She had fought for this night out. Her friends had all gone home. But she wasn’t done.
Sandra found herself thinking what a story this might be to tell. “Ok, fine. Deal. But I get to pick the drink, ok?” The man held up his arms a bit, as if you to say, ‘be my guest’. He then pulled out a bic lighter.
“One drink…” she said with a smile, remembering that flirting really had never been hard for her.
They smoked mostly in silence, him waiting for her to finish, and then, as she exhaled for the last time, trying to look suave, he motioned towards a door next to them and said, “Right this way, to your cocktail, m’lady.”
She laughed, and watched as he held open the door for her. Walking past him, she ascended down a few stairs and through a narrow hallway. She could hear the bass of terrible dance music, and wondered what sort of place she was about to enter.
Through a curtain, she found out. A large dancehall was in front of her, with strobe lights on the dance floor and lined with darkness around it, booths and tables. She couldn’t even take it all in with the swell of people, and as she began to lose herself in the mesmerizing scene, she felt a warm hand on her elbow. It was the cigarette guy from outside, and he motioned to the bar, as if to say “What do you want?” She shrugged her shoulders and then said “vodka martini” loudly over the din, figuring it a safe call.
He walked away, and she stood there, soaking it in. this is the night out that I wanted, and it occurred to her that she didn’t even know the name of the place. Oh well, she thought, might as well make the best of it.
As she waited for her drink to arrive, she glanced down at her phone. Numerous texts, one from Jen (“Caught the 9:55 p.m.!”) and none of other importance. She had said that she’d be home late. She put her phone on silent and dropped in back into her small purse.
Her drink, and…date? Arrived. He handed her one of two martini glasses, and then, his hand now free, guided her over towards a far corner of the club.
Away from the dance floor, the booths and table area was dark, illuminated only by the light of a few cell phones that she saw scattered about. Almost purposefully dark, Sandra thought, and smiled. She was feeling mischievous.
Her new friend sat down, and she sat next to him. The martini glass was comically oversized, and Sandra made a mental note that this was not one, but probably three drinks. For courage, she took a large gulp, and then, another. Her new friend laughed at her speed. “Hey, you don’t have to chug and run!” he said.
Sandra looked at him and put on a smile. This was fun, she realized. “Sorry…not trying to be rude, just a bit thirsty.” Their legs were touching, and now Sandra felt his hand resting on her bare leg, above her knee. Still innocent, she thought, with the potential to be dangerous.
“No problem,” he smiled. “Just wanted to get comfortable.” It was nearly pitch black where they sat, even after her eyes adjusted to the darkness. His hand traveled up her leg, and curious as to how far he’s try to push it, Sandra did not protest.
Sandra felt his hand snaking underneath her skirt, and she almost giggled at how utterly bold her new acquaintance was being. A hand was placed lightly against the bare skin where her hip folded into her derrière, and she felt fingers slither in between the elastic of her underwear and begin to insistently tug.
He couldn’t possible mean to do that, could he? She knew that he did, and as unsurprising as it was…it was still surprising.
“No no no no no…” she whispered at him, a wry smile crossing her face even as she said it. He continued, now reaching his fingers between her legs. Even as she wrapped her thin hand around his wrist, he ignored her words and ran his fingers up and down the thin cotton that covered her womanhood.
Whether from the chemicals coursing through her body or the risqué situation itself, his touch felt damn, damn good. Sandra continued to breathe, “no…no…no…” quietly with each rhythmic movement of the hand sliding in between her legs, but she suddenly had every intention of letting him proceed with his attempts. Curiosity killed the cat, she supposed. After the fifth or sixth pass up and down, she fell silent. Her grip on his wrist fell away, and she felt her legs part. I don’t even know his name, she thought to herself, but he was bold — very bold. She relaxed, her body slumping to the side, into his, and let the rhythm of his movements take over.
She felt his breath, hot on her neck, and then his nose brushing into her short brown hair, his lips nearing her ear. “Just relax, might as well have some fun…”
The words rang in Sandra’s ears, and she allowed her brain and body to agree with it. She had already yielded to his advances a bit, and she knew he would probably grew bolder still. As her new friend continued to stoke the growing fire in between her legs, she felt his other hand travel up her leg, pulling on the flimsy elastic band of her panties. He pulled it down, until it stretched underneath her, and in one smooth motion, switched his hands, his left hand now rubbing between her legs, his right pulling down on the other side of her panties.
His hand stopped its ministrations, and he whispered, “Lift up for a second…let’s get these out of our way.” Without even thinking, just wanting the feeling to continue, she did as she was told, awkwardly lifting herself to her feet, and she felt her panties being stripped away from her, finding the floor. She went to sit back, but a hand held her up, and she heard the sound of a zipper behind her. Surely, he wasn’t…?
She felt the back of her skirt being lifted, and two strong hands pulled at the sides of her hips, urging her to sit back down, now on his lap. She did so carefully, somewhat fearful that it was not only her clothing that had been removed…
She found his legs pushed together, his intent no doubt that she should sit on his lap, perhaps even straddle him, but instead Sandra sat daintily on the edge of his lap. She smiled…not that easy, buddy. In response, she felt him pull her back, nearly lifting her onto him. His hands gripped underneath her thighs, and she felt the air against the exposed dampness between her legs.
Her mind swimming, everything happening so fast. It didn’t seem real. She felt the tug of war between her desire and her nervousness, her skirt flipped up in the back, her panties somewhere on the floor. Everything was happening so quickly, and Sandra was mildly alarmed to find herself pulled against a warm bump, and she realized that, pressed between her and his shirt, was his erect penis.
Her eyes darted around the dark club before them — had anyone noticed? At other tables she could see furtive movement in the dark, probably couples opening groping one another in semi-anonymity. No one on the dance floor, grinding away in a meat market to the pleasant bass of the music paid them any mind. This place was dark on purpose, Sandra thought to herself, and there was little question that anything that she allowed to happen, would be lost in the haze of the club’s energy.