The Dance Class Affair

As a PI, I've dealt with a lot of people over the years, and I've learned a lot. Most of what I've learned about men has been pretty logical. Most of what I've learned about women is they're really fucking confusing.

Guys are pretty easy to read. If you see a guy in a bar drinking a normal American beer like Miller or Coors, you know he's probably going to like sports and will talk your ass off about how this pitcher isn't worth a shit or who's going to win the Super Bowl this year. He's probably not into tennis or figure skating or gymnastics, but he might like to play golf.

If you live in the South, like I do, it's likely if he's not watching sports and sucking down a beer, he's out on a lake sucking down a beer while fishing for bass or crappie. Either that or he's hunkered down around a campfire sipping straight Jack from a red Solo cup and talking about that big buck he saw but couldn't get a clean shot at.

If the guy asks the bartender what craft beers he has of he if can recommend a really good imported pilsner, you can bet he's gonna be an asshole and probably a wimp. He's the one who will watch tennis and figure skating and gymnastics on TV and will know all about all the rules and top players. He's probably a fucking tree-hugger who wants to show women he has a feminine side. The bastard also thinks he's smarter than everybody else so he's always right about everything.

The gay guys are a little harder to spot, but I'm OK with the gay guys. Most of them are pretty normal, well, except for liking pink and purple shirts and fucking other men.

Women are a lot harder to read, especially lesbians. I'm OK with the lesbians too. I just wish they had some sort of official lesbian necklace or bracelet to wear or something to let us guys know.

I mean, they have what they call "lipstick lesbians", which means they're gorgeous and any guy who isn't blind or gay would give his left nut to have some sack time with one of them. You'll see one and start to go say hi when another woman walks up and gives her a hug. It isn't that friendly, bent over so their tits don't touch hug, either. It's a, "this is as close to fucking you like I want as I can get in public", kind of hug.

You can't read a straight woman worth a shit either, or at least, I can't. I mean, you'll see some really hot-looking gal wearing a tight tank top with no bra and little shorts so short her ass cheeks show a little. You just know she wants to fuck some guy until he can't see straight and you hope that guy is gonna be you, so you go up and ask her if you can buy her a drink. She'll let you buy that drink and let you sit at her table and talk to her, but as soon as you say something about getting to know each other a lot better, she'll smile and say, "Oh, I can't do that. Last New Years, I took a vow of celibacy and I feel so empowered now I don't want to stop". That's false advertising in my book and it should be illegal.

Then there are the mousey type women who look like they're afraid of their own shadows. They usually walk around with their shoulders hunched forward so you can't really see if they have any tits or not, and their clothes don't fit well enough you can see how big their asses are. Usually, they're not ugly. They're just average women who don't do much to make themselves look sexy.

I can tell you that at least some of those timid looking women, once they get to know you - like for maybe an hour -- they'll be the ones who'll fuck you cross-eyed and then still want more. She'll never look like she'd be that way, but when she gets done fucking you, you're going to wonder if your cock will ever stand up again.

The woman sitting across from me that afternoon wasn't a lesbian, and she wasn't chunky - well, she was a little - but she wasn't wearing yoga pants that looked ready to split down the ass and leg seams, and she was definitely taking my mind off listening to what she said. She was about fifty, I'd guess, and while the years had added a few pounds here and there, she was a woman I'd have liked waking up next to any day of the week. She had shoulder length blonde hair, a soft, pretty face, and where the pounds had accumulated was mostly her big tits and sexy, wide ass.

Andrea Wilson was her name, and she wanted me to find out what her husband had been doing at his dance classes.

"He joined this dance class almost a year ago. They meet two nights a week for dance lessons and then twice a month they have a dance. I went with him for the first two weeks, but I don't move as fast as I used to, and Warren, that's my husband's name, he kept complaining and telling me I just wasn't trying hard enough. I finally told him he could go learn to dance if he wanted, but I was staying home and watching TV.

"About six months ago, I wanted to...well, you know...and Warren told me he was too tired. He'd never been too tired before, but I just thought he had a hard day at work. Since then, he's been too tired a lot, and I think he might be...well, he might be doing something with another woman. I don't want to think he is, but I have to know. Can you find out for me?"

I said I could do that, and after she paid me in cash for the first two days, I asked her my standard questions.

"Do you have a picture of Warren? I need to know what he looks like so I'll know I'm watching the right man."

Andrea sorted through a purse big enough to hold a couple bowling balls and finally pulled out a wallet. She flipped through half a dozen of those clear photo holders and then pulled out one picture and handed it to me.

"This one is a couple of years old. A guy took it for us when we were at the beach in Miami on vacation."

I laid the picture on my desk without really looking at it.

"OK, now, where is this dance club and what nights does it meet?"

"It's called "Dancing With Divine", and the woman who teaches it has a dance studio over on Elmwood Drive. The classes are on Tuesday and Thursday nights from seven until nine."

That was all I really needed to get started except her phone number and address. Once she gave them to me, I smiled.

"Mrs. Wilson, I'll see what I can find out in the next couple of days and then give you a call and tell you what I know so far. We can talk about what you want to do then."

As I watched Andrea walk out my door, I had to shake my head. She seemed a little shy, but if she wanted her husband to fuck her like she'd said and he told her he was too tired, he was either dumb as a pile of dog shit or he was fucking some other broad.

I found it hard to believe there were many women who'd be better. I'd have loved seeing her blue eyes looking up at me when she said, "Fuck me Harry, right now". Well, that's what I imagined her saying. She probably wouldn't have been quite so direct, but the thought did give my cock a little twinge.

I'd only glanced at the picture she'd handed me, but when I picked it up to get a better look at Warren, I figured that pile of dog shit probably had at least a few IQ points advantage over Warren. The picture was of them both on the beach. Andrea was wearing a bikini, something you couldn't get most fifty year old women to ever wear in public, and she was hot. It wasn't a tiny little bikini because if it had been, it would never have been able to keep her big heavy tits covered. The bottoms weren't tiny either, but they didn't have to be to show me her ass would have been fantastic when naked. Yeah, she did have a little tummy, but if she was naked, I wouldn't have been looking at that. She had pretty nice legs too.

Warren was wearing trunks that looked more like shorts, and he was not hot by any stretch of the imagination. I'd figured Andrea for about five feet two. Warren had to be at least six-six, and if he had any muscle on that lanky frame, he was hiding it very well. I'd have guessed him at maybe one-eighty if he'd just had a big meal. He had dark brown hair, what there was left of it on his head, and I'd had more chest hair when I was sixteen.

Well, that put this case in a different light. I couldn't imagine any woman hard up enough to spread her legs for Warren.

Well, there was Emily, a woman I'd helped by finding out it was her next door neighbor who'd been taking her panties off the clothes line in her back yard. She said she liked the fresh air smell when she dried them in the sun, so she never put her underwear in her dryer. She had one of those square, fold-up clothesline things in her backyard and she clipped her bras and panties to the cords and let them dry in the sun. She'd always hang them out before she went grocery shopping and when she came back home, a couple pairs of panties would be missing. That had been happening for almost a month.

She was willing to pay me to find out how that was happening, so I was willing to find out. She said it wasn't the cost of the panties. It was that she felt violated. Well, I could kind of understand why she thought that. I mean, underwear is pretty personal stuff.

I just couldn't understand why anybody would want her panties. Emily was a pretty big girl, and the panties she liked weren't thongs or boy shorts. They were what my ex used to call "granny panties", and hanging there on her clothesline thing, they looked more like satin pillow cases with leg holes.

Anyway, I found a spot in the alley behind her house where I could park and see her panties flapping in the breeze. As soon as she drove off, her neighbor came out of his back door, looked both ways, and then trotted over and pulled a red pair and a pink pair off the cords and went back home.

I showed Emily the pictures the next afternoon, and she was pissed. She asked me if I'd go with her when she talked to her neighbor. I'd only spent about two hours getting the pictures and she'd paid me for two days work that I'd told her wasn't refundable, so I said I would.

People never cease to amaze me. I mean, there are some people in this world who are...well, let's just say it's really hard to understand why they do the fucking things they do. When Emily knocked on the guy's door he answered it and he was grinning.

"Hi, Emily. What can I do for you today?"

Emily frowned back at him.

"You can stop stealing my panties off of my clothes line and you can give me back the ones you already took. Why do you do that anyway? Are you just weird or something?"

He grinned at her again.

"Well, I figured that's as close as I'd ever get to you."

Emily stared at him for a few seconds, then sort of smiled and started fiddling with her hair.

"You want to get close to me?"

"Well, sure. I think you're pretty hot."

I looked at the guy, then at Emily's big ass and then looked at the guy again. He didn't look crazy or like he was sick or anything like that. If anything, he looked like some fucking guy looking at a nudie magazine. Emily smiled a funny little smile and batted her eyelashes at him.

"If you wanted my panties, why didn't you just ask me?"

The guy's eyes lit up like searchlights.

"You'd have given them to me?"

Emily shook her head and grinned.

"No...but I'd have let you take them off me if you wanted to."

Well, that was enough for me. I told Emily I had to get back to my office. When I left, she was walking into his house, he was helping her along with a hand on her ass, and she was giggling something about how neighbors should get to know each other really well.

Anyway, Emily was horny enough she'd probably have made the same offer to Warren, but I could understand why. I mean, I like a woman to have an ass big enough I can have something to hold on to, but well...when people say there can be too much of a good thing...that was Emily. She probably didn't get a lot of dates, much less get herself fucked very often, so I could understand why she didn't beat around the bush with her neighbor. I figured he was going to be doing some beating around in Emily's bush in a little while and that would make her happy.

I figured this was going to be an easy case because I wouldn't have to stake out Warren and Andrea's house to see where he actually went on Tuesday and Thursday nights, at least not unless he wasn't really going to the dance class. That would be easy enough to find out. All I'd have to do was drive over to Divine's dance studio before seven and watch to see if Warren went inside.

On Tuesday night, I parked across the street in an office parking lot about six thirty and watched the door of the studio. Warren got there about a quarter til seven and went inside. So far, so good. All I had to do now was wait until he came out. If he was doing somebody from class on the side, he'd probably leave with her and they'd head out to her house or a motel. I'd follow them there, take a few pictures of him going inside with her, and then wait until they came out again and take a few more pictures.

I needed pictures of them both going in her house or a motel together and at least one of Warren coming back out. The time stamp on my camera would prove he'd done more than just escort the woman to the door, and that was something I needed. Most women won't believe their husband is fucking another woman unless they see proof he was with that woman for long enough to wet the wick at least once.

I'd just settled down with my ham sandwich to wait when there was a tap on my side window. The guy standing there had on the standard security guard uniform -- dark gray pants, light blue shirt, and dark gray jacket with an official looking gold badge on his left breast pocket and a flashlight and walkie-talkie on his service belt. I rolled down my window and asked if I could help him. He frowned at me.

"Mister, you can't park here. Didn't you see the sign?"

Well, I had, but I figured that was only during business hours and that's what I told him. He shook his head.

"Don't matter what time it is. This parking lot is for employees only. You move your car or I'll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing and have your car towed."

He didn't seem like he'd be interested in any negotiation, so I started my car, pulled out of the lot, and looked for another place to park. I didn't want to park in the studio lot. It wasn't very big, and if Warren was getting some on the side and saw me sitting there, it was possible he'd figure out I was watching him.

I couldn't find anything close enough I could watch the door or the parking lot, so I needed another approach. I was half-way home when I realized all I really had to do was join the dance class and take a few lessons. If Warren left with some woman, I'd just leave at the same time and then follow them. I wasn't too hot on taking dance lessons and Warren would know who I was, but it was the easiest way to watch what he was doing.

On Thursday night, I put on clean jeans and a clean shirt, and then drove over to Divine's studio about six thirty and went in. I was the first person there, which is what I'd hoped to be, and when the woman sitting at a table saw me she smiled.

"Hi. I'm Divine. Are you here to learn to dance?"

I had to smile back, because she was pretty divine. She was maybe a little younger than me, but not by much, and though I didn't really care for the way she had her black hair done up in a bun, the rest of her looked like sex getting ready to happen. Dancers have really nice asses.

"Yeah, I thought I'd try it a couple of times and see if I liked it."

"You didn't bring your wife along? Most women love dancing."

"No, I'm not married."

She grinned.

"Well, if you learn to dance, a handsome guy like you will have women beating down your door wanting to do more than dance."

I appreciated the sales pitch, but I'm not stupid enough to believe what she said about me being handsome. I'm not handsome. I think most women consider me a "Not great, but I'd fuck him on the fifth or sixth date" kind of guy. That seems to be the way it used to work out anyway. I haven't had an actual date in ten years, so I don't know if it's the same now. I was pretty sure I hadn't gotten any better looking.

Divine smiled and handed me a piece of paper and a pen.

"Just fill out my form so I have your name, address, phone number and email address. You don't have to join the club until you're sure you like dancing. All you have to do is pay twenty dollars each night you come for lessons. It's fifty dollars to join after that, but the lessons only cost members ten dollars, so if you join, you'll break even in five lessons. We have several unescorted women who take lessons and come to our dances, and they'll love dancing with you."

The other people started filing in a little after that, including Warren, and right at seven, Divine cleared her throat to quiet the conversation and then introduced me.

"Class, this is Harry Meers and he wants to learn to dance. I'm really happy to have another man in the class. You ladies will get to practice more now."

Well, that was probably true. The class was fifteen women and six men including me, and a couple of the men looked old enough I was surprised they weren't using canes or walkers. It was good that they were dancing and I hope when I'm that age I still feel good enough to move around, but it was obvious the women in the class were happy I was there. They were all grinning like cats about to eat a mouse.

The lesson that night was rumba, and after Divine demonstrated the woman's part, I figured I was going to like watching Divine dance more than anything else about the class. Like I said, she had a really nice ass, and I kept wondering if that ass would be doing the same thing in bed.

Divine taught the class what she called a pattern, but before she started, she paired me up with Melanie, an older woman with white hair who had probably been a real looker in her day because she still wasn't bad. Melanie was going to teach me what the other class members already knew.

Melanie grinned when Divine said, "Melanie is one of my best dancers. She'll get you up to speed really fast."

Melanie looked like she was probably close to seventy, but she didn't act that old. She walked up, grinned and held out her arms.

"Put your right hand on my shoulder blade and take my right hand in your left. This is called 'frame' and it's how you tell me what you want me to do."

I took her right hand in my left and then reached around Melanie to put my hand on her shoulder blade. She grinned.

"You can get closer to me than that. I won't bite you."

She moved toward me then and used her left hand to push my right arm into her side. When I felt the side of her soft tit, she stopped pushing.

"That's better. I need your arm right there so I can feel what you're doing, but you're all noodle arms. Stiffen up a little so I can tell you're there. That's better. Now, here's how this works. When you want me to go backward, you just take a step toward me. When you want me to go forward, you just take a step away from me."

She winked at me then.

"It's just like something else I like to do. You move and I do what you make me feel like doing."

I had to grin at her, because there wasn't much question in my mind about what she really meant. The little sparkle in her eyes told me Melanie knew exactly what she'd said.

Melanie smiled back at me.

"OK, now I'll teach you the rumba basic."

Melanie went through the steps for me and then said, "Let's dance, but I'm not going to lead. You'll have to do that."

I listened for the downbeat and when I heard it coming I stepped forward. Evidently I stepped a little too far too fast, because I ran my chest into Melanie's tits.

She just giggled.

"Well, that was fun, but you have to take smaller steps because I can't do my cuban motion and take big steps at the same time."

"What's cuban motion?"

Melanie grinned.

"Watch me while I dance."