Chapter 1: No Regrets

Allison Remy doesn’t often have regrets. She didn’t regret her last boyfriend—Fred—even though he did end up being a complete and total disappointment. When she started dating him there was an unstated expectation that he was going to be at least as attentive to her as he had been to Janice. Instead he ended up having more interest in volleyball and porn than making the 40 minute drive down to visit her in her studio apartment in the city. She didn’t even regret the loss of Janet as a friend since that whole episode and that little relationship overlap. Men are a difficult matter to deal with seeing as how odds are: 1) the good ones are taken, and 2) the goods that are left to take tend to be odd. With Ralph, Brenda, Carla, and that freckle-faced red head guy on that business trip up north, Allison was in her studio alone on a Friday night. Some in her situation might regret losing a friend and being alone, but not Allison, and certainly not tonight.

She had just flopped back on the bed leaving a tangled splash of dark blonde hair around her. Her mind was tired, but her body was frustrated and restless. Too much caffeine in a slender toned body that is used to cycling and pilates lent poorly to a relaxing night at home. She considered going clubbing, pursing her sensuous lips in thought, “Am I really wired enough to go to a dance club as a single white female without any friends to ward off the inevitable drink-in-the-hand-hump dancers?”

She glanced over at Mister Foofer, an old grey stuffed bunny on her bed stand and said aloud, “Or am I really pathetic enough not be able to go out on a Friday night?”

Not waiting for an answer, she picked up the phone, mustered up some courage, swallowed some pride, and called Fred.

“Uhm ... Hi.” Fred’s answer was less than enthusiastic, not that she could blame him, since they had broken up just last week.

“Hey Fred, it’s me ... so listen, don’t read too much into this, but do you have plans for tonight?”

Still hesitant, Fred replied, “Watchin’ TV ... not really, uh, what’s up?”

“Well, it’s Friday night, I want to go clubbing, and you know you want to go too.”

“Where’s your posse?” He was not a hard no, there was hope.

“Out and about—look, I know it’s late notice, but I’m stuck here, and I don’t wanna go alone, you’ll be doing me a favor. Plus you’re an awesome dancer, you’ll have a blast, and you’ll have me as your wingman. You in up for it?”

And with that, Allison had plans. She put in a black top that wrapped behind her neck and criss crossed in front leaving her with a bare midriff to show off her athletic abs and exposing a lot of her slim toned back. She chose to go with a pair of tight black flared slacks and some jazz shoes to round it out. It was cool enough to dance in and no trashy up skirt issues to deal with; it was a perfect ensemble.

Two hours later she and Fred were in the club. Ladies in free and since Allison had no pockets, Fred was holding her ID. The music was pumping and both were on the dance floor in the middle of a mass of elation, flesh, rhythm, and hormone. Club Last Bastion’s main floor was huge, with strobe lights, spot lights, and laser lights moving in rhythms and syncopations. Liquid nitrogen periodically flooded down from the vaulted ceilings blooming into a mist that cooled the crowded dance floor.

Allison danced.

Fred was a bit less interested in babysitting her out on the dance floor. On his way back to the dance floor with her obligatory Red Bull and vodka in hand, he saw her dancing and had to stop. She was so good, she looked like she’d been hired to dance there.

“Hey, your drink!” He yelled to her when he got to her.

“Thanks!” She yelled back.

“I’ll be at the bar!”

“What?!” She yelled back, holding the drink carefully.

Fred pointed back to the bar and yelled again, “BAR!”

She nodded. Makes no sense to try to talk on the dance floor. Fred simply assumed that no one would approach her. Either they’d be intimidated by her dancing, or thing she worked there and could get them kicked out.

She was in her element. Graceful and beautiful, moving with abandon and freedom. Newly refueled, she stayed out on the dance floor even with Fred gone off to flirt. Her hair was wet and pulled back into a ponytail, and her skin glowed with a sheen of perspiration. Her body twisted, writhed, and traced lovely lines and curves, movement and body.

Allison’s dancing did not go unnoticed.

Her predator sat above the sunken dance floor on one of the VIP couches. Normally he could be noticed if he wanted to be, but with her devotion to the music, he doubted he’d be able to command her attention with subtle body language. He motioned to one of his servants, a very pretty brunette with a bit of a glazed look in her eyes, and indicating the lithe dance on the floor.

The server quickly left the VIP area and moved purposefully to the bar with a small vial. The bartender, seeing server come up, quickly gave her a kamikaze he had just made for another customer and started making another one. Seamlessly, the pretty young brunette made her way to the dance floor to a smarmy looking tall broad shouldered man in a skin tight shirt. Drugging the drink, she passed it to him and indicated Allison. After but a brief pause, the slimy well muscled guy took on a very drunken demeanor and meandered over to Allison. Coming up from behind, he took her hand and pressed her package against her like some gigantic pubic delivery boy.

Allison was shocked to have her hand grasped out of nowhere, breaking her flow. “Here it goes,” flashed through her head as she turned to face him. She immediately sized him up, “drunken meathead piss ant number one.” Without even realizing it, he had already wrapped his drink hand around her, so when she pushed him to get away from his cock sure style of dance, he ended up spilling his drink all down her back. She seized up with disgust gave him a few choice words that no one could hear over the music. His response was to just make a jerk off motion with his hand and leave her.

“Well that’s a pisser,” she thought to herself. “Might as well have come alone for all the good that Fred’s doing me.” She glanced around and he was nowhere to be found. That drink down her back was going to be sticky and nasty later on, the dance floor was crowded, and she was covered in sweat. Rather than have any regrets over it, she decided to just go with it and keep dancing.

And what a wonderful decision it was. Maybe it was all the adrenaline from so much exercise, but she started to feel light. It felt like the time she’d been dancing for 6 hours of jazz and lyrical classes at college and got a runner’s high—only much better. As the beats changed, she felt herself becoming almost euphoric, looking up and drifting off into the lights. They were so beautiful, it felt like the heat from the lights was pulsing into her body. Her heart was synching up with the beats. She felt the crowd melt away into a mass of throbbing glorious flesh.

A few other men started coming up to her and dancing with her, and she seemed oblivious. Moving from dancer to dancer, accepting their caresses and their energy. One woman slid in close and controlled Allison’s undulations with her own, guiding her body and caressing her exposed abs. Another man had rolled her body and spun her into another. She felt a pulsing warmth within her body merging her will with the music. It was growing, it was hypnotic, it was pure motion.

And moving felt so good! She caressed her own arm up to her shoulder, reveling in the sensation. Her skin felt alive and vibrant, she moved between two of the speakers, by a wall under the DJ booth and just revelled in the sensations taking a breather. Her legs, her arms, all felt so wonderful to touch. She ran her hands up the back of her neck and through her hair, pulling out the pony tail and overwhelmed in the release of it all. Her body was alive floating in a sensuous dream of music. Her nipples had hardened, and the sensations seemed to beg for a light caress, a delicious itch in need of a scratch.