The tall man with broad shoulders eased his way in the front door of the small club on the outskirts of town, somewhat surprised to see how many people filled the stools around the bar and the tables surrounding a rectangular shaped dance floor. He shrugged his shoulders, as he had done for several weeks, still unaccustomed to wearing a different type of clothing after so many months of nothing but boots and heavier material. He smiled inwardly, at least he would never again begin his days saluting someone, or returning another's salute. However, old habits died hard, which caused him to take a slow look around to be certain he recalled the location of another or the best exit, if the need arose. He also located the familiar entrance to the nearest head—make that restroom—likewise, if the need arose, and then he made a quick study of the people in the club.
Looking around the dance floor, his eyes locked on one particular couple, specifically the female. As the couple moved around the dance floor, the woman turned so he could see her face. Please God, his breath caught ... is that ... Diane? He hadn't seen her in almost two years, and perhaps he was afraid to admit to himself that he might never see her again. Yet, he did recognize her on the dance floor with a slender blonde man who was two or three inches shorter than she was. She'd changed her hairstyle and put on a little weight, all of it in the right places, but it was definitely Diana Jeanette Carroll.
When they first met, they had laughed about their names. Including given name, middle name, and surname, she had three female first names and he had three male last names, Alexander Bryant Moore. Before the night was half over she was Diane and he was Alex. Later, he may have spoken to her with sweeter names, but the memory of that night was not going to stop him. It might slow him down a little, but only for a short time.
Instead of approaching her, he sat down on one of the stools in front of the bar and ordered a black coffee. Alex did not respond when the bartender asked if he was the designated driver. He let the man think whatever he wanted.
Alex watched Diane for a while, enjoying the sight of her after waiting so long, noticing she went back to a table that was occasionally visited by one or more of three other women, when they weren't on the dance floor. It was only a little different from the first time he saw her. She had sat out most of the dances that night, that's why Alex had approached her. He suspected the glass she was drinking from tonight was a soft drink, because she had been slowly nursing a soft drink that night, too.
Though it was two years ago, it seemed like yesterday when he had met Diane. Alex remembered the dumb remark he'd made when he sat down at the table next to hers, "Is it your responsibility to see that your friends all get to their own homes after they've had their fill of flirting with every man here?"
She had turned her head and looked at him without responding, and then looked back at the dancers. Alex saw a haunted look, or deep pain, on her face. There were faint shadows under eyes that flashed at him and he would not have been surprised to see her start crying at any moment. Her mouth was thinned to a straight line, as if she had forgotten how to smile. Something was really bothering her and considering her expression, he felt somewhat stupid for trying to make her laugh.
Yet, instead of apologizing, he followed with, "If the next one is a slow piece, will you dance with me?"
This time she looked at him and tried to hide the beginning of a trembling smile.
"Good," he responded taking her look as an acceptance. As the band began the next piece, he stood and held out his hand. She accepted it, as she rose from her seat. He was pleasantly surprised at how tall she was. To his six foot four inch height, she matched him well at one or two inches less than six feet.
He introduced himself as he led her through a slow dance, every few steps pulling her a little closer, and then even closer, until she was resting against him, with her head on his shoulder. Her long dark hair hung down her back bushing the back of his hand.
After the dance, he returned Diane to her table and as she sat down, he pulled another chair close to her. Although she was a quiet person, they did make small talk, often about the interaction between other dancers, watching those dancers between their short conversations. Several slow dance numbers came up and she danced those with him. This allowed Alex to hold Diane even tighter than the first dance. While sitting at their table, Alex learned one of the other women was her sister and the other two were another pair of sisters. They had all grown up in the same neighborhood and for some years had spent the first weekend in August having a good time together. Every once in a while, her sister, or her friends, interrupted their conversations, yet Alex and Diane exchanged few words. However, some kind of communication was going on between them, often by nothing more than a look into each other's eyes.
They moved around the dance floor, covering most of the area. Each time they reached the farthest dark corner Alex would lean down and kiss her. Her lips were soft and she tasted sweet. To his delight, Diane responded with a hunger he could not resist. He knew she was aware of his erection because she pressed herself against him when he lowered his hand to the small of her back. She moved against his hand when he put it between their bodies and placed it on her breast. The silky feel of the fabric of her dress slid across the cup of her bra, but neither garment disguised the hardness of her nipple nor did it prevent Alex from feeling the softness of her breast.
Diane admitted she was the youngest of the four women, at twenty-six, but didn't seem to want to talk about herself. Brian did not pursue it, though she did not say if she was married or involved, and he did not say if he was married or involved. She said he didn't look it, when he admitted he was almost forty. When he asked if she would be back the next night, she shook her head.
Alex commented about a change in the club's decorations. Diane was surprised that he had been in the club before, as she didn't recognize him. This was her hometown even though neither she nor any of her family lived there now. Alex explained that for the last couple of years, the small town was the halfway point to his grandparent's home. For this trip home, he was on his way to attend his grandfather's funeral. The motel across the highway allowed him to leave the unrelenting noise of the interstate highway, register and pay for his room, take his bag into his room, and walk across the highway for a few drinks without having to drive after drinking.
During the band's intermission, Alex took Diane outside for some fresh air and found a dark corner where he could kiss her properly. When he reached down to begin pulling the hem of her dress up, Diane whispered, "Please, Alex." Instead, he placed his hand against her, pushed her dress between her legs, and held his hand still, cupping her sex, feeling her heat, and smelling her arousal as he breathed deeply. Standing inside the comfort of his arm, she moved her hand down and partially encircled his hard cock through the thickness of his jeans, thus increasing his discomfort.
Alex brought both hands up to her face. The heels of his palms pressed against the softness of her cheeks as his fingers threaded through her hair and cupped her ears. He looked at Diane for a long moment, and then kissed her hard. Their hunger for each other was not something to satisfy with a kiss. When he broke the kiss, he wrapped his arms around Diane while he placed his cheek against hers. "Do you have a pocket?"
He retrieved the motel room keycard from his pocket and handed it to Diane, "Do you see the white pickup? I'm in Room 317."
Taking the keycard, Diane glanced across the highway at the long row of motel rooms then looked up at Alex as she put it in the side pocket of her dress. "I don't know Alex..." she began, but wouldn't say anything more.
Sensing she was still wavering, Alex said persuasively, "Diane, I don't look for one-night stands and I don't think you do either. I have to leave by ten o'clock tomorrow morning, but I'll be back in two weeks. I want to see you."
He turned without another word and walked toward the edge of the parking lot, looking behind him to watch as Diane walked back inside the club. Some kind of kismet or fate had caused the motel clerk to give him two keys to his room, or perhaps it was their usual practice because the room had two king size beds. The rooms with one king size bed were all taken.
For the first hour, Alex paced his room, removed the bedspread, and turned down the bed, resisting the urge to look through the drapes covering the window, to see if he could spot her leaving the club with her sister and friends. He tried to watch an old movie on television and took a short nap. He had been driving for more than half a day and he enjoyed stretching out on a flat, non-moving, surface.
After the second hour, Alex hung a clean change of clothing in the bathroom, to let the creases from being folded in the suitcase soften while he took a shower. Finally, standing at the small counter outside the bathroom and wearing only his boxer shorts, he decided to shave. He thought about getting dressed again and walking across the highway, but did not. He wanted Diane to come to him, but she had to want it, too.
.... There is more of this story ...