Sweet Mary Jane

Sweet Mary Jane Sweet Mary Jane

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

flash fiction on the experience of a first lap dance

Summary

flash fiction on the experience of a first lap dance

Content

Submitted: December 30, 2012

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Content

Submitted: December 30, 2012

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She was his Valentine’s gift to me, a lap dance, my first. Her name was Mary Jane.  Well, that was the game we played.  She was dark haired, an American in her early twenties, with an intelligent face, a strong, slender body, small breasts and a beautifully executed tattoo that crept down her left shoulder from her throat. 

She looked me in the eye as we were introduced.

I was supposed to give her the nod, the table introduction was my opportunity to say, no thanks, I’d prefer a blonde or someone younger, bustier… 

But her name was Mary Jane, and she looked me in the eye.

My heart stopped for a moment, not unpleasantly, when we stood up.  In the heels she seemed  as tall as him, so I had to tilt my chin to look up at her face. 

She led us to the private booth.  Her grip on my hand was firm and cool, his was hot and dry.Like three kids on a school trip we wove through the tables of envious men, hand in hand in hand.

The booth was all womb-like reds and dimly lit. The dampening of sound as she pulled the velvet curtain closed was moist the way the word implies so often but so seldom delivers. I felt it, wet, between my thighs.

‘Let me arrange you,’ she said.

She sat me in a corner, crouched down to pull me forward so my pussy was at the edge of the seat, spread my legs with her knees as she stood in a proud, practised movement.

Her defiance stole my breath, whispered hot secrets that ached in my belly.

Her body was young and lithe and supple,  unblemished by life, the sort I might in other moments have envied.

She twisted between my legs, slower than the music, releasing her breasts from the black lycra and revealing a piercing in her left nipple that made me catch my tongue between my teeth. I was not to move, she had told me, the moving was her job.

It was a body I might in other moments have envied…

She turned her back on me and bent to kiss her knee, her thumbs hooked in the hem of her panties.  She peeled them off slowly, as if it might hurt, but she looked at me from there between her knees and there was nothing like pain in her face.

My own eyes struggled. I wanted to watch her watching me, both of us bold and unashamed. I wanted to gaze at the miracle of her perfect peach flesh, inches from my face, an exotic flower that spoke to me like I was a bee and I knew in my DNA that if I could only unfurl the curl of my tongue….

It was a body I might have envied but I felt only reverence, and, tucked away in another corner he watched, his eyes moist with love and longing.

Later, I knelt behind him on our bed.  Framed in the oval of the mirror he looked at me with careful eyes.  The candlelight made pools of shadow in his collarbones and brushed his pale skin with gold.  A lock of dark hair broke loose that familiar way, falling down across his forehead… he was the most beautiful thing.

He held still for me, obediently, as I slipped the plum taffeta and black tulle over his shoulders. I could hear him preparing himself for disappointment, preparing me…

‘It won’t fit..’

But it did… and I lay him back, soft against the sheets and I pushed his knees up to his chest and I spread his legs and I crept through the rustling undergrowth of the dress, sneaking up on him and on myself and I kissed him. 

I kissed him like a girl until his flesh relaxed beneath my tongue and opened for me like some otherworldly anemone and he was all woman… the taste of him answered a question in my soul that I had never uttered . For an instant we were both men, both women, all possible permutations of human coupling. 

His surrender was fragile. He lacked the defiance of Mary Jane, but he looked me in the eye and I looked at him the same and in that instant we were god.


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