I’m not the type of girl who goes to nightclubs. At least not now. Not in my early thirties.
That wasn’t always the case, though. And sometimes I still get an itch that needs a scratch. It’s not about dancing or drinks. It’s about going home with a stranger. These days you can meet someone within a couple of hours on a dating app. But it’s not the same thrill.
I don’t feel like I’m the most attractive woman in any bar. I’m leggy and fit and I have nice tits. I’m exotic, and that’s attractive to some people. I’m not a classic beauty but I have an abundance of confidence. That counts for a lot.
I was in a strange city on a work trip and completely alone. It didn’t take much to find a dance club, though. I went in wearing a white satin buttondown blouse and a little black skirt. It was a little too sexy for the office and way too formal for a club, but I didn’t have a cocktail dress in my luggage.
I danced on the floor alone. Eyes closed. Hips swaying. Feeling the music.