“Wanna dance?” asks the boy.
“Dance?” repeats the girl.
The boy’s dressed nice and neat. The girl’s got feathers in her hair, scuffs on her golden boots and a ladder in her metallic, Lycra body stocking. They’re standing in the centre of the pub’s floor. Lights flash. Beats beat. His question makes perfect sense but she doesn’t respond immediately.
Instead, she screws her face up into a rumpled half-smile, as if there’s a pile of poo right under her nose and yet, she kinda likes the smell. Something of a devilish flash skips across her face. I caught it; I’m not so sure the boy did.
Next thing you know, she’s undone his fly and her hot little palm’s disappeared inside his pants. He’s shocked! I mean, the boy could catch tennis balls in his gob.
“No. I don’t want to dance with you,” she says a few seconds later as she pulls out her hand. With a little hop and a skip she’s gone, leaving him standing there alone.
Poor lad. I’ve been there myself, I recognise his confusion. He doesn’t understand that this is the girl’s calling card, her signature piece. It’s just the ‘thing’ that she’s got goin’ on. Nothing more, nothing less. He just wants to dance with the pretty girl and see where the night takes them. He ain’t from Laanden Taan.
I’m still watching as our man slinks off to the side of the dance floor. When he isn’t looking down at his shoes, he’s shooting daggers at a girl to the left of him, who’s got some lad half hidden under the ruffles of her ra-ra skirt. And he’s sneaking peaks at the agitated boy-on-boy action to his right.
A bit more sleaze here; a little more smut there. Just when did ‘normal’ life get so x-rated? I mean, you can’t blink nowadays for strumpets who’re willing to bare all and get their stuff read ;)
And what was I doing, you ask? Let’s just say that, like you are right now, I was a voyeur.
“Dance?” repeats the girl.
The boy’s dressed nice and neat. The girl’s got feathers in her hair, scuffs on her golden boots and a ladder in her metallic, Lycra body stocking. They’re standing in the centre of the pub’s floor. Lights flash. Beats beat. His question makes perfect sense but she doesn’t respond immediately.
Instead, she screws her face up into a rumpled half-smile, as if there’s a pile of poo right under her nose and yet, she kinda likes the smell. Something of a devilish flash skips across her face. I caught it; I’m not so sure the boy did.
Next thing you know, she’s undone his fly and her hot little palm’s disappeared inside his pants. He’s shocked! I mean, the boy could catch tennis balls in his gob.
“No. I don’t want to dance with you,” she says a few seconds later as she pulls out her hand. With a little hop and a skip she’s gone, leaving him standing there alone.
Poor lad. I’ve been there myself, I recognise his confusion. He doesn’t understand that this is the girl’s calling card, her signature piece. It’s just the ‘thing’ that she’s got goin’ on. Nothing more, nothing less. He just wants to dance with the pretty girl and see where the night takes them. He ain’t from Laanden Taan.
I’m still watching as our man slinks off to the side of the dance floor. When he isn’t looking down at his shoes, he’s shooting daggers at a girl to the left of him, who’s got some lad half hidden under the ruffles of her ra-ra skirt. And he’s sneaking peaks at the agitated boy-on-boy action to his right.
A bit more sleaze here; a little more smut there. Just when did ‘normal’ life get so x-rated? I mean, you can’t blink nowadays for strumpets who’re willing to bare all and get their stuff read ;)
And what was I doing, you ask? Let’s just say that, like you are right now, I was a voyeur.
2 comments:
Sweet and sour, a tease followed by an unexpected slap...
Yeah, her tease was unpredictable...but some fella's like it that way! xxx
Post a Comment