VIP Anniversary

"M-Miles, is it? Like Miles Davis, right?" I said lamely, trying not to faint into his arms. "Good Lord, stop smiling at me like that. You had me from across the room, you Denzel Washington-looking, way-too-handsome black Adonis." Thank God he couldn't see my heart skipping beats.

"Drinks all around!" Donny announced from out of nowhere. "Sorry, we haven't met. I'm Barb's husband, Donny," he said, doling out our drinks and extending his hand to the tall stranger.

"Miles... Miles Turner, good to meet you both," came the voice. His deep penetrating, anchorman voice was unexpected. "And yes Barb, I was actually named after Mister Davis," his eyes danced. I think I blushed, before choking down another shot of 1800.

Over-endowed Vanessa gathered up my hubby like a long-lost artifact and whisked him away to who-knows-where, leaving Miles and I standing precariously alone, staring at the dance floor. "It appears my little sister has plans for your husband," Miles laughed, while I nervously pawed my empty glass. "Here, let's get you a refill," Mr. Studly took my glass, before turning away.

"C-can I come with you; hate to just stand her all by my lonesome," I fretted, feeling abandoned by Hubby.

Miles returned an almost embarrassed smile, "I'm sorry! Please, come with me."

Briskly weaving our way through a maze of young ebony flesh and furtive glances, we carved a path to the bar. "Of course, you wouldn't have been lonesome long if I had left," Miles reckoned, after yelling an order of 1800 for the lady and a double Scotch, single malt. The pressing crowd and noise made it necessary for us to remain no more than a few inches apart. Even at my five-foot nine elevation, my direct line of sight was his upper chest and shoulders. Stop ogling and say something, anything, to him! I prompted myself again.

"So, what do you think Miles, are we safe?" I asked teetering back on my elevated heels.

"Huh... safe from what?"

"I don't know. You keep looking around for something or someone. I hope I'm not making you feel self-conscious... you know that whole black/white thing?"

"No; actually I was more concerned about your husband and Vanessa." He honestly responded, holding his focus on my eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure they're dancing up a storm by now. Or, he's got her off in a corner somewhere – HA!"

Miles was about to react, when a male crony of his leaned over his shoulder to whisper something. "And what was that all about?" I batted my eyes, as the equally tall stranger retreated into the crowd.

"He, he thinks we should be... dancing," Miles lied. "Shall we?"

My eyes did a half roll. I downed the rest of the silky tequila, and slid my purse into his suit pocket. "We shall give it a shot, if you like," I smiled and extended my hand. His fingers entwined with mine, while we retraced our steps to the huge dance floor.

There's no mystery about how much I love to dance. However, mixing two or three straight shots of strong tequila with a new pair of five-inch stilts can be a lethal combination. Stepping onto the surface, the black glossy floor resembled some foreboding skating rink from the netherworld. Just staying upright would perhaps require a level of concentration I wasn't entirely prepared to offer. "Sorry, haven't had a chance to break in these new heels," I white-lied, grabbing hold of my partner's strong arms for balance.

The mid-tempo R&B tune was open to flexible interpretation. Sensing my sea legs, Miles offered his left hand, wrapping the other around my waist. Stepping into his arms, I took hold and gave him a grateful nod. Once my head stopped its internal reeling, I settled further into his arms. This felt way too comfortable, and way too fast. And, oh my God, he truly was a sidewinder!

NOTE: I tend to group guys into three categories, according to their "gifts." This is really not dissimilar to what guys do when they relate to women's breast sizes, etc. The first group of guys (most guys, in fact) is what I refer to as pups. Not that they appear to have small dogs in their pants; rather, their packages make perfect 'pup' tents when aroused. The next batch of studs, I can best describe as sidewinders. These are guys endowed with between nine to eleven inches, whose cocks seem to wrap around their guts, aroused or not. The final group, the double-take snakes, are blessed/cursed with crates (packages-NOT) that, when aroused, can best be used for flagpole sitting or chin-ups.

"So... what did your friend really say, hmmm?" I whispered in Miles' ear, while my fingers explored the back of his neck.

"That... that you looked really nice, and if I wasn't interested, then he would like to dance with you. That's all."

"Ya know, I can't tell if you're really good at ad lib or just out-and-out lying," I stated.

"Hey, part of it is true!" He insisted. "You are quite attractive, and..."

"And what?" I simmered, feeling my shortened dress riding up a few inches.

"Great pair of legs. I'm not usually a leg man, but you have a great looking pair."

For the first time, I sensed he was nervous; or turned on; or both.

"Well, thanks Miles. I'll take that as a quite a compliment, especially coming from a what... an eye man?" I snickered.

"Yeah, that's me – the Eye Man. I'm really into eyes! Too bad you're not showing more eyes, they really turn me on, ya know," he shook his head in mock dismay.

"Ha, AND you're funny. What does a funny guy like you do for a living? I mean, besides playing the comedy clubs?"

"Don't laugh. I'm an accountant," he said.

"Hmm, I've done some work for accounts. You must be good with figures. Suppose you'd be any good working with my figure?" I teased, shifting my leg to edge between his.

He reacted immediately to my mild double entendre and pulled away. "Let's just say it would be mighty tempting."

Realizing I'd peaked his interest, I slowly maneuvered myself back into his arms. "And just what do you do? Wait no, let me guess... you're a model, right?" He balked at my not-so-subtle come on.

Okay Handsome; I'll play this cat and mouse crap a little longer, but I can feel by the sizable growing bulge against my hip that you're more than just mildly interested, I surmised. "A model... SURE! At my age, now what could I possibly be modeling, Miles?" I posed, pressing my body tight into his.

"I take it from your tone, you must be over 30. Well, there are plenty of models in their late 30's, even older," he reckoned.

"You know Miles, it's not really that important what either of us do, is it? For tonight, I think it's more essential to consider what we CAN do... for each other." I forced the issue, adding a convincing tug on his tie. "Sorry, I'm usually not quite this direct, but I sense a mutual attraction definitely worth exploring."

"Aren't you concerned how your husband might feel about this attraction?"

"Donny and I have an understanding," I stated, letting my hand slip from his tie to ride the rim of his belt.

"Good for you and Donny, and I suppose anything between us would be fine, as long as he can watch? Is that the deal – or is Vanessa in on this craziness too?" He suggested, with an air of indifference. "I never thought I'd ever say this, but I'm not that kind of guy." He removed my hand from his belt and stopped dancing.

I should have commended him for displaying such moral fortitude and apologized. Instead, I felt embarrassed for myself more than anything else. Having had a few rounds of drinks, I wasn't in the best of moods to handle rejection. All I could think of was retaliation. "If that moralistic fucker can't see what's good for him, I'm sure plenty of these other studs will be more than willing." Unfortunately, I was correct in that assumption.

There was nothing left to say. Miles and I left the dance floor, going our separate ways. We were each so upset, neither one of us remembered I had slipped my purse into his suit coat pocket. All I could think of was to cool down with another shot of tequila, and made my way back to the bar. I hadn't taken but a few steps, when I felt a hand on my bare shoulder.

Let the Frog Kissing Commence +++++

"You know Baby, you look just as fine coming as you do going," the voice said. I turned.

"Please don't tell me that's your best line?" I begged, scanning the middle-aged, dark, sweet talker.

"Ah shit no, Darlin'; my best stuff is out there on the floor waitin' for you," he smiled and offered his hand.

"Hmmm well, that's a little better... I need a drink first, Hotshot," I said, letting him raise my hand for a kiss.

"Only the best for such a classy lady. What'll you have?" Those words rang some distant little bell.

After committing to my vague promise to stay put, my new, soon-to-be dance partner slithered through the crowd toward the bar. I took the opportunity to do a visual scan for Hubby and our mutual friend. The huge crowd and dark dance floor made it impossible for me to distinguish anybody beyond the third row of dancers. In the process of trying to get a better look at the dance floor, I felt another hand tapping. That's when I realized Miles was correct in his assessment–the one about me not having to be alone too long.

This latest potential dance partner wasn't much on words, or wasting any energy on perfecting his delivery. He simply smiled and motioned for us to dance. I explained how I was in a holding pattern; waiting for Mr. Hotshot. That gave him pause, but hardly deterred his advances. I assume he figured possession was 9/10ths of the law, as he began coaxing me toward the dance floor. Somewhere during the coaxing, Mr. Hotshot returned. Handing me my drink, he was quick to reinstate his perceived dominance. Seeing that Mr. Coldshot (I'll call him) showed no signs of compromising, I downed my 1800 in one, long swig, and took both their hands.

"Come on now you two; let's see how good you are at sharing," I said, leaning into each of them for a pair of quick cheek kisses. The concept of the two of them sharing anything initially left them dumb founded. However, once I gave up and broke away from their stare down, it was amazing to see how fast they caught up to me on the dance floor. That was about the same time the liquor and my conscious behavior came to odds with each other. Whatever few inhibitions I had to that point dissipated, and my sensual nature took over.

I was no longer content to play the waiting game for Donny and Vanessa, and I was still properly pissed at Miles for giving up on me. My Hot and Cold dance partners were more than willing to comply and respond to my bold attempts at seducing them. Two pairs of black hands literally swept over my torso and garter-strapped upper thighs like they were encasing me in an invisible cocoon. My hands and fingers were magnetically drawn to their crotches and similar medium-sized packages.

Twirling around between them was like riding a whirlwind, as I still tried to catch sight of Donny and Vanessa, or Miles. Miles would finally see just what an exciting, sensual temptress he dismissed. "Damn Baby, we DEFINITELY need to get you some VIP action tonight!" Mr. Hotshot insisted, as my grip tightened around his hardon.

"Screw that VIP shit; I'll take both of you fuckers right HERE!" I countered. Grabbing the back of Mr. Coldshot's collar, I yanked his face to mine for tongue-twisting kiss his semi-sober brain wouldn't soon forget. Loud pounding woofers seemed to be coiled around my chest. Even as my feelings soared with the fever of sexual anticipation, I was at once grounded to that singular pounding beat. Spreading and bending my legs for support, my shortened sparkling dress rode up to reveal everything–garters, nylons, white thighs and my black, French-cut, panty-clad, phat ass–on full display for anyone within a ten-foot radius.

Mr. Hot and Mr. Cold were pleased to let me perform solo, at least for a while. Both solidly built, slightly taller guys, both in their mid-forties closed in on me. Feeling hands edging inside my panties from both directions, my pelvis thrust back and forth to accommodate them. Grabbing hold of Mr. Coldshot's shoulders, my pussy spread to accept several fingers, while Mr. Hotshot's lowered my panties in the rear. Both sets of fingers were soon lubed and ready for penetration, as I rode them until the end of the dance mix. Needless to mention, but after coming twice, I was ready for a breather.

Mr. Coldshot was sent off for more drinks this time, as Mr. Hotshot and I headed to find seating. I hardly made it to the end of the dance floor. "God, these heels are killing me! You, go find us a table or something, while I hold up this rail," I said, brushing back my sweaty locks, to catch my breath.

The Limbo Kings, Rudi-Jay, and Uncle Sam +++++

The long support railing leading off the dance floor was just the right height for my weary ass to half-sit on, while the strain on my legs subsided. I wasn't the only one perched there to get a quick rest. Turning to my side, I nearly bumped into two younger black brothers dressed in matching zoot suits. When they both returned a pair of cute smiles in stereo, I swore I was seeing double. "Man you two could be twins!"

"Ma'am you have a keen sense of the obvious; we ARE twins. I'm Rod, he's Ron and we do everything together," Rod winked as he extended his hand for a shake.

"Everything, huh?" I laughed, releasing from Rod's handshake to accept Ron's hand. He winked too. The affable duo was very polite but pensive, as if they were searching for some young action, as I commented on their vivid attire. Their way-too-long black pinstripes on nearly neon yellow jackets and matching slacks were delightfully retro; guaranteed recognizable from across the street, or across town.

As the music powered into an updated version of The Limbo, I grabbed one of their super-wide brimmed hats. That was enough of an invitation for them, as they quickly joined me on the dance floor. The shorter twins pranced and strutted around me like a pair of comedic crows circling a female scarecrow. One of the crows leaned in to say something. It was far too loud to hear him, and he knew it. Rod, or Ron, one of them pointed to a few dancing couples. The female of each couple danced with their legs bent and spread, so her partner could limbo down and between her legs. "What a hoot!" I laughed, and got the whole idea. Still laughing, I bent my legs and assumed the position, as each of my bright partners dropped their knees to the floor.

"Limbo LOWER now!" The DJ sang out, as Rod and Ron scooted on their heels between my elevated legs. Watching the braver girls dancing, spreading, and bending, I soon learned how to "lower the bar" on the boys, so to speak. Spreading my legs even a little hiked my dress up my thighs and way beyond respectability. Spreading my legs even further forced the black sparkling shift up to my ass. Now my partners, short as they were, bent backward with their hands on the floor. This brought the guys' faces damn near my pussy, as they slowly made their way under my London Bridge. I also sensed they were perhaps a bit sore from such backbreaking work. When the next Ron/Rob made his way, and the DJ barked again, I couldn't help myself. Grabbing his head with both hands, I pulled his face up to my sweet spot. He took my lead and chomped a mouthful of my French cut pussy.

As our own personal rooting section hooted, I settled my garter-covered hips into a nice forward and back motion, while Rod/Ron's tongue wedged its way inside my panties. His tongue immediately struck pay dirt, as Ron/Rob #2 made his move. He'd seen enough of his brother getting all the action, and shoved his brother off balance and down to the floor. This didn't seem to upset Ron/Rob #1 in the slightest, who soon sprang to his feet. Now it was Number Two's turn to tongue my wet snatch, and he wasn't the least bit shy about it. Spreading my panties aside, his tongue lashed and probed my liquid lips. My borrowed fancy-feathered hat hit the floor, as I hunched over to enjoy every taunting lick. That's when I felt Rob/Ron #1's hands on my ass from behind. Our rooting section, which by now had formed a neat little circle around us, went silent as the song blared in my head. The hands from behind flipped the hem of my taut dress up over my bubble ass. The tongue on my pussy was close to taking to me to heaven, as his brother's hands slapped my ass a few times, before taking hold of the elastic on my black silk panties. Keeping a secure hold on the head between my thighs, I jerked my head up to succumb to an orgasm. Slick fingers rimmed my asshole. My mouth opened wide for the ride, as the song abruptly ended.

Opening my squinted eyes to the sudden silence, I continued to fuck Rob/Ron's tongue. Another rap mix began, when a warped sense of reality opened my eyes to see another tall, thin, and very young black stranger facing me from the middle of the circle. Thank goodness the music changed. I certainly was more than ready to hit the floor with Heckle & Jeckle, but the music saved me. Shucking the two of them off, I watched the circle dissolve into dance partners again. The youngster remained stoically gazing at me, while an older man to his rear prodded him to make a move. The shy boy locked his legs, frozen like he was at the edge of a pool fearful of taking his first leap into the deep end. I thought I saw him take an anxious step toward me, as Mr. Hot and Mr. Cold suddenly reappeared. Apparently they both had witnessed my recent floorshow with the limbo kings, and were equally compelled to get me back into another dance. Taking yet another glass of tequila from Mr. Coldshot, I continued to eye the shy, silent boy. Misters Hot and Cold cancelled each other out with their one-upmanship.

"Hey, you two go have your pissing contest someplace else, I've got some dancin' to do," I returned the half full glass to Mr. Hot, and forced myself between them to close in on Mister Tall, Dark, and Way-Too-Young. Turning back to cast them each a nasty yet reassuring smile, Hot and Cold were dumbfounded.

The hard-driving mix pulsed through me, as I confronted the tall, short-cropped string bean of a man. Still frozen in his tracks, I reached my hands to his shoulders, shot him a silent eye-to-eye welcome, and pulled him down to the side of my face. "It seems like your friend wants you to meet me," I said, holding on. His head nodded. "My name is Barb, what's yours?" I nearly yelled in his ear, still holding on.

Turning his head toward me, "Uh RJ... name is RJ, Ma'am."

"And what did I say my name was, RJ?"

"Uh, Barb, Ma'am."

"No, not Ma'am, just plain Barb. Your Mom's name is Ma'am. My name is Barb."

He nodded again. I returned to a comfortable, yet still close distance, to let our eyes meet again. He squeezed out a smile. I returned it with a larger one. He relaxed and broadened his. "Wanna dance?" I asked, but could see he couldn't hear me. Pulling him down to my face again, "WANNA DANCE?"

His head nodded several times. Another toothy smile, and he held out his left hand to approximate the traditional stance. I couldn't help but snicker. Taking hold of his hands I brought them to rest on my hips. With his hands now locked in the untraditional stance, I let mine roam up his chest to finally encircle his neck.

"So what's the RJ all about?" I asked, pulling myself up close to his ear again.

"Uh, uh..."

"Been so long, you can't remember?" I laughed.

"Ru-Rudolph James," he stammered, almost ashamed.

"That's not so bad! I have a brother named Rudi, and I'm crazy about him. You know he has one of the biggest... never mind. I think I'll call you Rudi-Jay, how's that?" I declared in my less than sober state.

"So, what's the deal with your friend?" I added, just to keep conversation.

"That's my uncle, Ma'am... I mean BARB. He's taken me out for my birthday." He added, while I caught sight of the older dark man nursing his drink.