The party was full of raunchy humor, tight clothes, alcohol, and innuendo. A whole house full of friends between whom there were very few secrets. Most of us had seen each other at least partially naked before, and many of us had dated or hooked up with multiple other people in the room at some point. Some of those connections were “on the DL” but most were common knowledge. We were a pack of friends for whom the common twentysomething unwritten rule that you “can’t date your friend’s ex” had been thrown out a window years ago. No one besides our group of friends was cool enough to consider dating, clearly. So we’d just have to pass one another around. All of this to make clear that when one of the girls starts peeling some layers of clothing because the house is a sweatbox, it’s not a cause for scandal. And when she happens to start dancing in front of the guy she’s hanging out with that night, it’s only cause for a raised eyebrow and maybe an appreciative whoop from across the room. For everyone not lucky enough to be THAT GUY, anyway. For him, the whole world contracts into a point of spacetime that includes only the woman dancing for him.
She is too good to be true. Even halfway through this night, having pinched himself enough times to convince himself that no, he’s not dreaming, it’s hard to believe that she is here with him. She is the sexiest woman he has ever been this close to. While most of the girls in this group are pretty attractive, none of them have the sensual presence she does. Whether it’s the balance of curves in her shapely figure that says “woman” rather than girl, or the more sophisticated clothing she chooses to wear, or the fact that she refrains from power drinking like a college freshman; something intangible gives her an aura of maturity that is intoxicating and alluring, and at the same time intimidating as hell. He feels like at any moment someone is going to burst out from behind a piece of furniture and reveal that it is actually a prank, that of course this beautiful, sexy, sensual woman is not really there to spend time with *him.* So when she declares that the room is definitely too hot for what she’s wearing and stands up to unbutton her shirt, he is convinced that the end will come at any moment. Surely the hidden camera will be revealed at any second. Because one moment she is sitting next to him, chatting about music and sipping a drink, and the next she is standing in front of him, staring him in the eyes as she shrugs out of her shirt, revealing a sexy satin bra underneath. She tosses the shirt to him, and he lets it bounce off his chest and fall into a pile in his lap. At least there, it can help hide the tent he is suddenly and VERY obviously pitching in his cargo shorts. Is he supposed to be cooler about this? Is it normal in the circles with which she normally runs for the ladies to strip down to underwear simply from a lack of air conditioning? Should he be expected to be less turned on by the sight of her heavy breasts being lifted towards him by the cups of her brassiere? Is that a sliver of areola peeking out of her bra from her right breast? She’s not looking directly at him; is she avoiding acknowledging his gaze? Is the situation not as worthy of complex communication as he’s making it out to be?
The song on the stereo changes. She declares that she loves this new song. Her hips start to gently move to the music. It’s a slow, sexy beat, the vocals dreamy and sultry. It’s practically built to be a strip tease soundtrack. She must feel his eyes on her because she turns to look at him, going from seemingly unaware to HYPER aware that he is watching her intently. He watches gooseflesh rise on her shoulders despite the stuffy heat of the party room. She raises her drink to her lips and takes a ladylike sip. He watches her watch him as her throat moves to swallow the liquor. Then he freezes like a deer in headlights as she moves the dewey glass to lightly touch the side of her neck, never breaking eye contact with him. The swaying of her hips to the music becomes less instinctive rhythm, more deliberately dancing. Her arm lowers the glass, leaving condensation shining on her neck to dribble over the edge of her collarbone towards the swell of her breast. She sighs softly. It is possible that he groans. She presses the glass between her breasts, the cold causing hairs to rise on the nape of her neck. A purr of decadent pleasure escapes her lips, which she moistens with the tip of her tongue. Her eyes softly float closed for a moment.
Time seems to stop for him.
As if a sudden signal has been given, the song reaches a chorus line, and the beat changes. Her eyes snap open, locking onto his instantly, as if she knew exactly where she would find his gaze. She knocks back the remainder of her drink in one swallow and hisses briefly through her teeth at the alcohol burn, and then turns to one side to set the glass on the nearest flat surface, a plant stand wholly inappropriate to that purpose. As she turns back towards him, her hip cocks sharply to one side with the beat. He sees her hand is at her waist, palm flat on her smooth stomach. As if carried by the momentum of her turn and the rock of her hips, her hand swiftly yanks the fly of her jeans off the button. He cannot move. Not if the house was on fire. He has no idea what to do with his hands. He has no control over his eyes. His mouth is very likely just hanging open. It is very dry. That’s probably good. If it wasn’t, he would probably be drooling. She takes one step towards him, her hip rocking perfectly in time to the music, and a delicate thumb and forefinger grasp the zipper pull of her jeans. Three steps towards him, and with each step, she pulls the zipper down an inch. Tight around her hips, the jeans are trying to peel open. He can see that the panties she is wearing are a match for the bra. He dimly remembers in the back of his head hearing that women usually only matched their bra and panties if they thought someone might see them that night. She is right in front of him, their toes almost touching, and she is shirtless, and her jeans are unzipped, but still riding on her hips, not falling, just…open. Her hands slide up the sides of her body as she begins to truly move with the music. Her eyes finally release his as she closes them again, surrendering herself to the music and how it moves her. Her hands gather her hair up and lift it from her neck, and she begins to really dance for him.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/kb5flo/recently_got_back_into_contact_with_an_old_flame