She was a dancer. He loved dancing. He loved watching it. He loved doing it.

He saw her, for the first time, at a restaurant. He had gone there to eat a meal and there she was, performing. At the sight of her, he was unable to eat his meal. All he could do was watch her.

The stage was tiny, but she did not need much space to move. She could have danced her whole set in three square feet. That was how tight her moves were. Her arms, expressive. Her face, lost in the music. Her waist, supple and slinky. Her hips. Oh, god! Her hips. They swayed and swirled and popped perfectly with the music, sending her skirts out in corresponding ripples.

She was sensuality embodied.

As he sat at his table, eyes fixed on her, breathing deeply, he wanted nothing more than to join her. What would it be like to swirl his hips against hers, to match those organic, serpentine movements with his own? The thought drove him wild. He had seen a lot of dancers. He had danced with a lot of women, but she was different.

The piece she danced to was slow and sultry. A taqsim, they called it. Her eyelids were low, almost closed. Her hair was loose around her face, falling forward as her head swayed with the emotion of the music. Her arms were graceful, reaching out and in, framing her face, her torso, her hips. She used them to great effect. His body responded to hers. Unconsciously, he made small movements with his hips, mimicking hers. His hands moved subtly in his lap, tracing the lines of her body from afar as he followed them with his eyes. As the piece came to an end, she slowed into a resting pose and gradually looked up at her audience.

The room was small, intimate. The lights in the restaurant were low, with brighter ones trained on her, but not so bright that she was blind to the audience. She scanned the clientele, taking in their appreciation. At last, she looked in his direction and saw him. For a moment, she faltered. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but he saw it. More than that, he felt it, and what was clear to him was that she felt something, too.

She recovered immediately, putting on a beautiful smile and striking a new pose, working her audience as the next song came on. It was a fast one, energetic and lively and she jumped into it with relish. The audience was right with her, clapping and singing. Clearly it was one they knew and expected. He watched her as she began to work the room. Oh. This was her money song. Excellent. She would, eventually, come to him. She made her way around the room, dancing, singing and interacting with the audience. She visited the tables one by one, dancing a little, getting the patrons up to dance with her, then offering her hip or shoulder for them to put money in her costume. She saved his table for last.

She came up to him and offered him her amazing smile. She was breathless and sweating from her exertions, and it made her all the more attractive. He started to get up to dance with her, but she firmly put her hand on his shoulder and shook her head. Her movements were playful, part of the public performance, but her eyes were serious. The look in them was one of desire and wariness all mixed up together. She would dance for his table. He was not to join her. Not here. Not now. He stayed put.

She danced a little next to him and when the song ended she hit the final note with a flourish and a pop, sticking her hip out. He was right there. He put a folded bill into the waistband of her costume. He wanted nothing more than to grab her by those luscious hips and pull her down into his lap. Instead, he barely brushed her skin with his fingertip, feeling a jolt of electricity and pleasure as he did. She flinched, but her intake of breath told him it was from excitement, not repulsion.

So, he was not wrong. He was interpreting her signals correctly. But the set was over, and she disappeared.

 

When she emerged from the restaurant some time later, he was waiting for her. He waited at a safe distance from the door. He did not want to scare her. The last thing he wanted her to think was that he was a stalker. Yes, he wanted her as much as anything he had ever wanted, but if she did not feel the same way, he was not going to put any pressure on her at all.

 

She saw him waiting for her and hesitated, unsure of what to do. Women in her profession got stalked all the time. Particularly in parking lots, in the middle of the night, by guys who had watched their sets and gotten the wrong idea. She looked at him critically. This man was different, somehow. She had felt a connection to him, and she was unsure how to proceed.

She carried an alarm with her. It was a small device. A little ring hooked on to the button of her jacket pocket. It was attached to a string which was, in turn, attached to a noise maker she held in her hand. If she gestured largely enough, the string would pull out of the noise maker, setting off a sound of about 120 decibels. Everyone on the block would know she was in trouble and this guy would be deaf. She kept her hand in her pocket as she approached.

 

As he watched her walk towards him, he was mesmerized. It wasn’t just a stage thing. This was how she moved. Slippery and smooth, like a piece of silk on the wind. God, he wanted to match those movements with his own.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied.

“I have never seen someone quite like you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, albeit one I have heard before,” she countered, seriously. But, she did smile.

“I’m not some stalker. I know, I know. They all say that and I am no different. Please. I don’t want to scare you off. I waited for you because I could not do anything else. If you want to simply leave, I won’t follow you or try and keep you here.”

“That’s good to know.”

“What I really want, is to dance with you.”

“Dance with me?” She replied, surprised.

“Yeah. The way you moved. The way you move. It enthralls me. I can’t get enough of it. But, I don’t just want to watch you. You see, I also love to dance. I love to move to music, to feel the underlying currents and become a part of them. I see how the music affects you and how you live in it, through it. I would love to join you in that dance. If you would let me.”

 

She was taken aback. That certainly was not what she had expected to hear. And the thing that really threw her was that she believed him. All her instincts and crazy radars told her this guy was sincere.

He continued. “I can see by the look in your eyes that I have surprised you. Well, if I am going to prove to you that you can trust me, I have to be honest. So, here is the reality of it. You are the most sensual thing I have ever seen. I am a man and you are an Aphrodite. So, do I want you? Oh yeah. Like crazy. If you would invite me to your bed, I would be there in a heartbeat. But, more than that, right now, what I want to do is dance with you. That would be so much. That would be more than enough.”

Again, she blinked. Then, irrationally she found herself saying, “My studio is just around the corner. Follow me there.”

 

He did.

 

When they arrived, she hesitated before getting out of her car. She did not feel any of the usual red flags going up. This guy was attractive. Absolutely. But, she did not believe that was clouding her judgement. She did not feel as though she were in danger. That said, she had a decision to make. Was she willing to have sex with this man? Because, if she opened the door to her studio and let him in, that is where this would lead. Even though he had said he would be content with dancing with her, she needed to get real. It was the middle of the night. He was a guy who had watched her set. Maybe he had not gotten the wrong idea, but he had certainly gotten ideas. She had not managed to protect herself this long by being stupid. If she got out of her car, she had to be willing to take him to bed.

She looked over at his car. He was sitting in it patiently. Waiting for her. There was no pressure coming from him. This was up to her. She had to admit to herself that she was turned on by this situation. To mix her dancing with sex? She didn’t get this opportunity often. How many nights had she left her studio physically exhausted by her exertions, yet fully aroused by her practice and totally unsatisfied. And if this guy really could dance, well, this would be a treat. She made her decision.

 

He still did not want to spook her, so he made sure to follow her lead. Only when she finally got out of her car, did he get out of his. When she walked to the door of the studio, he hung back until she unlocked the door, opened it, and gestured for him to enter. Only then did he make any move toward her. He went into the studio and she followed him, closing the door behind them.

The studio was like any other. It had a wooden floor, mirrors and bars along the walls, and various dancing accessories stacked in the corners. There were a few plants, as well as other decorations here and there. Mostly, it was just an open space. It was a space that invited movement and experimentation. She put down her bag and proceeded to close the shades. That was a good sign. She had decided to trust him. She had no particular reason to, but she was right to. He meant her no harm. He was captivated by her. He wanted to be close to her body. He wanted to feel it and to adore it. He would take this as far as she would allow it to go and be forever thankful that he got that much. He watched ardently as she went through the mundane movements. He took in every contour of her body as she reached and bent, straightening the shutters.

“Take off your shoes.” She said. He did as he was told and she did the same. She took off her jacket and dropped it on top of her bag. She was dressed in a form fitting top, leggings and a sash. He was in jeans and a tight t-shirt. She looked at him, appraisingly, as he studied her. He thought that he saw approval in her eyes.

She walked to the stereo in the corner and hooked up her iPod. She shuffled through the device, made her choices and pushed play. The music came on. It was heavy and deep. He recognized the artist. Tarkan. One of his favorite Turkish musicians. Solid music. Also totally sexy. She walked out onto the floor. Paused, then began to dance.

They were small movements at first. She looked directly at him as she moved. She was sizing him up just as much as he was her. She was also performing. A private performance, just for him. And in this performance, she was telling him what to do. She used her hands to frame particular parts of her body. She smoothed her hands across her hips….look here. She ran her fingers through her hair….see how it frames my face. She tilted her face down looking from her own hips to his eyes….how do you like this? She turned around watching him over her shoulder as she danced….and what about this view?

He liked it. He liked it a lot. He stood for some time, watching this intimate exhibition, waiting for his invitation to join. After a time, she gave him a look and a gesture that said…so, and you? He took the opening. He was no stranger to dancing and certainly not to the movements of hips. He began to move to the music. His movements were as sensual as hers, but virile, masculine versions. Her answering look told him she approved of and enjoyed what she saw. Good.

She paused and watched him for a while, smiling while he circled her, performing for her and marking her as his territory in this increasingly seductive game. When her eyes began to twinkle and she licked he lower lip with a wicked smile, he knew the moment was right. He made his way towards her, every footstep matching the music. When he was close enough, he reached out his hands and placed them on those luscious, sensual hips. At last! They were exactly as he had imagined: smooth, curvy, pliable, perfect. She responded by putting one of her hands on his shoulder and the other on his muscular chest. As her hand touched him, she breathed in with approval. His shoulder was muscled and strong, as was his pectoral muscle. She caressed it, admiringly, then smiled up at him.

 

To move in rhythmic tandem with someone is sensuality in motion, and they began to move together, manifesting that sensuality. The melodies told them when to move their feet. The beat of the music told them when to move their hips. The harmonies told them when to move closer together or father apart. They were close in height, so they were well matched on the dance floor. He pulled her hips close against him so that they could move smoothly over the floor. She responded by leaning into him, melding her body with his. The music swept them away.

To merge two bodies into one in a dance is as intimate as sex, and they became immersed in that intimacy. His hands were on her, guiding her, leading her through moves. Hers were on him, anchoring her as she followed his lead. They needed their hands for balance and position, but their dance progressed beyond that simple, practical contact. They relished the feel of each other’s bodies, their hands a conduit for sensual communication. They did not speak. They were movement and breath.

As they cycled through many styles and speeds of dance, they became more and more familiar with each other. Their movements became bodily caresses. His chest was hard and warm against her, her breasts were soft and supple against him. Their touches became more and more intimate and they began taking seductive liberties here and there. His hand on her waist descended to fondle her buttocks. Her hand on his chest moved enticingly far down to explore his abs. The game heated up and became more playful. When he led her into a twirl, she purposefully pulled him closer, enabling her to breathe deeply of his natural scent and the smell of his sweat. When she turned to dance with her back to him, he pulled her hips in to his, allowing him to take in her scent and grind his pelvis against hers. When he finally dipped her, he did it so he was able to bring his face close to her neck. As his nose brushed her skin, heard her suck in her breath. He took it as consent and put his mouth upon her.

 

The dance had woken her. She had been tired after her set, but this intimate dance was altogether invigorating, relaxing and arousing. There was no work in it, just pure pleasure. He was athletic, and graceful. He was also hot, and the movements of his body only made him more appealing. If this was how his body moved on the dance floor, the translation to a more horizontal dance was obvious. She knew how she looked to him. It was written all over his face and his body. He thought she was sex in motion. He was on fire for her and totally aroused. She could see that through his jeans. But, he was behaving like gentleman. As much as he clearly wanted her, he seemed to want the dancing just as much. She felt the same way, and it made her bold and willingly yielding.

When he dipped her and brushed her neck, she could not help the sound that escaped her lips. When his mouth touched her, she gasped. He held her there, suspended below him, kissing her neck, working his way down toward her collarbone. She wrapped her arms around him and held on as her legs became liquid.

 

Gently, he lowered her to the floor. Then, they were all over each other. The reserve that had defined their dance, the restrained foreplay, gone. Their movements were all heat and passion. His mouth was all over her and her hands were all over him.

As he kissed her, she reached down and tugged his shirt free of the waist of his pants, dragging it up his back and over his head. When she saw his chest, smooth and slim and muscled, she moaned with delight, then flipped him over. She sat on top of him and covered his chest with her mouth, kissing and licking and tasting. He relished every bit of it, arching and stretching underneath her hunger. Her hands explored his pecs, his shoulders, his neck, his sides, his waist, his arms, her eyes taking in every inch of him. The two of them paused there for a moment. Her sitting on top of him, hands on his waist, eyes hot; him exposed beneath her. Then, he sat up and embraced her, putting his mouth on hers. He removed her top in a smooth motion and then her bra. Taking her mouth again, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her naked chest to his, relishing the feel of her skin on his. He rolled her over this time. Kneeling over her, continuing to kiss her mouth, her chest, her breasts, he moved his hands down to her hips and began to remove her leggings. With her hands tangled in his hair, she tilted her hips up to facilitate the process. Then she was naked, and he was breathless, taking her in.

Growling in approval, he lay down beside her, kissing her mouth as he reached between her legs to find the wetness between them. She bent one knee and spread them to give him better access. As his finger slipped inside of her, she cried out. He responded to her cry by massaging her clitoris with his thumb and kissing her more deeply. She came in waves, clinging to him, and he drank in her cries, encouraging them with his mouth and his hands.

 

When her orgasm subsided, she looked up at him. He was grinning from ear to ear. Fuck, she was beautiful. He never wanted to take his hands off her. The sight of her climax was the most erotic thing he had ever seen and he very nearly came, himself, watching it. Then, oh thank sweet god, she reached down and undid his belt, then his fly. She fumbled to push his jeans down over his hips, but her arms weren’t long enough, so she brought up one foot, hooked her toes into his waistband and tried to push them down. He laughed and reluctantly removed his hand from her sex. He stood up, removed his pants and stood there for a moment. They were quite the picture. Him standing naked and erect above her. Her lying panting on the floor below him. He took in her toned, sweating body and she took in his. She beckoned to him to come down to her and he did not hesitate.

He returned to the floor and slid between her legs. With his hands on either side of her face, his mouth on her mouth, and her hands firm on his hips, he slid into her. The music was still on, but there was a pause in the tracks. He waited, enjoying the feel of simply being inside her. She did not encourage him further, but just lay still letting her body adjust to the feel of an unfamiliar shaft inside of her. His cock pulsed slightly, as if trying to fill in the silence with continued rhythm. She smiled into his eyes and he smiled back.

When the music began to play again, he found the rhythm with his hips. He rolled them forward and back with the downbeat, speeding up and slowing down as the rhythm demanded. He was as creative in his sexual movements as he was in his dancing, and she could follow as well underneath him as she did when he led her on the floor.

 

Again, they cycled through many styles and speeds, the dance turned to love-making. For some time he was on top of her, thrusting with the heaviness of the musical beats. When the music slowed, she flipped him over so that she could lead, sitting astride him, rocking her hips gently, massaging her clitoris against his body, driving him gently but deeply into her. When the music sped up again, he rolled her back over and took the lead once more. They made love lying down and sitting up. They watched themselves in the mirrors, laughing at their own pleasure, losing focus and having to start over again, but always finding their way easily back to the pleasure coursing through their bodies.

When they came, they did it in tandem, staying true to their dance. She was leading this time. The feel of her body stiffening underneath him and contracting around his shaft gave his body the cue it needed. He thrust deep inside of her and let everything go, pulsing, as she gripped him with her legs and her deep muscles. He came with fierce groans that matched her cries and, together, they rode the rhythms of their climax, peaking and then slowing in waves, both ending breathless and exhausted. A perfectly synchronized finale.

 

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