“If only you had thirty-six tubes of salmon-colored lip gloss, am I right?”
“God, Tabby, no!”
She flops her big, furry head to one side. “Uuuuuuuughhhhhhhhhh,” she moans. “I mean, really. Uuuuuuuuggghhhhhhhhhhhh!”
“Just quit, Tabby,” I sniff as I slide off the barstool. “Let’s dance. I like this song.”
“I can’t dance in these shoes!” she protests as I pull at her hands.
“Just shuffle! Don’t dance with your feet. Just dance with your butt!”
She lets me tug her toward the tiny dance floor and we make asses of ourselves, jiggling and gyrating to the music. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t the kind of club with four hundred hard bodies all competing for a spotlight. This is some old folks and what look like a few lost tourists. We can be silly. Let our hair down.
“Just promise me one thing!” she announces, louder than the music, as she pumps her shoulders from side to side rhythmically.
“Anything!” I answer.
“When you make the big time, you have to take me with you!”
“I am never going to make the big time. I promise!”
She reaches out and shoves me in the shoulder, hard enough that I almost fall off my heels.
“You totally are. And so you have to bring me with you! You can’t forget about your old pal, Tabby!”
“Oh, no!” I protest dramatically, throwing my arms around her so that we dance together for a few moments, swishing back and forth, jostling our exposed cleavage together. “I could never forget about my old pal.”
“So you promise?”
“I promise!”
“I promise too!” comes a voice very close to me.
Tabby looks up with surprise at a man next to her right shoulder. His friend stands next to him, next to my shoulder. They both pivot to stand between us, effectively creating two new dancing couples on the dance floor.
My partner is not so bad. Tall, with slicked-back hair and a shiny shirt. The normal sort of guy you see in a club. Probably not somebody that I would browse the aisles of a used bookstore with. Probably not someone I would go to a shelter to pet the dogs with. Probably not that guy. But decent, you know. Handsome.
His hips swivel hypnotically against mine. It isn’t long before the charm of that sensation lulls me into acquiescence. It is so easy to simply play along. Let my body move the way it wants to. Close my eyes and let his hands drift along my spine, supporting me, moving me this way and that.
Of course, he wants to grind against me. I feel his hard member against the junction of my hip and thigh. It feels a little too rigid. Kind of pokey. Not like a nice one. More like a skinny, stingy penis. Not something I would be eager to explore.
I really like the thick ones. Heavy. Demanding. Commanding. That is more my ideal. Of course, you don’t always get your ideal. But, it’s nice to think about. If I angle my hip a little ways this way, it doesn’t feel so sharp. I could pretend. I’m not going home with him, so I can just close my eyes and see whatever I want to see.
Like this morning, watching Irving walk back and forth. Watching the muscles in his thighs and ass. Watching his shirt stretch over his broad shoulders.
I bet he has a thick cock. I’ve always been scared to look at his front. But I bet he does. I bet that’s why I am scared—because it’s going to be exactly what I want.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the man asks me suddenly, his breath hot in my ear.
I flinch reflexively. He pouts, then his lip curls in disgust.
“No… No, thank you,” I mumble, embarrassed. “Thanks anyway.”
He jerks his chin toward his friend, apparently finding us less willing than he first estimated. As they both depart, Tabby shrugs and pushes her hair pointlessly behind her ears. We return to our barstools and fresh drinks from Loretta.
“Well, that was fun for a minute,” Tabby sighs, with only the slightest trace of disappointment in her voice.
“Sure. Fun,” I agree noncommittally.