One night stand Part 1

“I approach him under flashing lights in a dim atmosphere on a sparsely populated dance floor, under the influence of the false confidence of two double vodkas and limes and a pornstar, as well several predrinks. I come close to his body and put my hand on his chest, and lean in, my ear close to his as he bends down slightly straining to hear my words. I hadn't noticed how tall and large his body was until I was standing in front of it, him towering over me.

“Why are you dancing by yourself?” I ask loudly in a voice that is heard in only a whisper over the music playing in the club. I must repeat myself several times, even though I'm sure he gets the clue and with that we take step into the dirty trance of the meaningless pop top 10 practically played on repeat. And I am only relieved that he would take a girl like me.
I've had my eye on him from the moment I entered the club. Angered by the inevitable ditching by my friends I poured drinks down my throat as quickly as possible expecting the magical effects of spontaneous fun that so often occurs with the consumption of such an elixir.

I sat on a bench at the bar and watched him from afar wondering if he might have noticed me. When I finally found one of the girls I had come to the club with, a superficial friend, I turned her body in his direction and was rude enough to point behind his back. “That” I shouted in her ear “is the one I want”. She looked at me bewildered and made a weak attempt to deter me but her opinion meant nothing to me and I was determined.

I sat near to him on a bench that surrounded the dance floor as if I were an animal stalking it's prey. He was at the edge of the floor dancing in place, looking out over the room at the emptiness no doubt. He was extremely tall, and well built although lean, and he had a dark skin tone. He was dressed well, Nike sneakers, somewhat baggy jeans, a shirt that I don't recall, maybe a polo. He had short dark hair, and a face that I didn't pay much attention to.

When we danced he held my back and stepped to the beat, my shirt kept getting pulled up showing my leggings, and the skin on my back. I make a constant effort to pull it down, a task made difficult by the stony permanency of his arm fixed around me. He doesn't attempt to touch me more inanimately like most men at the club tend to. His large hands never wander to my breasts nor my ass, though mine find my way all over him. My eyes too look up at him innocently, full and brown with lust. I grind on him shamelessly, my front and back into his crotch and on his legs, while I move my hands over his chest, shoulders and down his back like I'm sanding down a sculpture.

My dancing is terribly sloppy because I have no rhythm and I apologize and blame it on the booze. He tells me it's ok.

“I need a drink” I eventually say after five or six songs and he takes me to the bar and orders me my third vodka and lime and a rum and coke for himself. We sit on the benches off to the side of the bar and I swing my legs over his lap and he holds me in his long, strong arms. His name is Duran and he is from the Bahamas, he an engineering student at a university here in the city. I tell him I like Jamaicans and he tells me his mother is and I'm satisfied.We talk briefly but mostly touch, and I kiss his large lips. He asks me what I'm doing tonight and I tell him I don't know and that I've lost my friends and he accepts this temporary answer. I tell him I may go home and he is a gentlemen and doesn't pressure me. He tells me he lives far away but has a key to a place he used to live that we could go to.

“Would you like to go somewhere more private?” he asks and I say yes even though I don't know where he has in mind. He take my hand in his and leads me away to a more secluded section of the bar where the slot machines are. We sit on stools across from each other and we kiss and and rub and I realize that he isn't great at making out. He's very closed off and it's hard to know if he's into any of it at all but I make enough effort for both of us. He's lucky enough to get a view of a wall on the other side of me, whilst I stare out at peering eyes of those people drinking in booths on the other side of a window that portions off the gambling space. Duran kisses my neck and touches me and the patrons wink and point. I am the girl that you so often see up against the wall in the shadows, tipsy, and on her worst behavior. Getting laid tonight. A fat, rundown man comes to gamble and looks at me slyly with a smile like he's into the whole situation and I tell Duran that we should go find his friend.

Once again on the dance floor we find his short, black friend, with bulgy eyes, horridly drunk dancing with a chubby white chick with dyed black hair. We smile and commence floor fucking, when who approaches but my 39 year old, thin, balding, married, smashed landlord who has seemed incredibly, and unacceptably into me all night. He gives me the same smile the gambling man had that “you-dirty-girl” look. It's the same look I get all night long when people see my little white girl self, with such a large black man leading me by the hand like a dog cluelessly around the city during the early morning hours, my dress riding up.