Pandora's Box

Michelle and I went to The Café to dance, catch up, toast to school being over, and drink her sorrows away about recently having been dumped. We were scoping out who we thought was hot. I was trying to pick out some girls for her, but our tastes don’t match at all. I pointed out one or two guys, too, as she occasionally gets intrigued enough by a guy to pursue him to first or second base. But she didn’t like the guys I pointed out either.

Then… a train of three men appeared on the dance floor. I found it SO HOT watching the three of them bump and grind against one another. I stared, smiling, captivated. I made eye contact with the cutest one of them, smiling at him to show my amusement and approval. Although I never caught his name, for the sake of simplicity in telling the rest of this story, I’ll call him Marcos. Marcos was hot. He was a little on the short side, but a few inches taller than me (my favorite height in men and women). He was slender, but solid. I felt those arm muscles through his t-shirt, so I know (but I’m getting ahead of myself). He was also the best dancer of the group; in fact, he was the best dancer at the club. I watched and appraised his dance moves, my eyes falling down the length of his body from head to toe. The smile never left my face as I watched him, though I shyly tried to avoid eye contact. Eye contact seemed way too dangerous for the effect his dance moves were having on me; I knew my yearning would be transparent. His style was appealing as well. His jeans hung baggy around his waist, subtlety suggesting a hip hop look. But his t-shirt fit nicely around his torso – in that gay boy “please admire my chest” sort of way. He also had on a baseball cap that added to the boyish appearance of his rounded facial features. His skin was dark and smooth, though I vaguely recall a hint of five o’clock shadow brushed against my face briefly.

Michelle encouraged me, “Go dance with him!” I thought for a second and recalled that C had given me permission to dance with strangers (and friends for that matter) at bars. This was all part of negotiations over our opposing expectations in relationships - my preference for polyamory and her need for monogamy.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I looked at Michelle, terrified at the thought. “That would be WAY too dangerous for me.”

Michelle dropped her chin and looked up at me, “Melaina, think about it. It wouldn’t be dangerous at all.” We both looked over and Marcos was very occupied, grinding with one of his boys.

“Well, maybe not for him, but maybe for me. I am already feeling pretty mixed up and confused.” This whole readjusting to the identity as a bisexual has been harder on me than it should be. (I have identified as a lesbian for fifteen years and only recently, after having been happily married to the same woman for the last seven years have I come out all over again – as bisexual. Though I remain happily married to my very understanding partner.)

I continued to watch Marcos and was tickled to see him respond politely to women who approached him on the dance floor. It wasn’t clear if it was the traditional way that gay boys dance with women for fun or if he was really into it. I remained too intimidated to approach him and continued to dance with Michelle, clinging to the mirror on the wall for security. He was almost too hot and everyone at the club knew it. Men and women alike, regardless of their sexual orientation, were all flocking towards him.

He caught me watching him and remained dancing facing in my direction. I leaned into the wall for support. The crowd thinned between us. Next thing I knew, he was moving towards me, his arms raised up on either side of me as an invitation. My body responded involuntarily, lifting itself up away from the mirror and towards him.

Adrenaline pumped through me, making it impossible for me to follow his dance moves. We bumped awkwardly against one another – once and then twice – before he grabbed my hips, pressing them into his to help me follow. I think I stopped breathing for a moment at that point. Then my heart – along with another organ – jumped as I registered his hard cock against my hip. The tension and desire I was feeling were too unbearable. I had to break it. I leaned in and whispered, “You’re an incredible dancer.” He reached up and kissed my hand, saying “Thank you” before dancing away again.

I was aroused and yet aching with disappointment that the dance had ended so soon.

“I’m going to go dance with him,” Michelle declared.

“Okay.” I stayed in my spot, shyly keeping my distance as I watched her wander towards him. I tried not to catch his eye as I watched them dance. Then I thought, “Fuck it!” And as they turned and his back was to me, I slid in behind him and grinded my pelvis up against his ass. It was hard to keep up with his fancy grinding, so soon both Michelle and I fell away. But then Michelle moved in again. This time, as they turned and he faced me, I smiled seductively and jumped back on behind Michelle.

One of the friends from the initial trio - who was looking more and more like he was Marcos’ boyfriend - slid in behind him. Marcos reached around Michelle to grab my ass, nearly pulling me off of Michelle and onto his thigh. I was afraid I was going to cum right there, savoring the warmth of his hand pressed firmly into my ass.

That’s when he saw the ID on the floor. He bent over to pick it up. “This yours?” I shook my head “no.”

“I’ll be back, I promise.” The thought of him handing the ID over to the bartender was even more of a turn on. The image of this sexy man was magnified by the idea that he was also a good guy – and a gentleman (for kissing my hand). It was like one turn on after another – all starting with watching him getting down and dirty on the dance floor with other men. He was my fantasy man come to life.

It was getting late and he hadn’t returned by the end of the song, so Michelle and I decided to leave. We bumped into him on our way out the door. His boyfriend made a point of turning his back on us. Again, I refused eye contact, but leaned in to give Marcos a hug goodbye. “Thanks for the dances. That was a lot of fun,” I whispered into his ear. I ran my hand one last time over the tightly toned muscle of his shoulder as I released him from my embrace and tried not to read too much meaning into the kiss he planted on my cheek as we parted.

It was raining outside as we left the bar, but I refused to put my raincoat back on. Preferring instead to feel the wet rain showering down upon my exposed skin. I won’t deny it – I fantasized about him coming back to Michelle’s place with us and about things moving a little bit further. But I knew when I’d had enough; I was the one who suggested to Michelle that it was time to go. However Marcos will certainly provide fuel for fantasy for months to cum.

I’m a little worried that I’ll run into him on the street and won’t recognize him. The bar was dark, I was drunk, and I made a conscious effort not to memorize the smooth lines of his face. He danced with so many different men and women, though. My one reassurance is that it’s just as doubtful that he’ll remember or recognize me. But in my fantasies, he will live on as the dark, handsome dancer.

When I got home, I slid into bed, spooning a sleeping C. I woke her up by running my hands over her entire body, awakening in her the lust that had been consuming me. How did I get so lucky as to have a woman who supports me in having fun, who supports me in posting stories on my blog about that fun and who is even more fun in the sack than any of these dancers could ever dream of being! Damn, I’m feeling good today. I'll feel even luckier if Alexa publishes this posting on her collection of sexy stories called Carnival of Sin.