"IF YOU THOUGHT I'd sleep on this... Boy, you're wrong 'cause all I dream about is our first kiss... And you're the first one to make me feel like this... And this is one opportunity that I can't resist, no no..."
Groove Theory played. But those two, they moved to their own groove, their own tempo - in their own world.
The bar was sparse. Deejay. Bartender. A couple sitting near the back. Two 20-something guys on the side concocting a plan to hook up with three 30-something women sitting at the bar.
The night's misty rain and more than slight chill curiously kept many Portlanders home. Plus, it was on the naughty side of twilight. Those wanting rowdier action had long ago searched for their affairs in some strip club elsewhere or were stopping by Voodoo for a late-night pastry -- then finding a strip club. But these two, they were content to eat a late dinner. Then find a place to stretch out the night a little longer.
They faced each other, swaying side to side. Her head lay on his chest. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands clasped behind his neck. The sides of her arms squeezed his shoulders. Her hands pulled his neck closer. Her breasts pressed against his chest.
His clutch was equally tight, an embrace that touched on carnal massage. His hands searched her body. First, fingers spread wide hugging the sides of her torso as both thumbs nibbled at the bottom of each breast. His hands slipped inside the sheer, knee-length Cardigan and in the opening in the back of her top.
Skin to skin.
He moved her hair from her neck, and pulled her tighter. Beads of sweat collected near her collar and on her upper back. He pursed his lips and blew on the moisture.
Goosebumps.
Hardened nipples.
She let out a slight gasp. He smiled.
He didn't need to blow. It was a supererogatory sentiment -- but not superfluous. The blow was gentle, but enough to push an already sensational situation higher. She eased their grip, enough they could look at each other's bodies. But their eyes kept in contact. Words not needed.
His hands moved to her curve, that spot on the torso where the waist flares to the hips. He squeezed and let his imagination go. He'd hold her there. She'd inhale as she felt his lips suckling her labia. He'd hold her tighter while each flicker of his tongue across her vaguely covered clitoris caused a surge of emotion that stiffened her legs and arched her back and sent her hands to his head pushing him away, but not too far, from the crux of the overwhelming sensations. But he's schooled in this brand of salacious Pilates. He knew what was coming next and would push further, his tongue taking her to higher, near transcendent, levels of hedonism.
Her breathing brought him back to reality. He knew they were too far gone. Their bodies knew it. Their emotions knew it. Spiritual lines had been crossed. Once emotional barriers that seemed indomitable, impossible to get over or through, were now ostensibly holding them captive.
"MY MIND IS tellin' me no! But my body, my body's tellin' me yes... Baby, I don't want to hurt nobody... But there is something that I must confess (to you)... I don't see nothin' wrong with a little bump 'n grind..."
Deejay was doing this on purpose, keeping everybody happy. He said, "last song" four songs ago. But, they kept moving to their mutual seduction. Deejay kept playing.
Nine sets of eyes were engrossed in their every gyrate. The 20-somethings gave a fist bump, knowing the guy was going to score that night. The 30-somethings chuckled and high-fived each other, knowing she was going to get satisfied that night. Bartender had finished cleaning and was sitting on the bar's edge talking on the phone and describing the scene. The couple watched between bouts of increasingly impassioned kisses.
They knew they were being watched.
Yet, he didn't care about this public display of total-body and soul covetousness. Neither did she.
Maintaining eye contact, she grabbed his hands, eased them from her back. She put her hands on top of his, and wove her fingers between his. She put their hands inside her sweater, behind her back, and slid them down and under the top of her pants. She released his fingers and grabbed his wrists urging him farther down until he was kneading her ass, down until he was further into a vat of emotional elation from which he would not want to return.
This was skin to skin done sinfully
He clenched her ass, pulling her pelvis closer and closer to his growing hardness. Her hands went to the back of his neck and pull his head down to hers. Their eyes stayed locked, until they couldn't. Their foreheads touched. She pulled harder on him, squeezing the back of his neck trying to massage out pent-up emotion and a steadily-building frustration from a needed release.
They swayed slowly. Grinding. He pulled away his pelvis, enough to adjust his hardness so it would reach from between top of her mound down to grazing her pubis. She laid her head back on his chest, her face nuzzled up into his neck. She pushed her pelvis into his as he pulled her closer, too.
How did it get to that point? Two old friends were brought together again by the serendipity of work travel. She was single, just ending a long relationship. He was married. They were both in relationships when they met years earlier - when this unique coupling began. His relationship with his wife was strained at best. But, he was still married. Yet, there they were knowing that their only need was primal. It was a need to explore the thing that was happening right then -- the extrasensory connection, the energy that flowed from her skin to his skin, from his hands to her ass, from the feel of her ass to the feel of his hardness pressing into her.
The human body is simultaneously resilient and delicate. It stands stout in the face of gale-force winds. Yet, it gets goosebumps from a gentle breeze or an even gentler touch. The glutes are strong enough to lift a small car, but soft enough that exploring hands effortlessly squeeze their form.
He respected her boldness, her power. Yet, he simultaneously wanted to master the essence from whence they came.
As individuals, their power was resolute. Both understood and appreciated the value of smart determination. There was an efficiency in each of their life struggles that garnered respect from the other.
Game recognizes game.
But this dance, this swaying to the music, this suspended moment of happiness, simultaneously strengthened and weakened both. They needed to feed off each other's vigor and oomph, off each other's vitality and élan... off each other's neurophysiological dynamism.
But, he was a kept man, and both were well aware of the emotional line they had crossed long ago. They were well aware how physical it could get, too.
"We're just dancing," he'd tell himself over and over. "Just dancing."
"How can something so natural be wrong," she'd think between deep breaths.
Still, they didn't relax their holds on each other.
"IF YOU'RE HORNY, let's do it... Ride it, my pony... My saddle's... waiting... Come and... jump on it."
