Bedroom Closet

Have you ever watched two women dance? No? You should. And maybe it only hap­pens when its two women who are going to be spend­ing time together later, or want to spend time together later. Its like they can fuck each other with their hands and their eyes with­out ever doing any­thing other then move. Move and touch.

It doesn’t come out of nowhere. There’s always the laugh­ing and touch­ing and lean­ing close and whis­per­ing before­hand around the table with drinks. Women friends are always like that, but it’s ampli­fied when the women will be lovers — then the actions and incli­na­tions that seem so nat­ural become elec­tric. Hands that touch slide off each other more slowly, a face buried in hair to whis­per some­thing lingers, a quick hug includes a slightly less quick hand slid­ing down a half uncov­ered breast. Then the music starts…

And it could be any­thing, as long as there’s a rhythm and a beat, though they can be dis­guised. The first notes of a good song or a good feel­ing and one woman takes the hand of the other and they stand like women do, slid­ing upward allow­ing the fab­ric of their dress to reveal the sculp­ture of their body for the part­ner to see. The hand hold­ing that had started and never stopped facil­i­tates a quick lead to the dance floor. They face each other. Eyes meet and smile. The dis­con­nected hand finds a com­fort­able place around a waist or lower back. Maybe touch­ing skin. Hips roll into each other.

It takes only a moment for women danc­ing to trade a found rhythm for a lost world. Music becomes liq­uid flow­ing across fab­ric inter­twin­ing and skin brush­ing skin as hands gen­tly explore each oth­ers curves and curves gen­tly con­nect and flow back with the liq­uid music. Hips and thighs mov­ing together, breasts held taunt and exposed become high­ways for fin­ger­tips mov­ing from back to shoul­der, or lips slid­ing down necks. Telling secrets.

Their eyes stay locked until the pres­sure gets to be too great and one needs to dis­con­nect for a moment; the eyes that help force the rest of the world out and pro­vide bal­last for the moments and energy. One will break eye con­tact as she slides down the body of the other; breath­ing on her lips, neck, breasts, stom­ach and back again to start anew, closer, fore­heads touch­ing, hold­ing tighter, hands allowed to move more freely.

Women are vic­tims to their own potency. Although their hands and mouths can explore the lim­its of their clothes and bod­ies can be brought to orgasm through fab­ric and pres­sure and rhythm and time, the elixir of the danc­ing only con­tributes clar­ity to their long­ing to be together in the dark cool of a bed, remov­ing clothes, explor­ing more com­pletely, naked and lov­ing, feel­ing and fuck­ing… Danc­ing is foreplay.

A___ and L____ moved to the dance floor. We had been sit­ting, drink­ing and talk­ing for a while. The two of them had been whis­per­ing and touch­ing, and then the notes of a clas­si­cal gui­tar filled the room. It had started as a span­ish instru­men­tal but I knew that the music would be chang­ing soon to a more fla­menco style. A___ would be melted, liq­uid sex. That’s why I wanted to come here tonight. The guitar.

“Ready to dance?” L___ asked.…

… I watched them walk to the floor together, hand in hand, arm in arm, whis­per­ing and laugh­ing and kiss­ing, hips swing­ing and asses mov­ing seduc­tively to the first few notes even before they began.

A___ stopped on the side of the floor near­est our table to afford me the best view. Turn. There was a pause in the music.

I watched L___ slide her hands down from A___’s hair and push her so that A___ kissed her breasts then rested her head, look­ing at me and smil­ing. L___’s hands slid down fur­ther, one stop­ping mid shoul­der, the other down A___’s thigh, under the hem of her dress, pulling her closer and lift­ing her leg a lit­tle. The music started again.

I love watch­ing A___ make love to other women. I love the way her body moves. I love to watch the pas­sion build in her and become motive power for her hands and lips, drawn out of her and erupt in waves. I love the way women’s bod­ies look together as they coil into their own world of whis­pers and touches. Watch­ing A___ and L___ dance was the start of this: We had been talk­ing and plan­ning and wait­ing and now here they were and all that pent up desire was start­ing to seep out. I knew that later they would be together in a mam­moth bed, crowds and clothes left behind in the dark­ness, and all that would be left would be the release of pas­sion built for weeks, being stoked on the dance floor, ready to erupt.

I was hard to burst­ing just watch­ing. My erect cock push­ing into my jeans as a plea­sur­able, painful reminder that later on I would be walk­ing these women back to a hotel room and hav­ing my way. I sat and sipped my whiskey and smiled, watch­ing the dance, feel­ing the pres­sure of my pas­sion build­ing. That knowl­edge of secret plea­sures wait­ing in the hours ahead changes a man’s smile…

Peo­ple in the bar noticed me. Not as much as they noticed A___ and L___ danc­ing. But those that watched as the two women left the table to dance stared back at me dur­ing the breaks. I couldn’t read their expres­sions, but I under­stood them. They knew what we three were doing. Many of them with their wives or girl­friends, friends or dates, passed secret looks at A___ and L___ and then at me and won­dered, jealous.

There were some who were more bold — out on the dance floor cir­cling A___ and L___. Lean­ing in and whis­per­ing, lin­ing up behind and grind­ing in, want­ing to par­tic­i­pate, but not know­ing how to make it hap­pen. These are the type of men who see the dance of women as an end and want to get off then. The type of men who play their whole hand in hopes that they will be allowed in. A___ and L___ han­dled them eas­ily, flir­ta­tiously, mis­chie­vously. At one point I was pointed out to a par­tic­u­larly aggres­sive suitor. He said some­thing to A__ and L___ and turned to look at me. As he turned back to com­mence grind­ing they had moved off, roped in by some other hope­fuls. He wan­dered past and said some­thing like “You’re a lucky bastard”.

“I’ll assume you meant that kindly?” He moved away.

They danced for a while. I watched. Their bod­ies were radi­at­ing heat from the danc­ing. Their eyes radi­ated lust. When they returned to the table they were no longer strangers in any way that mat­tered. As they approached they sep­a­rated for the first time in what seemed like hours so that L___ was to my left and A___ to my right. I may as well have been on drugs — the sex­u­al­ity that emanated from them was almost enough to knock me out. A__’s lips imme­di­ately found mine and L___’s hand moved to my lap while her other found A___’s.

It felt like a comet of fire had ran into me, into us, wrap­ping our table. I was sur­rounded by hands and lips and hair and whis­pers from A___ and L__. I for­got we were at a table at all until my free hand was nudged by some­thing and I dis­en­gaged long enough to see the waiter stand­ing there with the check. A___ and L___ con­tin­ued kiss­ing behind me and I had to remove L___ and A___’s hands from my lap to keep from cum­ing. I paid the waiter and said “Thank you”.

“No, thank you. And thank you ladies… it was an elec­tric night.” He winked and walk away. But his voice had cooled the comet momen­tar­ily. A___ and L__ took sips from their drinks and looked around.

“I think we should be off.” “Yeah”. “Great idea”.

This entry was posted on Monday, December 10th, 2007 at 2:59 pm and is filed under sex. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.