The year is 1991 and I am a 35 year old guy working at a prestigious office furniture dealership in New York City. Got married six years ago to the girl of my dreams, a thoroughbred aristocrat from Cambridge, England...daughter of a baronet and a medical doctor...an English DO. Astra is every man's dream, tall and elegant, sophisticated and brilliant, cultured and very posh...but more than that, she looks like an angel, creamy complexion, soft eyes, eternal smile on wide luscious lips, a big upright bust on a slender athletic frame, and five feet ten inches tall. She is one of those rare women who is stunning but doesn't know it, is smart but doesn't make others uncomfortable...a lady in public and a temptress in the bedroom.
Our first child was born early last year and Astra tore badly upon birth, our lovemaking put on a back burner ever since. I have not pressed her for sex and bide my time to permit her to heal physically and regain her libido emotionally. I am a great husband, attentive, loyal, loving, and currently making a huge income.
I have lived five lives, and if you believe as the Hindu's do, I have probably had my soul recycled a dozen times. I have my Ph.D. in 19th century English lit as well as two other lesser degrees. I fell into this business by accident and am way over educated and qualified, but that is also a big part of my success. I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, the son of highly accomplished parents. I travelled the world and did well at school. I have no fear of reaching out to corporate CEO's to open a dialogue, gain their trust, design their space and make the sale. To this end I have a huge following and almost never cold call. Clients seek out my expertise and the pleasure and confidence in doing business with me.
The managers of my organization have been invited by our primary manufacturer, Steelcase, to take a four day symposium at Disneyworld of all places. I book my own room, fully paid, and buy an additional ticket for my wife and one year old. I extend my visit to an entire week, the final three days at my own expense. At the last moment, Francesca gets an ear infection and mother and daughter cancel. This will be my first trip without them and I am forced to stay the entire week as cancelling costs more than staying. Well, it is the Polynesian Hotel and Disney, after all. Why should I regret the joy of a short vacation?
There are literally about three hundred of us from all over the country at this event and I sit through the rather dull lectures and go out at night for dinner with friends. I realize that Disney is not so great as a single...no point in whooping it up on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride without a date or a child in tow. I therefore do not visit the park and just use the hotel and facilities.
The final evening of the four day fete, we are invited to Pleasure Island, the adult venue on the grounds with several nightclubs, discos, comedy clubs and bars. My friends, most of whom think me a pompous married asshole who never stops praising my wife and the institution of marriage, are determined to get me drunk and in trouble this final night. Few, except upper management are staying additional days at the hotel so this is the final night for most.
A couple of cocktails and several beers later I am standing before a revolving dance floor, strobe lights aflickering, music pounding, my suit and tie too hot for this environment. I don't normally drink so much and I am definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. I steady myself and my six foot frame by holding on to a balustrade at the dance floor's edge and watch the dancing from a short distance. My eyes are not quite focused on anything, but suddenly I am aware that there are a lot of good looking women about, especially on that dance floor. I focus.
It takes about a minute for the floor to turn full circle and those who catch my eye to swing before my gaze once again. Everyone seems to have a date or at least a dance partner. I am not available, so am not looking with an eye to attract anybody, but as I am Italian, my eyes have lives of their own and I watch the T&A fly past without missing a beat. Another beer is thrust into my hands. Is this number four, I wonder?
The tall gal with the great legs and a dress which decidedly shows them off keeps passing. She catches my eye and smiles at me, raising her arms up over her head and facing me as her hips gyrate and her bust shimmies. I take notice but show no reaction. Around she comes again and I can tell she is looking straight at me through almost 180ndegrees of the dance floor's turn. Her dancing becomes more erotic as she passes this second or third time. I stand there and wish I was dancing too. She looks like she would be a great partner, very sexy, very beautiful, and probably about my age. She passes again and motions for me to join her.
I can't. I'm married...very happily married. And I'm drunk...very happily drunk. I'm a new father and an officer of my company surrounded by my employees. I cannot let temptation have its effect. The dance floor revolves again, but she's no longer there, in that spot ten feet deep into the dancing. Where did she go? Then a hand comes at my chest from the edge of the turning circle. She'd moved to the edge and I'd been focusing elsewhere. She threaded her fingers through my jacket and grabbed my tie and pulled gently, allowing the tie to slip through her fingers as she rotated away with the others. I looked up from my now released tie and she blew me a kiss. Her lips were curled as the kiss hit me from a distance, her features were slender and fine...very different from Astra. My wife was an angel, this girl was sin. She looked like Christie Turlington, aquiline, carved into shape by a master sculptor, sweaty, hungry, representative of her sex. I turned away and walked ten steps to a column, surrounded by a banquette. I sat, perched high, and drank from my beer bottle.
Shit...that was scary, I thought. That girl and I really connected. I am bad. I am not available so why did I just do that? Then, as I groaned my disgust and considered my failings as a husband, a hand slid up my shirt and grabbed my tie once again. I looked up and there she was, standing over me, looking down. The fact that she was above me, taller than me, immediately put me at a disadvantage.
"Why did you sit down?" She asked. "I was certain you'd be dancing with me after the fifth spin."
I said nothing, just looked up into her eyes...invitation sent but not accepted, I thought. Oh God, she's good looking. I was entranced and looked straight at her mouth...at her lips. Then she licked them, slowly and with purpose, and my eyes travelled up to hers. She was smiling a smile of victory...of satisfaction. She was one of those women who knows exactly what men are thinking when she is on display.
I stood quickly to gain advantage...if only through my height. I turned and said abruptly, "have a seat," and nearly pushed her down into the cushion I'd just occupied. Holy shit! I had just touched her. Not only touched her but did so abruptly and with force, grabbing her shoulders, swinging her around and dumping her on the chair. She looked up at me now, smiling ear to ear, another victory, another accomplishment in this dance of libidos. She knew she'd made me take a step in her direction. I looked down. Her shoulders were bare, her dress held up by her bust, which until now, I'd not noticed. She had a single large red rose planted between her breasts, the stem, hopefully with thorns removed, dipping down her bodice.
"Nice flower," I said, thinking to myself that I had to at least be polite. I could not stand here like some dork and just undress her in my mind's eye. I had to compliment her for choosing me and then gently let her off the hook. Do I tell her now that I am married? No...bad calling card. No reason for that as yet. Nothing has happened.
She looks down at the flower and then up again at me. "You like it? I thought it was a beautiful Rose." She pulls it out and she places the stem between her teeth and then taking hold of either side of her bust, she pushes her tits up and together within her brassiere. Then, still looking at my eyes, eyes which are focused on her tits, not her face, she smiles and hands me the flower.
I shake my head, as if I can ward off this dream...make her go away...protect whatever innocence I think I might own. But she is handing me the rose and I take it and twirl it between my fingers, then lift it to my nose and take a deep breath. Fuck...why did I do that? I'm escalating this, aren't I? No...I just sniffed her flower, that's all...what...oh Jeez.
She smiles and quickly stands. In her heels she has no trouble reaching up to me and she places her lips on my own and gives me a quick kiss, dry and chaste, but inviting as all hell. I freeze and she pulls back and looks into my eyes. She laughs. She laughs again and raises one hand up to her face to cover her lips. "Man are you shy." She says. "You look like a little boy in a candy store and you're making me feel very sexy, let me tell you."
She threads her arm through mine and says, "Come on then, let's dance."
I am not dragged onto the dance floor against my will. I walk willingly, my drunken haze diminished and my legs falling in place. Now this is a challenge. I'm no little boy, I think. I was a regular at Studio 54 in New York, dammit. You'll not best me no matter how sexy you are, I think.
The Michael Jackson song segs into Bette Midler's Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy and she screams some sort of victory cheer and hurls herself at me, legs sped wide and wrapping herself around my midsection, ankles tied tight behind my back. I bend backwards to take her weight but she doesn't weigh much of anything and I twirl her around several times, holding her arms and as she throws her head back in reckless abandon. We fly through the steps and my face breaks into a real grin as I realize she is a great dancer and knows what she's doing. Everyone is looking at us and room is made for our gymnastic dancing. I think I can see colleagues all lined up at the border of the dance floor standing with mouths gaping and pointing. Fuck it. This is the first fun I've had in four days and I'm just dancing. I'm sure we look good.
