He danced in front of me, for me.
I liked his white belt the most. As he swayed and slithered in front of me, I kept looking back to the belt. I should get a white belt. Except then I'd need white shoes. We've just crossed midnight into Labor Day, so is that okay.
He had a beautiful compact torso. He was shirtless. The white belt held up form fitting blue jeans. His skin was the color of coffee with cream. I reached out and felt his chest - smooth and soft - and let my hands slide down his sides, landing on his hips.
He leaned forward and maybe said something. It was so dark I couldn't guarantee that his lips had moved. The music drowned out any sound.
"What?" I asked and leaned my ear towards his mouth.
"How old are you?" He never stopped moving his hips.
"Thirty-eight."
"Per-fect."
Saturday, September 6, 2008
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