"Look girls, I am not here looking to hook up with someone! If that's what you have in mind, count me out. I'll just hang out with you for awhile and then go back to my room.!"
"Jackie's a party-poop, Jackie's a party-poop!" The other five women harmonized and teased me.
"We're just going to have fun and flirt a little, if that happens!" Sandra said, trying to be helpful.
We had been friends since high school and decided to meet in Las Vegas for a few days in celebration of our twenty-fifth graduation anniversary. Three were currently divorced or widowed and so they were interested in flirting and the possibility of finding some men who wanted to join the fun.
We were in the sumptuous bar when a group of five guys came in. It wasn't long before one had joined our table and, acting as spokesman and tour-guide for his group, invited the others to join us.
"Ah, an odd number." I thought, "I can drop out without causing a problem."
One of them asked me to dance. I love to dance. Always have. And so I found myself on the dance floor with a cute and amusing guy who wasn't a very good dancer. When we came back there was another set of drinks at our place.
From down the table, I heard Betty's voice. "Jackie's the good dancer in our group."
I glanced down and saw a tall man with graying blond hair lean forward and look in my direction. I paid no further attention and a second man invited me to dance. He was inclined to be a little "handy" and I thought he had tried to read all the labels in my clothes by brail by the time we finished two dances. But, the band was really very good. It was an old time swing band and they played a lot of good slow dance numbers between the more athletic modern tunes.
Again, when we got back to the table there was another round of drinks and I was feeling a little bit sweaty from the exertion. It was a lively group and we really were having fun. And so, I didn't leave when I should have, probably.
The tall figure loomed over me and I looked up and smiled into gray-blue eyes and silver temples.
"Could I have this dance?" he said.
Carl was a very good dancer. You can tell immediately when you are going to dance well with a man and this was one of those times. It is just completely different. Every step is perfect. Your body meets his all at once, not a bump at a time. I can't explain it. You just know it when you find it. We were simpatico. Even though he was a foot taller than me, our strides seemed mated.
I should have known this was going to be that kind of evening when he brought me back to the table and there was another round of drinks waiting. I was feeling a little light headed, but he was gracious and I really enjoyed our dance. The second band came in to spell the first one and they were not as good. Our party was getting louder and louder. My friends were having a great time.
I danced with another of the party who liked to brush his hands across my nipples when he twirled me. My nipples were standing out when we returned in spite of my telling them not to respond.
Carl showed up again and again we danced smoothly to a tango beat. It was delicious. If you love to dance, you can't resist your perfect dance partner. We stood and talked between numbers and I discovered he was retired NAVY, so that gave something to talk about. My father had been in the Navy and our early years were spread around the country. We danced again and I felt his cock against my tummy. He moved so that it grazed my tummy from one side to the other as we turned. It wasn't unpleasant. And in fact, it felt warm and ... big.
Carl had big hands, too, and I couldn't help the old wives' tale that if a man's pointing finger was large, his cock would be proportionately large. I giggled self-consciously and felt our bodies smoothly glide together, trapping his poor cock between us. I was having a giggling fit about the strange thoughts running through my mind.
Again, there was another round of drinks. I was having a hard time keeping up with it. And I was definitely feeling the effects. Again they talked me into staying a bit longer. Well, I was really having a good time, I had to admit. So I stayed and made excuses to my inner self.
Again Carl came around to dance and this time, he pushed someone out of the way and sat next to me. Our knees were together under the table, because there just wasn't room to be otherwise. His hand touched my knee. He pretended to be scratching his own knee. Then it was definitely on my knee, squeezing. It was not unpleasant. In fact it felt kind of nice as he fondled my thigh through the stocking.
We danced some more and now the slow numbers we were insinuating our bodies together and his hand found my bottom and pulled me close against his cock. When we turned, my legs parted and rode astride his thigh. As time passed, I made sure to bottom out by pressing my pussy mound against his thigh, and he held me in that position as long as he could reasonably do. Good dancers will know what I mean. It's a delicious feeling. Having your pussy pressed against an athletic male thigh and the top of your thigh against a man's hardness is a powerful aphrodisiac.
All of a sudden, the group was breaking up. My girl friends had hooked up with one or the other of Carl's friends and left for parts unknown -- or not discussed. It was just the two of us now and again we danced. He was whispering in my ear. I was listening. His tongue touched my ear and my knees felt weak.
We found a dark corner and stopped moving our feet. Our bodies writhed and swayed to the lovely music, but the only movement was between his cock and my tummy; his hand and my dress and bra; His thigh against my pussy; my hand and the little extra hair at the back of his neck; his hand on my bottom, squeezing, following the line of my panty from my hip to where it disappeared between my legs.
On the elevator, our tongues found each other. I relaxed in his arms and he supported me against that big cock. My back was against the wall and he rubbed against me. We shot up in the glass tube of the elevator for 34 floors and when the door opened we shocked an elderly couple just going down for one last spin of the roulette table. I brushed my skirt down and smiled at them as we got out.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"My room all right?"
"Oh." I said His card didn't work in the slot. Aha, maybe I'm saved, he can't open the door.
But he had picked the wrong door. He kissed me against the real door and then when it opened with a click we were suddenly inside his room. Dark, it was very dark. Reassuring sometimes, the dark.
We finished the kiss full of tongues and groping hands and he opened the drapes on a vast canopy of bright lights from the street below.
We stood close, breathing each other's breath and unbuttoning things. He had my dress unbuttoned to the waist for example. I had unbuttoned his shirt and started on his pants. So, it wasn't just his fault, you see. He stopped and looked down at my breasts in the push-up bra.
It doesn't match my panties," I groaned apologetically.
"Well, you aren't going to have panties on in a minute!" He said it gently, so that was OK. I giggled.
He scooped my breasts out of the bra with his large hands and sat back on the bed to look at them. I fumbled behind me and unsnapped it so he wouldn't' tear it.
"Ohhhh!" his mouth was on my right nipple, sucking; my hands went to his head, an involuntary gesture. It passed though my mind that no one other than David had done this to my breasts in the past 25 years. Not since before that really. Not since Billy Brown in 10th grade. But tonight it felt so good, that I let him continue.
His hands were fondling high up under my skirt, reaching for my bottom along the smooth nylon of my pantyhose. His fingers found the band of my pantyhose and began tugging them down.
"You'll never get them off. Let me use the bathroom first." I whispered hoarsely.
I went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, an adolescent habit to hide the sound of tinkling. Been doing that since high school, too, I thought ruefully.
I stripped off my pantyhose and paused to think about the panties. I left them on. The dress I hung on a hook behind the door.
Pulling down my non-matching blue panties, I sat on the stool and answered nature's call. I stared around the nicely tiled bathroom and thought about what I was about to do. I can't explain it, but it just seemed OK. I felt OK about myself. Ok about Carl, the stranger waiting for me. What would it be like, having a stranger in me; after all these years? What if he is disappointed in me? I shook my head to clear the thought of inadequacy out of my head.
Finished, I stood up and went to the bathtub. I soaked a washcloth in warm water and spread my pussy.
"Just in case." I muttered. In case he was one of those good lovers who liked ... well, you know." The warm cloth felt good against my vulva and I felt fresher afterwards, more confident in myself. After all the dancing, I wanted a shower, but this would have to do.
A knock at the door. "You OK?"
I put my panties back on and slipped into my dress, leaving the front unbuttoned. I unlocked the door and came out.
"yes, I'm OK."
He was wearing only his shorts, so that was out of the way.
He led me to the bed and slipped his hands under my breasts. He had good hands and I enjoyed the feeling of him lifting them, squeezing them.
"Mmmmm!" I said.
As he kissed me, his hands slipped under my dress and found my panties once again.
"Now don't you know, dear, that those are going to be in our way?" he joked.
.... There is more of this story ...