It Was Just A Fantasy Ch. 03byrpsuch©
This follows It Was Just A Fantasy and But Whose Fantasy Was It? I think it can be read on its own, but is better after having read those two. Thanks to those who read for me and made suggestions, some of which I incorporated. Thanks especially to Denise whose comments helped me improve it considerably. I put the finishing touches on my makeup and went into the bedroom.
My dress was hung on the closet door waiting for me. It was the final bit of attire to complete my look. I took the wispy, black, spaghetti-strapped dress and slid it down my body, over the black silk bra and black bikini panties. It ended about 6 inches above my knees. The ensemble was completed by my black, three-inch heeled dancing shoes.
It had been almost two years since the anniversary on which I nearly lost my marriage. Six months of therapy had gotten us to a point where it was even better than before the event. The event. Sounds clinical and benign, doesn't it? It wasn't. I had cheated on him on our anniversary and flaunted it. The reasons I thought I had were false and stupid.
I learned in therapy that it was practically preordained by the constant messages I had gotten in childhood of my inadequacy as a person. My parents had not meant to scar me. It was their way of saying, "I think you're so great you can do anything." But it came out, "Why won't you do better? You never live up to your potential. You're a failure." I guess my subconscious started to believe it after the 10,000th or 20,000th time I heard that I was, somehow, not worthy. So I was set on a course to prove them correct.
That was then. Once I understood why I did self-destructive things, the affirmation of my worthlessness lost its power over me. Even if I had done unworthy things in the past, nothing prevented me from avoiding them in the future. At least that was what I hoped. One day at a time.
I looked in the full-length mirror. I was hot! Guys would be drooling tonight. Their dates would be jealous.
I was going dancing at a nearby club that featured Latin music. This was not a bar with music but a dance club with liquor. Maybe the distinction isn't obvious. People go there to dance and happen to drink between dances.
They had a live band, which would play the whole panorama of Latin music. But the highest percentage of the music would be Salsa, high-energy, hip-swiveling, infectious music. The time and money spent on dance lessons would be put to good use.
I arrived just after eight and, while not fully crowded, the place was in full swing. The dance floor abounded with people who had looks on their faces that said, "It doesn't get any better than this."
There was never a guarantee you could find somebody to dance with unless you brought them. People come here primarily to dance, not to pick up members of the opposite gender. But there were usually a few unattached dancers of each persuasion.
As I watched people dancing, I saw him approaching. His blue suit looked like the pattern had been cut for his body, which was solid and well muscled. He walked with a confidence that said, "I can have anything I want." And, he was gorgeous. A shiver ran through me just looking at him. I could suddenly understand why guys have so much fun girl watching.
He held out a hand to me. "Would you like to dance?"
I was so taken with him that I wasn't able to answer immediately. "Yes," I finally got out.
He took my hand and held it all the way to the dance floor.
The band was playing a Salsa. He took my right hand in his left, put his left hand around my back and started moving to the music. He swiveled his hips and moved his body as if this form of dance had been invented just to display his sexuality.
Not only did he look fantastic, he was a superb leader. He would assertively raise my arm to lead me in a turn in either direction. When he wanted me to turn sideways, he would slide his hand from my back to my hip and exert a little rotational pressure backward to let me know. He was completely in charge.
The whole time he was looking at me with those deep brown eyes like nothing else existed or mattered except the two of us and the dance we were doing.
It was more than dancing. There was clearly a sexual component to it. It made me feel uncomfortable, but I liked it.
When the dance ended, he brought my right hand to his lips and kissed it. "Thank you. You are a wonderful dancer."
"So are you..." I didn't know his name.
"Rodolfo." He bowed ever so slightly as if to apologize.
"I'm," I almost said Beth, "Margot."
We walked back to the table area. He still had my hand.
"I see you are married, Margot. Why don't you introduce me to your husband? I would like to tell him what a lucky man he is."
Oh, my. Oh, that requires a response, doesn't it? "He's out of town on business. He left this afternoon." Did I have to supply so much detail?
"If I were married to such a beautiful woman, I don't know if I would want her out dancing with strange men looking the way you do."
Oh, my. It wasn't just the way he said it. It was the intensity of his look. "Well, he, I, he wanted me to have fun. I love to dance."
"I think him on behalf of all the men here. I would worry about letting you go alone."
"Well, he has nothing to worry about. I'm very happily married."
We were up to dance and down to rest for the next couple of hours. We danced more Salsa, Cha Cha and Rumba. He started with basic stuff because he had not had a chance to watch me dance to assess my level. But he was so good: he led so well, and it was so sensual.
If you haven't been Latin dancing, you probably can't understand. The sexual energy in the room was palpable. I was not unaffected. Rodolfo was not doing anything inappropriate or even suggestive. There was just an aura of sexuality about him. He couldn't help it.
"Please, Margot, can I get you a drink?"
"Are you trying to get me a little drunk?"
"Please, Margot. Why would I do that to such an angel?"
Oh, my. "Okay. I'll have a grasshopper." That couldn't do too much harm, could it? "I'll be right back. I'm going to the Ladies' Room."
I checked myself out in the mirror before returning. No wonder Rodolfo was interested. How could he not be?
As I reached the table I saw him say something to the band leader and head back to our table.
We talked as I sipped. Rodolfo would touch my hand or my arm as he spoke. Occasionally he would touch my leg through the dress. I understood the body language. I returned some of it.
Rodolfo was really appealing and it was going to be a great disappointment to have to turn him down.
The band took a ten-minute break. When they returned, Rodolfo asked me, "Do you by any chance dance Argentine Tango?"
"It just so happens I do."
He took my hand, drew me up and walked me to the dance floor. He knew what was coming. I guessed that was the conversation with the band leader.
The tango started and he surprised me from the first step. Before I could gather my feet together, his right foot moved between mine and was sandwiched between them. He shifted his weight to his right foot and moved his left to sandwich my right. We were in what is known as a shared axis, two people trying to occupy the same space at the same time. We weren't close together, there was no space separating us at all. It is impossible to stay in this position very long. Somebody will lose their balance.
He moved his chest forward and I stepped back on my left leg as his left leg moved forward to my right. Then he surprised me again. His chest moved forward and as I prepared to move back with my right leg, I felt his shoe against mine. His foot followed mine, touching all the way, giving the appearance that he was pushing my foot with his. That is the illusion it is supposed to create but it was so unexpected.
He gathered us up in shared axis again for a brief moment and I stepped forward as he stepped back. All of this was in keeping with the slow speed and the emotional content of the music.
He was an excellent leader in Salsa, but in Argentine Tango, he was masterful.
He took me to the cross and then led me to step across his path with my right foot. He continued to turn me around him as if he were the center of the universe. And, at that moment he was, both emotionally and from the point of view of the dance.
As I moved around him, I knew I was supposed to stay close, both for balance and for the sensual look it created. It would not have mattered if I didn't know that. He controlled me perfectly so that I couldn't wander even slightly off course.
He took me all the way around him and had me step across his path with my right foot again. He stopped me and turned me so that I was positioned to come back across with my left foot. But he didn't lead me to take the step. Before I could take it, I felt his foot against my right foot, blocking me from taking a step.
I felt the slight lift on my back. That was his instruction to stay on my right foot and not take any steps until led. He didn't move at all. He was giving me the opportunity to play in this position before he would lead me across his path the other way. And when he did, I would have to step over his foot, since it was in my way.
So I played. I slowly rubbed my left calf up his leg to the knee, twice. He released the lift and slowly turned his chest to lead me across. I rubbed my leg back up his leg and down the other side before finally finishing the step. At the precise instant I landed, he took all his weight on his right foot. We moved as if there were only one person moving both legs in unison.
The only tanguero with whom I had ever danced who was better than Rodolfo was my instructor. But he never danced with the sensuality or emotion with which Rodolfo led me. It was like making love and achieving a prolonged simultaneous orgasm.
He continued by pulling me into close embrace. We looked like a very thin capital A, leaning in against each other, our breastbones touching, our cheeks touching, my breasts crushed against his chest as he led me. Every few beats of the music I could feel the beat of his heart against my bosom.
The music finally slowed as the song drew to a close. He gave me that lift again. He held me tightly against his chest. He moved slowly back and down, bending his knees. Since I wasn't supposed to take any steps, I didn't. I just leaned further and further forward, his chest the only thing preventing me from falling.
The music ended and Rodolfo straightened his legs, lifting me back into a standing position.
I was flushed and breathing hard. It wasn't from the exertion of the dance.
Then I heard and saw something I had never seen before in this place. People were on their feet applauding for us. If it had been that emotional for them, imagine how emotional it had been for me. While we had been dancing, I had been completely unaware of the existence of anyone or anything but the two of us and the music.
Rodolfo led me from the floor. Was I some puppet, expected to do everything he asked? Apparently.
"We should go," he said. "It won't get better than that."
He had that right. "Okay."
We left and he led me to his car.
"We can't go back to my place. My wife's sister is staying there. Tell me how to get to your place. Your husband isn't home."
I was completely enthralled with him. I couldn't say no. Perhaps I would be able to later.
He held my hand as we drove. I don't know if it was a proprietary gesture. He made no attempt to try anything overtly sexual. I felt a foreboding nonetheless.
It was a very short ride. I let us in and we walked down the hall. He still had my hand.
He drew me to him and put his arms around me differently than when we were dancing. He kissed me and I kissed him back, our tongues exploring.
He ran his hands up my arms. He ran his hands across my shoulders. He ran his hands down my back and up my sides, continuing the kiss the whole time. My hands were not idle either. I was losing control, if I had ever had it.
I dragged him down the hall toward the stairs never losing contact. He dragged me up the stairs never losing contact. We dragged each other into the bedroom.
I unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. It fell to the floor. As I tried to undo his tie, he bent over and picked up his jacket. He folded it hung it neatly over the back of a chair. I had gotten his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. I stripped it off and unbuckled his belt. A button and a zipper later his pants fell to the floor. He pushed me away, sat in the chair, untied his shoes and removed them. Then he stepped out of his pants, folded them and hung them neatly over the back of the chair. I'm frantic with the urgency of the moment and he's acting like the fucking valet!
Satisfied with maintaining the creases in his suit, he slipped the spaghetti straps off my shoulders and gravity did the rest. I tried to bend over to pick it up, but he gripped my shoulders and led me to the bed. The arrogant bastard could hang up his suit but he left my dress in a heap on the floor.
I had not made a wise choice. But wisdom had nothing to do with it. Rodolfo was spellbinding. I could not help but follow his lead. The few remaining pieces of our clothing quickly found the floor.
He lowered me slowly to the bed and the kissing resumed. So did the touching. It was unnecessary. He was visibly ready and I was drenched. He was between my legs and I could feel his erection against my abdomen. Still he avoided touching anything crucial.
What the hell was he doing? "Enough," I shouted. "You don't need to seduce me any more. I'm seduced."
"I'm not seducing you my dear, I'm just arousing you."
I grabbed his ass cheeks and tried to pull him into me. He resisted. "I'm aroused. Do it. I can't get any more aroused."
"Sure you can. You're getting the Rodolfo experience."
Nothing extinguishes passion quite like the arrogance of someone referring to himself in the third person. Yet, "Just shut up and fuck me, you bastard."
He could. He was lubricated just from moving around what was leaking from my body. But he wouldn't. He finally made the concession of running a finger around my nipple.
I needed to cum. Hell, I needed to start. I needed Rodolfo. "Please." My hands hadn't been effective on his ass so I reached around, grabbed his dick and tried to pull it into me.
He removed my hand. "No." Then he started to slide it in very slowly, agonizingly slowly.
"I need it hard and fast."
I grabbed his ass again and tried to pull him all the way in. He put his hands on my hips to prevent it.
He moved in and out so slowly. It was driving me crazy.
On one in stroke, he stayed. I was ready to scream. This was not what I needed. He started to rotate his hips in a small circle. The effect was to press the top of his penis against my clit. The pressure was ever changing but constant. I needed him to be forceful. This was not what I needed. He tilted his hips forward so that, in addition to the pressure on my clitoris, he was massaging my g-spot. He knew better than I did. This was just what I needed.
The frustration, the sensations all came together. The wave was cresting. And then he stopped.
"Don't stop. I need it."
"You need Rodolfo."
"Yes. I need Rodolfo."
"You must tell your husband you need Rodolfo."
"No, you bastard. I'll never do that."
He started to withdraw.
"No. Don't stop."
"Will you tell him?"
"He'll dump me."
"Will you tell him?"
"Anything! Don't stop."
A quick stroke. Rotate. Swivel. Press. He pushed my legs up against my chest and ran his hands up and down the backs of my thighs. He sped up. I was making some kind of continuous noise. I have no idea what it was or how it sounded to him. I was on the edge again and then I was over it.
It lasted a long time. How long I have no idea. Long enough for him to have climaxed as well. I couldn't feel it. I would not have been able to feel an earthquake so violent was my orgasm. He was too quiescent to still have been in need of release.
He rolled off and I continued to feel the aftershocks of my own earthquake. I know it's not possible but I swear I could feel my hair throbbing.
Rodolfo was breathing heavily and contentedly. It had been earth shattering for him as well.
When I calmed down a little, I would want to do this again.
Then I felt him getting up from the bed.
"Where are you going?" I didn't want this to end.
"I forgot to put out the recyclables. I'll be right back."
"You need to work on the accent. I couldn't tell if you were Hispanic or Hungarian."
"I've been really nice this last year haven't I, Danny? I mean I've turned into a much nicer person haven't I?"
"Yes, Beth. You have."
"I'm almost as nice as you now, aren't I?"
"Yes, you are."
"Good. Then next time I want to be the heartless bitch who breaks up your marriage."