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“Dance?” she invited.
“I really don’t dance very well” I honestly admitted.
“Then I’ll dance for you.”
She danced slowly, her eyes closed; her steps were frugal, her feet hardly
moving from the same spot. She danced more with her hips, hands and head. When
the piece was finished and the next one began, her lips formed a little gamine-
like smile. “Well, looks like it’s SHOWTIME!” she exclaimed and summarily
reached down and pulled the tank-top up over her head. She cradled her small
breasts provocatively in her hands. “Like ‘em?” she inquired.
The point where two people spontaneously embrace is easier experienced than
written about. Suffice to say, our arms were about each other and our lips
pressed together, tongues flicking, probing, entwining. Norma turned around in
my arms and guided my hands to her breasts. They were firm and her nipples
jutted out in two hardened nodes. As my hands meandered down under the
waistband of her jeans, I found that she was not wearing any panties. She
chuckled at my discovery. “I like to go G.I. style once in a while.”