Only When We Dance

I said, "Being in bed with you—even with these rules—is too exciting."

She smiled for a moment, and then she looked at my hand and said, "You don't have to cover yourself."

I drew my hand away, resting it on my hip.

She looked long and hard at it, and then she asked, "Is it uncomfortable being in your underwear?"

"I'll be okay."

"It looks like it's straining."

I glanced down. The fabric where the head of my cock pushed was so taut I could see its skin between the knittings.

"I don't like seeing it that way," she said. "Here." Gia's left hand reached out, and she lifted the waistband over my cock. I spread my legs and raised my hip. She tugged them down my legs, and I kicked them off. "Better?"



"Yeah."

She sighed, alternating her glances between my eyes and my penis. Finally, she asked, "If we could, what would you do?"

Stick it in your pussy and fuck your brains out, I thought without an instant's hesitation, but I knew better than to say that. "I would throw out our rules," I said. "Then, I would kiss you."

Gia smiled.

"You?" I asked. "What would you do?"

"Everything," she said. "What's the sexiest moment of your life?"

"Is now included?"

"No."

I said, "In the shower with you yesterday."

"Without me, I mean."

I hesitated.

She assured me it wouldn't make her jealous.

I knew my answer. "I caught a pass during an away game last fall..."

She interrupted, "Your sexiest moment is during a football game?"

"Will you let me finish, for fuck's fucking fuck?"

It was too late, we both started laughing really hard.

When it finally passed, I explained. "So, I catch this pass and went out of bounds on the opponent's sideline, just short of the end zone. I almost run into the cheerleaders. Anyways, one of them—the cheerleaders, I mean—this blonde, she and I catch one another's eye, and she smiles. Damn, it's beautiful. I feel great—we were losing, and I feel great, instantly. Made my day. So, it's a night game and our flight out isn't 'till the next morning, and a bunch of us guys go to campus that night to party. We meet up with fellas from the other team, and they take us to sorority row. We go into one of the houses—I can't remember which one—and I see this girl, same one, the cheerleader. She recognizes me, and she smiles."

I stopped there.

Gia said, "And then...?"

"A gentleman never tells," I announced.

She laughed. "But tell me."

I waited.

She turned up her eyebrows. "You're not going to tell me?"

Those eyes could get the nuclear codes from the President. "Alright, alright," I said, "but, there's not much to tell. I already gave you the best part."

"What?"

"Yeah. I already told you the sexiest part."

"You mean the sex wasn't the sexiest part?"

"It wasn't," I said.

Gia threw up a time-out sign. "Wait a second, wait a second. You are the first guy I have ever asked that question who didn't describe the actual sex. I mean, for all of them, the sex was the moment. Every one."

"I guess I'm different."

She shook her head in astonishment. "I guess so."

"So, tell me yours."

She grinned. "When we kissed in the Reverse Fyodorov." She was referring to the advanced support position ending the second section of our dance.

"Me not included," I insisted.

She sighed. "The one I always used to tell happened in Freshman Chem Lab."

"Chem Lab!?"

She guffawed and nodded. "You know how in the first hour, you're in a classroom observing the experiment before you head out to the stations and do it yourself?"

"Yeah."

"We had those desks—tables, really—that sat two chairs. Black and about, I don't know, four feet wide."

"I know the ones."

"The seating chart put me next to this guy who never said a word to me. Totally ignored me, really. He was a tall red-head with short hair. Super hairy arms. Always smelled really good and he had dark brown eyes, almost black. He was beautiful."

I nodded.

"But, he was the first guy who never gave me the time of day. It annoyed me. Anyways, toward the end of the semester, I put my hand on his leg—on his jeans right on his thigh, you know. I don't know why. I just did. I knew no one could see what I was doing under those fat tables. I just wanted to see what he would do."

"What did he do?"

"Nothing. He didn't flinch; he didn't look at me. He just let my hand stay."

"Huh."

"Well, the next lab day came, and I had given up on him. But, all of a sudden, he put his hand on my leg, and he started rubbing. A few minutes later, he stopped. So, I rubbed his leg. Class ended and we went to the lab, and we never said a word to each other."

"Nothing?"

She shook her head. "The next week came. This time, he put his hand on the top of my leg, you know, right here." Gia pointed to the place where her leg met her stomach. "He rubbed me there for a while, and then he started sliding his hand inward, closer and closer. So, I did the same to him, and I could feel his hard-on. Class ended and still, we never talked."

"Weird."

"I know, right? The next lab was our last one of the term. Final lab, big complex experiment involving just about everything. The whole week leading up to that lab, every spare moment I was looking forward to that hour in the classroom, imagining what he might do to me and what I might do to him. I got wet thinking about it. I masturbated in my dorm room imagining it."

"And?"

"And it happened again," she said, only her voice had lost that dreamy, sensual undertone, becoming more matter-of-fact. "This time he rubbed between my legs, and I rubbed his cock. Class ended, and I never saw him again."

"That's it?"

She nodded. "But, don't you see? It wasn't the final event. It was the anticipation of it—the slow build-up over months with this stranger. I don't even remember his name."

"He never tried to slip you his number?"

"No, and believe me, I would have called."


I shook my head in disbelief.

"That entire week I was horny, and I know if I had seen him—anywhere—I would have fucked him. Anywhere, I would have. And, if we had one more lab after that one—I remember thinking this—I would not have worn underwear, and I was going to wear a skirt, and this was in December."

"How far would you have gone—in class, I mean?"

She drew her head back, saying, "No one has ever asked me that. I like that question." Gia drew in a long breath. Finally, she said, "I don't think I would have jerked him off, and I wouldn't have wanted to have an orgasm, not during class. I don't know. Maybe I would have excused myself to go to the bathroom and given him a little wink."

I chuckled, then said, "Well, your story was better than mine."

"No. Come on. I liked it," she argued.

Silence followed.

She sighed, asking, "What should we do?"

"Gia, I want you right now, but—and I hate myself for saying this—if we can't make it through one day, we're never going to get control of this thing."

"I know."

"And the guilt..."

"I know."

I sighed. "I just don't know."

"I do," Gia announced. "I'm going to do myself." She slipped her panties off. Leaving her tank top on, she rolled onto her stomach. She drew a pillow under her chest and popped onto her knees. Her little ass rose into the air. Gia wiggled her knees well past shoulder-width apart. Thrusting her arm underneath, I watched her hand rise between her legs and begin touching. Her body visibly relaxed—her lower back fell, leaving her ass high in the air.

She looked like a woman waiting to get fucked doggy-style.

Gia turned her head on the pillow to face me and murmured, "You can watch if you want."

I sat up; adrenaline pumped through my veins. Beside me, Gia masturbated.

"If you stay, I can see you stroke your cock for me," she uttered with a satisfied sigh.

"I need to look," I responded.

She hummed. "Then get behind me. Hold my waist and let me feel your thighs on mine—for inspiration."

I crawled across the bed and rose up to my knees. Behind her, the view was a knife plunged into my heart. A curse rose to my throat, but the excruciating beauty of Gia's body choked it back.

She could not have looked more sexually exposed, vulnerable, and submissive. Her face turned back to watch me approach.

I edged closer on my knees, alternately watching her eager eyes and her probing fingers. When my thighs pressed again the back of hers, Gia moaned. When I took her waist into my hands, she cried, "Oh!" My erection hovered over her ass; my testicles pressed against its soft flesh.

I let go with one hand.

When she felt the tremors of my strokes, she purred, "Yes." Her eyes closed in what looked like bliss, and she murmured, "You can cum on my ass if you want."

I grunted.

A silent beat passed. Gia whispered, "Or on my asshole."

The desire to thrust—to involve my entire body and not just my hand in this act—rose in me like gasoline poured into a fire. With her hip and ass in one hand, I urged her body forward and drew mine back.

Gia held her breath.

I brought us together with an audible slap.

She cried, "Yes!"

Again, harder.

Again, still harder.

Our skin walloped together; the shock waves moved across the muscles of her ass and back in tiny ripples.

"Fuck me!" she hollered.

On my testicles, I could feel Gia rapidly jamming her fingers inside herself. I told her I was going to cum on her asshole.

"Yes!" she cried.

If not for the sound of damp flesh smacking together, the rapid, unrelenting thrusts might have been mistaken for some kind of machine.

Gia cried out that she was cumming. Her head briefly rose from the pillow. She looked back at me, and her eyes were a mixture of anguish and bliss. Then, the front of her body collapsed to the mattress. She drew bounteous gulps of air and huffed them out. Each was accompanied by an almost silent cry—as if the pleasure, itself, was so abundant that it stifled even her voice.

In the midst of her climax, I felt the pulses rising from my balls. I held her body still, parted her ass with my thumb and index finger, and watched my erection hurl salvos of sperm upon her anus.

Gia gasped, "Yes!"

With the last of my energy, I gently urged the front of my cock against Gia's taut, wrinkled skin and let the final gobs coat her there, flesh on flesh.

The release complete, I sat back on my heels and collapsed sideways onto the mattress. Gia's legs slowly pushed out, and I watched her ass sink to the bed like a torpedoed gunship.

We panted in silence.

Finally, I huffed, "Wow."

Gia shut off the lamp and said, "I know." She sighed.

Neither of us spoke, and the sound of Gia's breathing was like a blanket of its own. My body felt warm and, though spent, still somehow satisfied.

Gia broke the silence. "It's not fair."

"Hmm?"

"It isn't fair," she repeated, and her tone was less a pointed complaint and more an exhausted lamentation.

I waited for her to explain.

"We can't fuck, but our bodies are perfect for fucking each other," she whispered. "I know it. There's not a doubt in my mind. That—what we just did—would have been the best sex of my life. Don't you sense it, too?"

"Yeah. I do."

"But, we can't ever do it."

"Yeah."

She didn't say anything more, and a few minutes later, I fell asleep.

***

It was Friday morning.

The dream I remembered when I awakened meant something, but I needed to think about it for a bit.

In it, I was dancing with Gia on a football field. The grass wasn't grass, but polished wood painted green. It was night. All of the stadium lights were on, but the stands were empty. Gia smiled at me and laughed. Then, as if he were already and always there, Gia's ex, Nick, swept in and took her from me. I went to the bench and watched them from a distance.

Anger welled up inside me. I didn't want to her dance with that bastard, and I ran to the sideline and screamed at Nick. I called him a cheating fuck. I told Gia to dance with me. She stopped and waved me over. Just as I took the field, Mom, in a referee's uniform, appeared in front of me. She waved me back, saying, "It's too soon."

I don't remember what I did after that. I made a choice. I know I did, but I couldn't recall what it was.

But, I remembered the rest, and I thought hard about it while I listened to Gia in the shower.

I rolled on my side and ran my hand across the sheet where Gia had lain. My fingers came across a wet, sticky area.

Then, the dream took shape in my mind as an idea, a warning: was it too soon?

Was Gia's attraction to me all based on the very recent and traumatizing break up with Nick? Was this a rebound tryst? Was it too soon?

What if, I wondered, Gia and Nick had broken up months ago? If that had been the case, I doubted that I would be sleeping in Gia's bed lying next to a puddle of my own sperm—sperm that spent the evening seeping down Gia's ass, over her vagina to the bedding.

Add to that, I thought, that the recent break-up wasn't just the end of a period of dating; the two had been engaged.

Not for long. It was true. The wedding was only in the earliest planning stages as far as I knew. Nothing but rings had been purchased.

Still, they had been planning on spending the rest of their lives together.

***

We practiced hard for two hours. I was glad our focus was on perfecting the first section. I didn't think pressing my body against hers was going to help anything.

I stripped Gia's bed down and took her sheets and the rest of her laundry to a wash and fold place, paying the extra to have it all back before close. Gia protested, but I knew she appreciated it.

Back home, Mom asked me about the recital—how practices were going. Then, she asked where I'd been sleeping. She wanted to know if I had a new girlfriend.

I told her a gentleman never tells.

She pursued it, asking if it was someone she knew.

I hugged her and said when it was worth reporting, I'd not only let her and Dad know, I would bring the girl over to meet them.

This information satisfied her.

But, it made me feel even worse.

Having picked up Gia's laundry earlier, I returned with them after her evening classes ended.

She told me she was going out with friends.

I made her bed while she showered. When I finished, I went over to the bathroom and let her know I was taking off.

"Are you coming back later?" she asked from the stall.

"I don't think so."

"What? No," she protested. When I didn't respond, she called out, "Wait. Come in. Come in here and talk to me."

I didn't want to. Seeing her naked, wet body through that glass door would take a sledgehammer to my resolve. "Nah, I'm good. Have fun tonight, Gia!"

I left to meet up with some friends of my own, although I wouldn't be drinking—football team rules.

She started texting me from a bar about an hour minutes later, asking if everything was okay, asking if I was upset about anything, and so on.

To each of these, I courteously deflected matters: "We're good," "No worries."

As the night grew late, I knew she was getting buzzed by the tone and content her texts. They went from friendly interest to curiosity to alarm. No longer asking about my feelings, she was now asking if she'd done something to upset me.

I redirected and tried to soothe and allay fears.

She was persistent.

When she insisted several times that I meet her at the studio when the bars closed, I let slip my doubts. "Gia, I love you, but let's just dance. I can't be your rebound."

She did not immediately respond.

She's upset.

In the wait for her response, I could hear in my mind the silence and sniffles.

Shit.

I debated sending another text but ultimately decided against it.

Five minutes later, her response came—cold, and with that eerie drunken calculation: "No one who loved me would send me that text, dance partner."

At a friend's apartment, I excused myself from a conversation and went outside. I called her, but she didn't answer. Denied—straight to voicemail. I followed up with a text, asking her to call me or let me call her. No response.

For the next forty-five minutes, I tried to enjoy myself with my friends, but I couldn't stop second-guessing my choices and decisions. Just as I was about to excuse myself, I got a text from her—or, more accurately, from her phone: "Hey, this is Fiona. Can you come to O'Brien's at 34th & Maple? We need your help."

"On my way."

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the small parking lot. Two young women were standing beside Gia's little electric blue coupe. Gia was laying across the trunk, feet on the ground.

I parked and jogged over.

One stayed with Gia; the other approached me. After introductions, she said, "Thank you for coming."

"What's up?"

"Well, for starters, she's fucked up."

"Yeah, looks like it."

"No way we're letting her drive, right? Thing is, she won't get in my car so I can take her back to her apartment."

I nodded. Evidently, Gia had not told her friends about living at the dance studio.

Her friend went on. "She finally gave up wanting to drive, but then she started ordering us to call you, so..."

"Yeah. I gotcha. It's no problem."

"And since what happened with Nick, I think she's just..." Gia's friend did not finish.

Gia's voice broke through. "He's here? Where?"

Gia's friend and I glanced over. She saw me and fell off the trunk onto the ground.

I ran over and picked her up.

Gia mumbled, "You two know my brother, don't you?"

The ladies nodded, glancing at me.

"He's a beautiful dancer, and his cock is like a hunk of hot steel."

My body couldn't move, but my eyes darted to each of Gia's friends in turn. I felt blood rush to my face. I stammered, "Uh...that's...uh...really..."

"Or...so I'm told," Gia interjected, "by a couple of his exes." She waved her hand dismissively and added, "In case either of you is interested in getting laid tonight."

Gia's friends smiled at me uncomfortably.

"Okay!" I said. "I'll take it from here. Thank you both."

Her friends hugged her good-bye, and I waved to them.

Out of earshot, I turned on Gia. "Are you fucking kidding me? A 'hunk of hot steel?'"

"Sorry, Dance Partner. I told them I fucking heard it from your ex-girlfriends."

"Come on," I said.

She stumbled, so I carried her to my car.

Two minutes later, I was driving her back to the studio. Gia, however, continued the conversation. "Which, you know, I didn't," she suddenly blurted.

"What?"

"I didn't hear about it from them."

"Gia, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I didn't hear about your cock from your ex-girlfriends."

"Okay."

Her head lolled against the passenger side window. A minute later, she muttered, "You hate me now."

"Of course that's not true, Gia. I love you. All I was saying was that—that we should focus on our dance." I thought about my words and added, "And being a brother and sister who are best friends, help each other out, always there for each other."

"I am not on a rebound."

"Okay."

Suddenly, her voice rose into a protest. Her head came off the window. She argued, "We are best friends! You're helping me! I'm there for you!"

I drew a deep breath, saying, "Hey, Gia?"

"Yeah?"

"If the situation was reversed—me for you—and I had just broken things off with my fiancee, how long would you tell me to wait before seeing anyone?"

"Six months," she said without hesitating. "Three, if it was a short engagement."

"Or what?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

I clarified, "What if I didn't wait? What would you tell me?"

"I'd tell you to wait for six months."

"Why?"

She hesitated. "Ooh! You're trying to trick me, but there's a big difference."

"Okay, what?"

"Same roles again. I'm you; you're me."

"Okay."

"How long should I tell you to wait before spending time with people you love and trust, like your sister?"