The slant of the sunbeams coming through the window let me know that it was late. The morning was almost over, and I was still in bed. "Glorious!" I thought, as I rolled over and laid my head on my husband's pillow for a change of scenery. Even though his weekend trip with the "boys" had left me all alone for the weekend, it also left me the freedom to luxuriate in bed all Saturday morning. I slid my left hand over my stomach and let it rest in the mound of soft, light-brown hair. My fingers spread the folds of dusky skin and sought out the little bud there that had brought me pleasure once that morning already. Masturbation and napping, followed by more masturbation and more napping, is one of my favorite guilty pleasures, not to mention a damn fine way to waste a Saturday morning.
As I lazily made circles around my clitoris, pausing from time to time to dip a finger into my wet opening for lubrication, I allowed my mind to wander. I used my other hand to spread my shoulder-length auburn hair over the pillow under my head, and I thought of all those nasty fantasies that I would never get the chance to fulfill. My romance with Andrew had been a whirlwind. There I was, single and perfectly content, when Mr. Right had to come along screw it all up! Don't get me wrong, I love my husband with all my heart, and the year-and-a-half we have been married has been wonderful, but sometimes I want to put it all on hold and go sow a few more oats of the wild variety. So as I touched myself, I fantasized about giving my body to a handsome stranger- no, several handsome strangers. I quickened my strokes, drawing little circles all around my clit and started to rotate my hips, rising and falling with my own rhythm. I could almost feel the sensation of being filled up with my imaginary lover's cock. I could almost smell, taste, hear our lovemaking. My breath came more quickly as my body shuddered with orgasm. I plunged a finger into the honey that was dripping from my pussy, and brought it to my lips before hitting the shower. "Ah well, time to try to turn this day into something at least partially productive."
****
I spent the rest of the day on housework and errands, so when Alyssa called with an invitation to go out dancing I accepted without hesitation. A quick shower, a little primping, and three outfit changes later, I was on my way to meet her at The Aquifer, a cute little salsa club a few towns away. The bouncy, blonde Alyssa, one of my still-single friends, was in a hurry to get to the club, so when we arrived the band was still setting up and people were just filtering in. She wanted to pick the best spot to see and be seen, so we stationed ourselves at the end of the bar, close to the dance floor, and with a good view of the door. As we waited for our drinks, a sour-apple martini for me and a mojito for her, I remembered how much fun it had been meeting men in clubs like this. In fact Andrew and I had once been strangers sharing a friendly dance. Salsa dancing has always turned me on, whether watching it, or doing it. I think it has something to do with how assertive and forceful the man's part is. I love the way he commands his partner, sending her careening across the floor one moment and then pulling her in close the next.
A few martinis later, the place was really filling up. I watched Alyssa as "Salsa Pete" spun her around the floor. Pete was pushing eighty, but he could still wear out all the girls on the dance floor. "Excuse me, Miss, do you dance salsa?" a voice over my shoulder startled me.
"I haven't danced in a while," I answered, shyly.
"Good then, because I'm also out of practice. This will be a good brush-up for the both of us." As he took my hand I realized it would be foolish to protest and so I followed this handsome young man onto the floor. He must have been a good six or seven years younger than I, and was in amazing shape. I could feel his well-toned arm and shoulder through his red button-up shirt as we assumed "the position." He was of an average height, with dark brown hair, and the deepest, darkest eyes I had ever seen. He flashed a smile as we began the meringue. We fell into the quick, two-beat pattern easily with our feet and hips. I hadn't forgotten after all. We lost ourselves to the rhythms, and he led me around the floor, now raising my hand to signal me to turn, and now a hand on my back to pull me back in. We swayed, and rocked, and glided, and grasped until the music came to a finish.