Hey, come on, don’t be shy now!
I know you can dance, and I know you have held a woman before. You aren’t shy when you joke with me, or others. You can hold your own, so now you can hold me.
That’s right, hand on my hips, the other holding mine — you know how this works.
Swing me around a little, smile at me, take my breath away in a harmless manner. There’s nothing wrong with any of this, don’t worry. Just shove me around, whirl me, woo me.
Don’t give me that look like you are questioning me, I don’t need that right now. Yes, I know my husband’s over there, and I know he’s staring. He’s good at that, the silent glares and quiet stares. But he doesn’t know what else to do, with anything.
He doesn’t know that he has a divorce coming up, in about a year or two. He doesn’t know that he’ll divorce me in the end, that I won’t ever do it on my own. I like his money, and I like that he can’t dance, and I like that he knows it.
He knows that I need to dance tonight, and he knows that he’s not the kind of guy to do it with. He doesn’t like to dance, he likes to drink. He could take courses, but that is too much work, too much effort to keep his own wife close.
But no, he can’t do that, he can only stare. So go on, dance with me, and make me forget that he is even there.
Smile at me with your eyes, and smile at me when you bow and thank me for the dance. Keep eye contact with me when you shouldn’t, and then walk over to me with two drinks in your hands, and ask me which one I want.
I’ll tell you which one I want — both of them. I’ll sip from one, down the other, and grin at you while you stand there empty-handed.
You won’t be empty-handed for long, because you know what you want. And I won’t act like I’m opposed to the idea, or that my husband being opposed should deter either of us.
We’ll dance some more, away from the dance floor, and you’ll act like you respect my boundaries. You’ll act like I am a little too tipsy for your liking, and I’ll scowl at you like you deserve for treating me right.
I’m not tipsy, I am drunk, and I’m good at it. I can hold myself upright, but you could also do it for me. You could also hold me down, whichever way you prefer.
Maybe hold me at arm’s length? No, not that one, I don’t allow it. Pull me near, pull me in for a kiss, right here and now.
Turn my friends into an audience, and my husband into a pitiful display of tears, and then turn me around towards the exit.
Turn me around, drag me with you, outside and into your car.
We can do it there, if you like, I’ll be the slut you bent over your hood, or stuffed into your trunk. I’ll be everything you want, and anything. I’m yours, because you can dance, and I can tell that you can fuck.
You look like someone who knows what I need tonight, someone who respects me enough to treat me like he doesn’t.
I’ll say sorry to him tomorrow, and I’ll admit it was all my fault. You have nothing to worry about, I’ll tell him that I told you he was my ex. Because he will be, at some point, when he has enough of me saying sorry.
Because I will be doing that a lot, even though I will never mean it. I’ll say that I was drunk, I’ll tell him that I’ll go and seek counselling. I’ll even go to AA meetings, and you can fetch me after I get out. You can bring me home, your home, and treat me like I need some treatment.
Any which way, my dear, my new best friend I haven’t met before. Because we will meet again, and you will become my actual best friend. Someone who understands me when I’m sober, and who uses me when I’m not. Someone who makes me laugh during the day, and who insults me at night. You can call me a slut, as long as you call me your slut.
What is it that you always wanted to try, do, ask a woman about, then never dared? Because I’m all of that and more, I’ll beg you to do all these things. As long as you save me from this boredom that I endured for long enough, these days that seem to never end.
I look forward to the divorce, and I’ll make sure to get a lawyer who can make it painful. I’ll fight over pennies and get the dollars, and I’ll fight until neither of us wants to fight anymore.
And then, I’ll come home to you, and I’ll cry on your shoulder, because it’s daylight and you know how fucking stressed I am.
And you won’t stand there like you don’t know what to do, because you’re not the type to stare and glare. You’ll know some place that you could take me to, hike through the forest or see the sea. Because daylight you is someone who likes life, someone who knows that time is too short to rush anything.
And we won’t rush, we will enjoy. See the road ahead for what it is, a part of the journey. We’ll drive below the speed limit, and stop frequently, just to buy more overpriced coffee on the way. You’ll take me there, and I won’t care where we are even going, because it’s something to explore with you.
We will have fun, we will kiss, and I will say something cute to you that makes you smile. And then, it will make us both grin, because we know how the day will end.
It will end with me being naked, uncomfortable as fuck, possibly with my bare butt in the wet sand of a beach — or up on top of a hard wooden bench of some kind of tourist tower.
The sun will go down, and you will go down on me, and I’ll dare you to take things slow. Because I won’t have a drink in me, but I’ll still be drunk, because the hunger in your eyes is worse than a full bottle of anything.
You are hard liquor, my friend, and I have a drinking problem when you’re there with me. I am thirsty, my whole body shivers, and I crave your touch like others crave a bottle. I would keep you in my office drawer, if only you fit, if only I could close the door and pull you out of my jacket.
And you will know to treat me right, you will know to treat me wrong. Because you already are, and I can see in your eyes that you will.
I can see that you don’t want to stop now, and that you probably won’t unless I make you.
But I will only glare at you in silence.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/132p9rr/dance_with_me_and_fuck_me_after_fmvanillaf32