Dancer

"So yuh heard about this girl her name is Maxine
Her beauty's like a bunch of rose
An' if I ever tell you bout Maxine
You would a say I don't know what I know (but)

Murder she wrote
Murder she wrote
Murder she wrote (Na nana)
Murder she wrote . . . "

With Chaka Demus blaring from the speakers the walls seemed to dance with a vibration all their own. The heavy base line was hypnotic and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dimness in the club.

When I saw her pole dancing I had to stop and stare. I mean, the woman was absolutely spectacular. Dark skinned - the color of freshly roasted Jamaican coffee beans - long jet black hair (hers, not some wig), full breasts, tapered waist, curvaceous hips and an ass to die for! That woman had some serious junk-in-the-trunk. She was the real deal and she knew it. So what was she doing in this dump?

Machele and I met before they ever renovated "The West" and even that's gone now. It was just a tiny neighborhood bar back then, but it was one of the best places I knew. The Wild West had the friendliest and prettiest bartenders in the city and never overcharged or watered down their drinks. The head barmaid, Ingela, was from Sweden. Eventually she went online and was featured in a documentary about the adult industry held at the JavittsCenter. I loved Ingela just the way she was but she saw herself differently. Her breasts were never big enough. Bullshit. They were perfect. After the first augmentation she proudly displayed them when I walked in the door:

"J'ordy! Look!" (Her accent was definitely Swedish)

Up came her top. (Cheers and whistles from the other patrons)

"Aren't the girls purr-fect?" she said, laughing and waiting for my reaction.

Purr-fect? Maybe that's where her "Dream Kittens" concept came from.

"Yes Ingela, they're beautiful, but they were beautiful before."

No sooner had she healed then she went back under the knife. The next time I saw Ingela, her breasts were humongous.

All I could think about was how, in the future, she'd have back problems and would need to go for a reduction. But it was not my back and not my problem. Anyway I wasn't really interested in Ingela or "the girls". I was only interested in Shelly.

Initially I was just a "mark". "Marks" are prey. The object of the game is simple. Make the "mark" think that you're interested in him -- no - I mean really interested. Like you want to go home with him - or at least check out the short stay rates at motel. Get him to tip you lavishly while you're onstage and buy you drinks when you're offstage. Play him against other guys so that there's a bidding war going on. Keep his attention. Get him drunk and empty his wallet. When the wallet's empty, move on - but only after you let him know that you can't wait for him to come back - with a full wallet. So that's how it was initially - I was a "mark".

Shelly knew she'd caught my eye as soon as I walked into the bar. She smiled and the place lit up like sunshine through an open window. She knew a good thing when she saw one - I was one of the only "suits" in the joint. It meant that I had money in my pocket and that I wouldn't try to grope her when she approached me for drinks. Funny thing was, as soon as we started talking, she was the one in trouble. Game plan shot to shit. I was actually nice. Well spoken. Attentive without being pushy. Generous with the tips but not stupid. And I listened. What's the old saying? "God gave you one mouth and two ears so maybe you're supposed to listen twice as much as you speak." I was a good listener. Suddenly she's talking to me about real stuff. Her family, her life, where she came from - the whole nine yards. Not quite ready to give me a phone number but happy to accept one. Letting me know when she'd be back and what other clubs she worked.

"Will I see you again, Jordan?"

Yes Machele. Yes you will.

We'd been drinking together for several hours. We both liked our vodka on the rocks with lime. It was one of those days when drinking with me was preferable to getting on stage. The place wasn't empty but the patrons were less than desirable - mostly Hispanic laborers from the local factories, Dominicans and Puerto Ricans. Dirty hands and dirty mouths. Always looking to "cop a feel" and not willing to tip.

"Let me see jor poo-say bee-tch! Jeu wan my moe-nay den I wan to see jor poo-say!" they'd say in a loud drunken slur.

Shelly needed money too, but not from them.

"I could really use your help Jordy," she said in hushed tones. "I'm just not making ends meet."

"Let me think on it, OK?" I wanted to make sure that it was me talking, not the liquor.

"I'm going to be at that club I told you about in the Bronx on Friday. I don't have to work that late. Maybe we could hang out afterward?"

By that time I had her phone number.

"OK. I'll call you to confirm."

The place in the Bronx, on the Westchester border was, to say the very least, interesting. It was actually two clubs side by side. On the one side was a regular topless bar and the other was an all-nude club without alcohol. The dancers would work alternate shifts on both sides of the club. The bouncer would stamp your hand so you could patronize both without additional cover charges. It was the first time I'd seen Shelly completely naked. I wanted - no - I needed more, and she knew it. Smart gal. It pays to advertise!

It was after 2:00 AM when we checked into the Lincoln Motel, a typical hot pillow joint. Sure did get a lot of stares though when I checked us in at the front desk as Mr. & Mrs. So what if this young chestnut-skinned beauty was with this older white dude! Shelly and I acted more like a married couple than my ex and I did. There was already an easy familiarity about us, as if we'd been together for a very long time. Cool. Very cool. But it was molten lava by the time we got into the motel room.

Ever see beads of condensation running down the glass on a sweet chocolate milkshake? That's what it looked like when she stepped out of the shower. All she had on was the towel wrapped around her hair. She moved across the room with the deliberateness of a panther stalking her prey. Seated on the couch I looked up as she straddled me. I licked the droplets off her breasts, holding the nipples in my mouth. Dark round buttons that stiffened and swelled on the tip of my tongue. She pulled my head back and kissed me hard - open mouthed - thrusting her tongue deep - searching me - reaching between my legs for my already hard cock and sliding it into her shower-wet cunt. I started to protest but she put her hand over my mouth:

"I'm just giving you a taste, lover!"

She produced a condom, waving it before my eyes. She tore the wrapper with her teeth and popped the rubber into her mouth. Slowly, inch by inch, teasing me out of her pussy she stood then knelt between my legs and put the jimmy on with her tongue.

"See? All safe now big boy. But it sure felt better without it!"

Shelly pushed me back on the couch, sliding me back inside her almost in the same motion and then fucking me into oblivion.

Somehow we'd made it from the couch to the bed and I awoke with her fast asleep in my arms. God she felt good. I felt her soft warm breath on my chest - the gentle beating of her heart - the heat of her womanhood pressed against my leg. I remember thinking how natural, how right that moment seemed.

Shelly's eyes opened and I saw fire. I kissed her sweet lips, then the supple curve of her neck, running my tongue down into the fragrant valley of her cleavage, then up the sides of her breasts, taking her vermilion nipples into my hungry mouth. She moaned as I ran my tongue down her belly into her navel and again as I continued toward the obsidian- hued portal of pleasure. I ran my hands underneath her ass lifting her to my waiting lips. I pushed my tongue into her wetness, probing deeply. Shelly's head thrashed from side to side as her moans grew in intensity. Up and down, side to side, in and out, again and again I plunged my tongue into her honey pot, tasting the sweet nectar of her inner recesses. I probed every inch from her clit to her ass and back. I ran my hands from her ass cheeks to her soft inner thighs running my thumbs up her sopping wet slit. I gently opened her auburn lips and flicked my tongue rapidly on the engorged clit. She spent copiously then reached down pulling my head from her delicious delta and licked every drop of her juices from my face.

Reaching down I stroked the head of my swollen cock between her slick lips - her hips thrusting up to capture me. Every nerve ending in my dick was ablaze as I felt myself slide into her. The woman seemed possessed. She pounded her pelvis into mine, not simply matching me stroke for stroke but demanding more - so much more! She pushed me up and rolled me onto my back. Suddenly I felt her grab my dick with both hands as she swiftly moved her mouth to replace her pussy.

She swirled her tongue around the head of my cock while pumping and rotating her hands up and down the shaft. As she moved her hands further down I watched amazed as inch by inch of my manhood disappeared down her throat. Shelly swung her legs over my face and I tongued her like a hound dog lapping water after a 10K run. I placed my thumbs on either side of her hidden treasure, gently opening it so that the tip of my tongue could flick rapidly on her hot button. I lifted her off and reversed my position. Shelly "cow-girled" me, guiding the head of my prick into her waiting hole. This time she was totally in charge.

She began circling my rod with her slick velvety cunt, sometimes fast and hard, sometimes slow and deliberate, the head of my cock emerging momentarily only to be plunged mercifully back into the warm wet darkness. Shelly had her hands on my chest, her fingers running through the thick dark-reddish hair. She grabbed fistfuls of my fur, pulling and tugging, using it like the reins on a galloping stallion. I felt the tightening - the tingling in my balls so I reached around, grabbed her ass and pulled her hard onto my throbbing pole. Shelly must have felt me swelling inside because her whole body began to shudder. I felt her suddenly suck in hard as her body stiffened. She began pumping my dick furiously. I could feel the walls of her pussy contracting as she slammed herself into me over and over.

We exploded at the exact same instant, a beastlike growl emerging from some recess deep inside me as I spewed the contents of my sack into her innermost hidden realm. It felt as though I was a fountain, pumping into her as our juices splashed together, finally gushing from her pussy down our entwined legs. With a deep gasp she threw her arms around my neck pulling me to her as I felt the after shocks begin - grunts of satisfaction rolling from our lips like celestial music.

*

Part 2

Fast forward several years. Ups and downs. Frustrations. Arguments. Missed events, lost moments, misread signals, several separations, sometimes lasting for months - still there's nothing like "make-up" sex.

We were still feeling each other out after a prolonged absence. Seated in a restaurant - not one of our usual haunts - a couple of vodkas before dinner. Soft jazz played in the background, barely discernable over the buzz of the conversations around us. I knew Shelly had something on her mind, I just didn't know what direction it was going to take. Right before coffee she excused herself to the ladies room. Sliding back into the seat on her return, she reached across the table, handing me something she'd balled up in her fist. Silken lace - still warm and faintly moist. She gestured for me to inhale its fragrance.

"Think I still want you, you big jerk?" She leaned across the table displaying her ample cleavage and smiled wickedly.

I slipped her panties into my pocket, and felt their effect instantly.

"How the hell am I supposed to walk out of this restaurant with a pup tent in my pants?" I asked. She just laughed.

As we drove back to her place she held my hand - not unusual in and of itself, but it was a conciliatory gesture, an, "I don't want to fight with you anymore," kind of thing. More than she'd given me emotionally for some time. Something had changed.

I always loved walking behind her when climbing stairs because the view was spectacular - even better this time because her panties were in my pocket. And she knew I was watching, the showoff. It was no holds barred, nothing held back, balls to the wall sex. We were in perfect synch that night. When we were "done", lying there in her canopy bed drenched in sweat, she spoke:

"Jordy, feel my heart."

I placed my hand in the valley between those perfect breasts. Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me? You can't fake that you know. Do you love me Jordy? Do you?" There was a pleading in her voice that I'd never heard before.

"I love you Jordan. I didn't want to but I do!"

"That's OK Shelly, I understand, I'm very lovable."

Tried to make it a joke but it simply wasn't funny. I rolled over just in time to see the tears.

"I'm sorry baby," I whispered gathering her in my arms, "I've missed you, too, and yes - I do love you."

Like I said - there's nothing like make-up sex, but something had definitely changed.

Our relationship was entering uncharted waters.

"I have plans for us for Friday night, so you're going to have to make it. And plan on staying late." Shelly said bluntly.

It was a cross between "matter-of-fact" and "you'll do this if you know what's good for you". Shelly smiled like a Cheshire Cat.

"Dress up or dress down?" I queried.

"Up. You need to pick me up about five-thirty - six the latest. We're going to hit traffic."

Friday night - late summer. The days were getting shorter but the nights were still warm and comfortable. Shelly was wearing a crimson gown that blessed every curve. Probably spent hours in the salon. Hair coiffed. Makeup impeccable. She always looked good, but this was something else.

"Head toward the city, she said emphatically, "Go down the west side."

Traffic was awful. I saw she was visibly upset.

"Don't worry baby," I said trying my best to calm her, "wherever we're going, we'll make it!"

"Oh Jordan - you don't understand. They'll leave without us if we're late."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Just drive!"

When we got around midtown she finally relaxed.

"Turn into the parking lot over there." she pointed.

"No way, baby! Dinner cruise around Manhattan?"

"I got the tickets weeks ago. Are you surprised?"

"Surprised doesn't cover it, sweetheart. Thank you! What's the occasion?"

"The occasion, my love, is US! We don't need an occasion."

Planned spontaneity? Shelly's whole attitude had changed. Little gifts - calls in the middle of the day. It was a side of her I'd never seen before.

I saw envy in the eyes of other men, flashes of anger from black couples. Machele saw it too and stared them down. "Don't fuck with me or my man!" That look said it all. The slow dances were the best. Shelly's crimson-clad figure shimmering in the semi-darkness - the thigh-high slit in her gown playing peek-a-boo with those gorgeous gams. Intoxicating scent - head nestled on my shoulder - little kisses on my neck. Was there anything else I could have asked for? Shelly took my hand guiding me off the dance floor. We walked around the ship until she found a secluded corner. Leaning over, as if to stare out toward the skyline, she shifted her gown so the slit was facing back:

"Come close and cover me," she whispered.

She guided my hand into the slit. No panties. I ran my hand over the supple curve of her ass then between her legs. Very hot and very wet.

"Do me with your fingers - now!"

It was an order. I checked to see if we were alone. Sliding my fingers along her nether lips, I felt her body stiffen as I gently rubbed the hooded jewel. I plunged several fingers into her waiting pussy. She pumped hard against them until we heard footsteps. I withdrew my hand quickly as she turned, asking me to light her cigarette. The waitress smiled as she squeezed around us in the passageway. Had she seen anything? Did it matter? Shelly took my hand bringing my sticky fingers to my lips. "Suck them!" she demanded.

I licked her juices off my fingers. Salty sweet -- her woman scent filled my nostrils.

"I need you tonight baby," she cooed, "I can't wait until we get back to my place."

I couldn't wait either. I don't remember running any red lights - but we did make incredible time back to the Bronx. As we sped into the darkness I popped a CD in the stereo. Almost on cue, Joe Cocker's voice filled the car,

"Baby take off your coat
Real slow
Take off your shoes
I'll take off your shoes (now)
Baby take off your dress
Yes, yes, yes

You can leave your hat on
You can leave your hat on
You can leave your hat on!"

END

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