Title: The Club



The music is thumping tonight.

First thing I notice when I come in the door is that thumping, the whump-thump-thump on the skins. I can feel it in the air. I can feel it in my blood.

Ba-dump-thump-thump-thump.

Ba-dump-thump-thump-thump.

It's that rhythm, that deep pounding rhythm that starts in the heart and pulses out. The whumping and thumping spreads out through my insides, my whole body. It pulls on me, tugging me in. Follow me, it demands, follow me onto the floor. No resistance from me. What for That's why I came in the first place.

Thumpa-thump-thump-thump.

Thumpa-thump-thump-thump.

The smoky dark air is alive, crackling, electric. I wonder if everybody feels it, not just me. All I can hear is that rhythm, that pounding insistent rhythm that says Dance, Now! I am drawn in, closer, closer, closer. My body turns and twists to squeeze through the crowd but my whole being is locked to the rhythm that moves me.

I make my way closer and the rhythm fades, still there, always there, but hiding. Hiding behind a shimmer of sound, the brassy Wah-wah-wah of the trombones, the trumpets, the horns wailing and crying in great joyous moans. My ears are losing track of the thumping but my feet cannot. My toes curl and uncurl in thrall to the rhythm. The balls of my feet tap impatiently. My body angles itself to duck through, my mouth automatically murmuring Excuse Me Excuse Me even though the music is now so loud no one could hear me if they wanted to.

I break through.

Cab's on fire, red hot, whooping and hollering with everything he's got. And the band's giving him their all, too, I can feel it. But I can't make sense of that now because I cannot tear my eyes away from the floor long enough to see Cab straight-on. He is there in the corner of my eye, moving moving always moving, a bright-colored dervish of Swing, bebopping frantically in his blazing tux. And the band, flashes of white jackets and ties beneath damp brown faces, pumping all of themselves into their shining instruments and then shimmering out in the music, the MUSIC.

It pulls me in closer and I put one foot forward and then the other. When my toes tap on the hard wooden tip of the dance floor, I stop. I stand at the edge of madness, just outside the fury, the wild movement, the frantic untamed motion of the bodies on the floor. My senses are filled with whirling colors, incredible noise, and the miasma of heat and tangy sweat that envelops everyone and everything.

Ready yet

Maybe.

I close my eyes partway and open up, letting the music in, feeling it have its way with me. It fills me, exploring, reaching into all my ins and outs, my curves, swaying this part of me here, that part of me there. The music needs to know me before it can take me. It doesn't take long.

Now

Oh yes.

The little tiny hairs on my bare arm prickle and stand at attention, and I see Him. He's tall, but not too. Broad shoulders rippling under his pale yellow shirt, strong thighs filling out his light blue trousers. He's looking dead at me, measuring me up. Will I do A decision. Yes, I will. He extends his hand to me, reaching out of the throng to drag me in. I hesitate, just a moment. Will he do I am pretending to ask. I know the answer to that. He does too. He smiles, confident. I smile too, trying for only a hint of promise. I fail. I'm grinning. Something alive jumps into his eyes, and he grins back, saucy. I let him take my hand in his.

His hand is a dark chocolate, a nice contrast to the burnished sepia of my own. I barely have time to notice before he has yanked me in.

Move, Girl.

Move!

Move!

Hah! he yells, and snaps me out.

The music that had taken me so gently before now rages in his touch. I am being taken by force and I do not care, I welcome it. I loose all control. I let go.

My body whips out opposite him, my free hand flailing out wildly away from me.

He is pulling, yanking me close and I snap back, my feet not flying but stepping because really I know what I'm about, yes I do, and I have Style and I can show it. My momentum carries me hurtling in towards him but he expects that and he grasps both my hands and lets the force take me in and then down down down and I'm between his legs and shooting out the other side. Instantly I let go and my body is liquid, sliding underneath and up and I'm climbing on his back practically and his strong hands take mine and flip me up up up and over his shoulder and now I'm in front again, and I whip around to go back for more.

We are seriously smoking now. The others on the floor must sense it, 'cause they've moved back and out, giving us room. We are at the center of the floor, in the spotlight. He knows it too, and starts pushing harder.

Bounce Jump bounce-bounce.

Bounce Jump bounce-bounce.

Faster!

Bounce-bounce Jump bounce.

Bounce-bounce Jump bounce.

Here she comes--!

Bounce Bounce JUMP--

I am flying through the air, up and out, round and round. We're spinning, my arms and hair splayed wide. If not for his iron grip on my legs I'd be pulled out so hard I'd go flying and tumbling. But he's got me, he's got me, and I close my eyes and feel queasy and thrilled and ALIVE, more alive than I ever am at home at work at anyplace else but here, when I'm dancing.

The spin slows, and when he tosses me up and pulls me back in hard I am ready. My legs splay open wide, my dress billowing up above my waist as I come down. I wrap my long legs around his middle, knotting at the small of his broad back and let go, falling back until my head nearly hits the floor behind me. But he's good, as good as anyone I've ever been with. Before I even finish squeezing around him he's spinning again, this time a tight, fast circle.

I clutch as tight as I can with my calves and my knees and close my eyes. Again I feel that strong pull outward, but I am more aware of the breeze on my bare legs as we move faster faster faster. His hands grasp my naked thighs as we turn, a hot, burning touch that makes me shiver and moan, quaking even as I'm whirling and spinning.

All the while the music has been building and building and now it's fit to bust, so the end must be near. In a frantic burst of energy he levers me back in and up -- Lord, how strong must this man be -- and then I'm flying up and over his shoulder and coming down to land HARD but he has pulled so hard that his momentum lifts him up and over me. The music reaches its crescendo and so do we, strutting and jumping and flying for all we're worth. As the brassy coda blares out I am again in the air, rising up up up higher than ever before and Cab is rocking it as I descend, timing it perfectly so we finish when he does, with an outrageous flourish. Thunderous applause.

And now the music has stopped and Cab is saying something about Taking Five. I want to scream No No No You can't stop now, the Music isn't done with me yet-- but it's too late. The band boys are laying down their instruments and mopping their brows, grinning and jiving among themselves, grateful for the break. The skinny young drummer is just sitting back, totally done in, trying to recover before the next set. Several of the dark men in white are edging their way towards the door, on their way out to smoke some reefer before they have to come back for more.

I hear a quiet cough next to my ear and feel a touch on my elbow. It's past Twelve-Thirty, he says. You need to be gittin on Home I shake my head No. I ain't done yet, I say. Ize hopin you'd say that, he says with a grin in his voice. I turn to look at him. The grin is plastered right there on his face, wide and toothsome. Hungry.

How bout you come on a ride with me Hop in my car and we drive, someplace nice n' quiet, maybe bring a little bottle of somethin smooth... He's pleading. Hopeful.

I shake my head No.

Aw, c'mon Baby.

Again I shake my head.

His touch at my elbow becomes more caressing, more demanding as it travels up my exposed arm to the edge of my short sleeve.

You know you felt it, Girl, he says, his tone seductive, serious. I felt you shake when I touched you. He moves closer in, breathing on me. His breath is hot, like his touch on my arm.

We both want somethin, he says. I know I want it bad, real bad, in the worst way, he says. He bends his head to catch my eye in his. I stare right back, unafraid. Ain't I right he says. I say nothing. He nods. 'Course I'm right. I could tell when we was dancin.

We stand there quietly, his hand still on me, making the hairs on my arm tingle and stand up again. I don't say anything. I don't move a muscle. I'm waiting for the music to return.

So let's go then, he says, tugging at me. I shake my head No, sharply this time.

A hint of frustration creeps onto his face. Aw c'mon now. I says we both want the same thing and you don't say Ize wrong, so why ain't we gone yet

I don't move. Said before I ain't done yet, can't he see

He looks disgusted, like he's about to give up or yell at me or maybe both. I look straight into his eyes, serious and hard, and softly touch one finger to his lips.

Hush, I say. He looks confused.

I let my finger travel across his lips and caress his cheek. Prickly. Stubbly.

Music, I say.

My car gots a radio, he protests. I shake my head No, but softly. I smile a small smile, one that reaches my eyes so they twinkle. I will not be satisfied with canned music tonight. I need the real thing.

Finally he understands.

His eyes narrow, speculating. They flick upwards, once, twice. Suggesting a possibility.

My smile gets wider.

His head tilts upwards, meaningfully, his whole expression a big question mark.

My smile is dazzling. I give one small nod.

He reaches out with his big strong hand and cups my small one softly. Gently he leads me off the floor. I follow, letting my attention rest on the wonderful warm feeling of my hand in his. His hand is so thick, its surface smooth and hard, no doubt from years of hard, unremitting work. But there within his calloused palm my hand is pillowed. He holds me like an egg, delicately and carefully. I smile, and feel warmth spread through me, at his goodness, his gentleness.

We come to a wooden door, hidden in a dark corner of the big room. With his free hand he tests the handle. It squeaks but finally turns. He looks back at me and flashes me one of those grins, and pushes through. As we make our way up darkened narrow stairs I feel something jump deep inside me and I breathe a little faster.

He was right, back on the dance floor. I do want this real bad. In the worst way. But without the music--

We reach the top of the stairs and emerge into a balcony. It's unlit, pitch-dark. I sense rather than see the rows of folded-up seats and the oppressive weight of our nearness to the ceiling. I move forward to try to look over the edge at the dance floor, and almost fall down some wide stairs that descend to the front of the balcony. He grabs my waist from behind, saving me from tumbling.

Careful there, Girl! he scolds. Sorry, I mutter. You can let go now.

He chuckles. What I gon do THAT for Dint come up here jus to let go. His hands are all over me, pawing at my dress, at my body. For a moment I'm too shocked to react. Then I snap out of it and pull away sharply. None of that, now!

I can barely see him there in the dark, but I can feel his stunned silence. Now lookie here, he rumbles, on the edge of real anger. Don't you go think you gon play me like this, gittin all up agin me and then come up here wit me, and now you say you ain't that kinda girl. I come up here to get me some'a you, and I ain't leavin till I does. You gits my meanin I clear nuff fo y'all

I lean forward and reach out my hands, groping blindly until they brush up against his. I rub his thick, stubby fingers, caressing his big hard knuckles. I move my fingers round until his fingertips rest in my palms. He doesn't pull away. Good.

I am too that kinda girl, I murmur. I want to. Wouldnt'a come up here if I didn't. I just want to feel the music, that's all. You know what I'm saying

He doesn't. His bafflement emanates through the tips of his fingers.

I want it to be like the music, I say, my voice sinking down to a whisper. I want...

Just then I hear noise down below, the band back from their break. The horns start it off, a slow brassy fanfare that gives way to silky saxophones insinuating a slow, luscious melody. It's one I know, "Rusty Dusty Blues." I smile and step forward into his arms. Surprised, he clasps me to him. I begin to sway against him. After a half-snort of disbelief or frustration -- I can't tell which -- he matches my rhythm. We are dancing, and it is wonderful.

The Intro ends, and as the singer begins the verse, I sing along in a husky alto.

Mama, don't beg your Daddy For no diamond ring--

Mama, don't you beg your Daddy For no diamond ring--

'Cause Mama you already got The best of ev'rything...

As we move his hands slide ever so slowly up and down my back. I shiver and hold him just the littlest bit tighter. I feel him slide one hand up to the top button at the back of my neck. With the slightest flick, it pops through the button hole.

I seen you ridin' Round in a brand-new car--

I seen you ridin' Around in a brand-new car--

I know you couldn't buy it

You're not used to caviar...

First one, then the next, then the next, then the last two. All the buttons are open now, my dress gaping beneath his palms to reveal my shoulders and back. His hands touch my bare skin lightly as I sing, giving me goosebumps. I remove one arm from around his neck and shrug out of my sleeve. Then I hook it back around him and do the same with the other. The half-empty dress slides down my back to the floor. I step out of it and keep swaying against him.

He puts his hands around me and caresses my naked back, my waist, my shoulders. His fingers trace the wide fabric swath of my brassiere, and find the fastenings. In the darkness my world spins, and I cling tightly to him. As he frees me, he begins to sing along in a low, rumbling voice.

Now get up, get up, get up, get up, Woman-- Get up off yo big fat Rusty Dusty

Don't you hear me

Get up, get up, get up, Woman-- Get up off yo big fat Rusty Dusty

Get up Mama-- Get up before you get too rusty...

I can't sing any more, because I am breathing too hard and fast to spare the breath to sing. I am totally naked except for my underpants, garters, stockings, and shoes. His hands on me have driven me completely out of my mind, rubbing and caressing all around my nude torso, occasionally drifting down to my backside and running along the garter-belt at my middle. My shivering has given way to trembling, and a quiet moan rises out of me.

Please, I groan, Please...

He chuckles. His hands settle at the small of my back and rest, making me growl in disappointment. He's going to tease me the way he knows I enjoy, but I am naked and too aroused for that now. He probably knows that too. I hold him tight again and hitch up my body until our bellies are pressed close together. I tilt my bottom and push right up to him. When I do I feel the prod of his hardness, and I know that my nakedness has affected him, too.

I fumble at his belt, all thumbs in my hurry. He laughs, a rich, low sound, and takes my hand. So now youse in a hurry he mocks. By way of answering I press my body against him and wriggle, my breasts crushing against his broad chest, my belly and thighs stimulating his encased manhood. His breathing quickens, and the mocking tone drops out of his voice. Mmmm, he croaks, You some woman...

Below us the band has moved into a bouncing Swing. The change suits me just fine, 'cause I'm more than ready, all hot and flowing and empty where I want to be full. Almost shaking with impatience, I try for his belt again but his hands are already there, doing the job better than I ever could in this state. With a jangle his pants fall down on the floor in a heap, along with his shorts. Get rid of them, I whisper, and so he kicks off his shoes with a clunk and steps out. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I can make him out, looking a little awkward in his pale shirt and socks with his Thing sticking out like a flagpole in front of him.

I giggle, but before he can respond I take Him in my hand and move up and down his length. He exhales in a quick puff and I grip a smidgen tighter, making him groan. As I touch it I judge it to be a nice one indeed, thick but not too thick around and a little longer than any others I've been around. As I play with Him he insinuates his hand into the front of my pants and wiggles two fingers. I sigh and part my thighs to let him in, and sigh again, louder and longer, as he presses against my bush and then slips his questing fingers inside.

I am completely soaked with desire, so these two strangers find a smooth passage. They move in, deeper and deeper, and I try to angle myself to let them in further. My constricting underpants impede his progress and he tries to get them off, but the intricacies of garter snaps are unmanageable for a man in his condition. With a growl he gives up on getting my pants off, instead grabbing the crotch with both his thumbs and ripping it apart. My gasp changes into a loud moan as he plunges deep inside me, and I know I simply cannot wait another second.

Down on the floor the band is hitting it hard, an all-out boogie propelled by a thudding base, tinkling piano keys, and the muted crashing of the hi-hat cymbals. I ache for him but I can't ignore the movement of the music. The lightning in my blood won't let me merely lie back and take a slow loving. I need to go with the rhythm, to be part of the blanket of sound that is all around me.

With a smooth, quick motion I hook my arms around his neck again and hoist myself up like I did while we were dancing, earlier. As I make my leap I spread my legs wide and clamp them around him. He may have been slow to take my meaning when we first came up here, but this time he knows exactly what I need. Before I even get myself all the way around him he catches me, cupping my buttocks in his outspread hands. Lord, he IS as strong as I thought -- he doesn't stagger at all as I rest back against his hands. It's as if I were a small child, for all the strain he shows in holding me up.

With a soft, spreading motion he opens me wide and lets me down, slowly, slowly, slowly, until the tip of his straining manhood rests at my exposed entrance. I shift my weight around a little to help the angle. Then he deliberately lowers me onto Him.

He presses into me, slowly slowly slowly deeper deeper deeper, oh so incredibly slowly, filling me more and more and more until I can feel him all the way inside me, practically bottoming me out all the way in the back of me. We stand that way for an endless moment, me feeling this tremendous fullness, he feeling the hot wet cocoon that I make around him. In the meantime the band has swung back into a slow blues, and we spend those few peaceful minutes in that position, unmoving.

And then the blues gives way to a jump-bounce like the number we danced to before, and his hands start to jiggle, lifting me up and down on his tool. The motion and the friction it causes bring my inner walls alive, and as he thrusts my body up and down onto him I feel pressure start to build deep inside me. The pleasure is exquisite, but now urgent, needy, driving.

As the drums accelerate and the horns and reeds barrel along, speeding relentlessly through the melody, I start to move. With my ankles and arms clenching around his hard, broad body I pull myself up and down, up and down, impaling myself on him, on his cock, his marvelous, miraculous cock, this monster that is filling my pussy, my belly, my chest. Down in the band section one of the guys shouts out Hah! and another answers Oh, Yes! and I think Yes Yes Oh Yes That's Right Don't Stop, moving right along with them, keeping up with the soaring and swooping of the notes as I furiously ram him deep deep into me.

And as the music climbs toward that big Big Finish he grunts and stiffens up, and I slam down onto him the hardest yet. I scream as the world explodes with me in it, and we all burst into stars together, me him and the Music, climaxing as one.

The music ebbs. Slowly the blazing lights and colors dissolve back into the reality of the balcony. If anybody heard us, they give no sign. The band has moved on to a slightly slower number, still bouncy but less anarchically reckless. Dazed, we remain still a moment longer and then disengage and dress. We adjust everything carefully, and then make the long trek down the stairs to the floor.

As he opens the door I check my hair one last time and enter the maelstrom of light and sound that we had left behind so much earlier. We make for the door, both knowing that we are done for the night. As we squeeze through the mass of people gathered at the open doorway he takes my arm, so's not to lose me in the crowd.

We burst through into a cool, clear night, the sounds of the band and the revelers fading behind us. As we stand, quiet and motionless, I smile and get on my toes to kiss his cheek.

Thanks for the dance, I say. I really enjoyed it.

Me too, he answers, his broad grin twinkling in the dim light outside.

As I walk away, my steps slow and sure, I hear his voice rumbling softly after me.

'Cause Mama-- You already got the best of ev'rything...

You got that right! I holler, saucy, and I'm rewarded with the boom of that deep, rich laugh. The sound follows me as I turn the corner and begin to make my way through the black stillness of One-o'Clock in the morning, making my way back home.

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