my hands on the girl opposite. There was a very undignified thunder of high heels on the dance floor as the line of women disintegrated in a mad rush across the floor. Now, except for myself and one other young man, who was cursed with dreadful teenage acne, the other males were much older, and I expected the mature ladies would make for them, which would allow the shy girl to choose me.
Not a bit of it! At least three of the much older women almost fell over themselves to partner me! I suppose I should have felt flattered, but you can understand I wasn't best please, especially as the winner of the 10 metre sprint was a woman in her early sixties, but faster than her contemporaries. She shot out her slightly plump hands, and caught hold of my arm possessively. In her high heels she was face to face with me, as I was only about five feet, ten inches tall, and whispered in my ear.
"Ooh, it's so nice to have a handsome young man to dance with," she giggled.
Well, I appreciated the handsome terminology, but caught a disappointed look on the face of the shy girl who had waited too long to get moving. Even so, being polite, I smiled at the compliment, and on the instructor's command, took the woman in my arms in the approved fashion. As the record player began to blast out the music, and we started our basic steps together, I looked at my partner properly for the first time.She was quite plump, not what you would call fat, her jumper clinging to her body which was certainly well rounded, showing well-defined and separated large tits and a belly which was apparently straining to get loose.
Her skirt was quite tight fitting on her hips and arse, again very tightly, but the lower part was flowing enough for her to move reasonably freely. Had I been accustomed to the underwear of older woman I would have been certain she was wearing fairly strong supporting garments beneath her jumper and skirt. Her legs, which were visible from the knee down were in keeping with the rest of her, being quite well endowed with flesh, but surprisingly shapely with it. Her greying, wavy hair was permed, and she wore a modest perfume, which I actually quite liked.
"My name's Norma, what's yours?" she asked.
"Hello, Norma," I replied, "I'm Philip."
Introductions over, we concentrated on not tripping each other up. As we practiced for a couple of minutes, and the dance, I seem to recall it was the cha cha cha, meant we were in close contact, I was surprised, not to say shocked, to find the close contact with her large tits and belly, tightly contained though they were, was having an odd effect on me! My cock was starting to come alive! I could feel it bulging again my trouser front, and I had to hold the lower part of my body away from her. Not before a dance move had briefly nudged my bulge against her to my embarrassment. After all, she was older than my mother!
The dim lighting hid my confusion as the session ended, and a coffee break was called. I muttered a word of thanks, and rapidly walked over to the serving hatch. In a moment I was surrounded by thirsty dancers, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then, in the crush, I felt a hand briefly nip my arse. Risking a quick glance round, I saw Norma standing close behind me, her hand hidden in the throng, but a blush flashing across her chubby face, before more coffee drinkers moved us aside.
After the break, we resumed the routine of practising some more basic dance moves in two lines until this time the instructress called out.
