About once a month I go clubbing with my best friend, Jamal. Without the radar to detect women's desires that I possess, he isn't quite in my league when it comes to the mating game. At nightclubs however, Jamal is almost able to keep pace. That’s because enough women subscribe to the theory that good dancers must make good lovers for him to make out like a bandit when gyrating under strobe lights to an infectious beat.
I happen to be no slouch either in the shaking my money maker department, but prefer to ensnare women in a less taxing manner, thus preserving energy for when it counts. So while Jamal gets his groove on moments after we enter a place, I pick a spot to survey my surroundings and seek the pick of the litter.
This is what I was doing one night when I suddenly found myself being yanked to an open space on the floor. I took in the woman who had brought me there without bothering to seek permission. Her face was mildly pleasing, doe eyes set above ample cheek. When she spun around I lowered my gaze for a rear view. My line of vision once again fell upon ample cheek.
Despite her lack of etiquette, I was kind enough not to walk away. No need to be rude. The fact was, I admired her spunk. She had spotted the prize catch of the place and flung me onto her boat before I could protest. I would grant her one dance in order to demonstrate my expert moves for the titillation of more savory women who were observing.
By fifteen seconds into the song, my dance partner was clinging to me like a barnacle to the hull of a ship. If she hadn't already proven that there wasn't a shy bone in her body, she was making her point close to obscenely clear now. And if her intentions were to arouse me, she was right on the mark. She faced away once again, and the more that big ass rubbed against my zipper, the more points she scored. Then she turned back, kissing and groping me like I was the last man on earth. Though I knew I could do better, I decided that her diligent efforts should not go unrewarded.
I was about to inform her of my decision when I was pushed roughly from behind. Turning around, I was confronted with the noticeably distraught visage of a rather large gentleman.
"Not a smart move, buddy."
It didn't appear that he truly intended to be my buddy, and I determined it would be useless trying to talk my way out of the trouble that was obviously coming. I opted not to tell the behemoth who the aggressor actually had been, neither wanting to sully his lady's reputation nor further fuel his brewery fed rage.
"Let's take this outside."
I scanned the room for Jamal, but he was nowhere to be seen. Besides, one on one was a fair fight. Not that I had any desire to engage in fisticuffs. It had been years since I last threw a punch in anger. My foe on the other hand probably did this every weekend. He was more fat than muscle. If we were to take our shirts off and pose, I would be the runaway winner. But I didn't think that was what he had in mind.
Not wanting the confrontation to take place within the club, for I would likely be banned from returning and this was one of my favorite haunts, I agreed to go outside. My hope was that he was as drunk as he smelled, and equally slow. I had no doubt that he was strong enough to seriously damage my treasured profile.
A peek at the cause of my troubles showed a face curious to see some blood shed, seemingly without a care in the world. Her man threw a roundhouse right which I ducked under. I prepared to throw a punch in return, but found my opponent clutching the hand he had broken against a light pole, failing to hold back his tears. I mercifully relieved his pain with an uppercut that left him unconscious before he hit the pavement. Then I grabbed the wrist of his lady with one hand and hailed an approaching cab with the other. Ten minutes later we pulled up in front of my apartment building. It was time for the hero to get the girl.
Once upstairs I lit a candle, and with the press of a couple of remote control buttons filled the room with the sensuous crooning of Teddy Pendergrass. The mood set, I got to work.
"What's your name?" she whispered as I kissed her roughly, my adrenaline flowing as much from the confrontation with her boyfriend as due to her body quivering from my seasoned touch.
"Michael. And yours?" It didn't matter of course, but since she had bothered to ask, I figured I should as well.
"How's the Sunshine band doing?" She either didn't get the joke, or didn't deem it worthy of even a courtesy chuckle. I had her blouse halfway unbuttoned by that point so wasn't concerned if she appreciated my sense of humor or not.
"Were you trying to make your boyfriend jealous?" I asked as I removed her bra and beheld the bounty it held.
"I didn't even know he was there," she said between moans and groans of delight. "He was supposed to be watching the Knicks game."
"The Bulls were up by twenty five in the third quarter," I reported while pulling down her skirt. Jamal and I hadn't waited for the game to end either.
I began taking off my own clothing, anxious to discover if Casey was as energetic on a bed as a dance floor. Nevertheless, I undressed slowly in order to give her a good look. I was likely to be a highlight of her life, not to mention that she had lost a boyfriend on my account, so I wanted to make certain that I gave Casey her money's worth.
"No, wait." Not the words a man wants to hear as he is stepping out of his pants.
"What's the matter?"
"I can't do this. Gary cheated on me and I wanted to pay him back, but what will that accomplish? It won't change that he hurt me, and it won't change that I still love him."
Despite her words, I saw weakness in Casey's eyes. Her tone sounded more like a plea than a heartfelt statement. A lot of men would have been stumped in such a predicament, but not I.
"Will making love to me change how you feel for him?”
"No," she uncertainly replied
"Then why deny yourself? Don't do it for revenge or to change things. Do it for you. Do it because it will be incredible."
So she did, and so it was.