I got off work that Friday, went to the supermarket, and stocked the fridge with plenty of Bud Lights to get me through the weekend. I hadn’t even thought about going out that Friday night but when my friend said she was going out to the bachata night down the street from my place, there was no way I could say no.
I spent the next three hours, cooking myself some dinner and slugging them back some mixies so I was ready to dance when the time came. And boy did I dance when that time finally came. It took me a little while to find her in the crowd when I got to the club, but when I finally did, I was speechless. Her red tank had straps hiding her shirt up that wouldn’t even create a tan line. I could;t find anything to say to her. My eyes were locked on hers and no words were out. Lucky for me we had come there to dance and that’s actually what we did. We tore that dance floor apart.
She could dance, like extremely well, like I had no business dancing next to that and could move as phenomenally as she could. I swear she must have had a little latino or hispanic in her, because the way she moved, she was turning all the guys heads out there on the dance floor. When I looked up that one time and saw all the guys staring at her, I tried the hardest I ever had at dancing, just as hard as I do when I’m in the shower back home.
We locked my eyes on hers, grabbed her hips with my hands, and let her take the lead. Mostly because I’m wicked bad at the bachata, probably the worst at it, so my only hope was to mimic everything she was doing. I’m an athlete, (so I claim) I figured I could do that much and keep up. That was the only reason why I was welcome on the dance floor, because she kept me moving to her rhythm and wouldn’t let me miss a beat. If she wasn’t there, there was no way I would have found a spot to dance out there on that dance floor. It was because she was my partner, she taught me how to move and groove to the music, that we danced all night long, like Lionel Richie.
We danced that night until our shoes came off. She was honestly about ready to rip off her heels because they were starting to give her blisters. Ironically after she said that, they called last call saving her from walking around that gross club floor barefoot. We didn’t have to go home but we couldn’t stay there any longer and we were, in no way, ready to let our night end. We had just danced all night long, in perfect harmony together, and couldn’t let the night pass without being able to have at least one real conversation together.
We walked around the block for a little and then somehow one thing led to another and we were back at my place doing exactly that. We just started walking and talking and kept on going until I naturally found our way back to my apartment. We got inside and she was sitting on my counter rolling something for us to smoke while I was on the other side making us some drinks that we barely even sipped. She had maybe one sip and I had about three out of mine. Once she finished rolling, we headed for the roof of my apartment to unwind under the city lit sky.
On the roof, as we passed that blunt around, our conversations got deeper and more intimate. When I took the last drag from the wrap I was staring, slowly blowing out the last we had until I could find something to say. After holding most of it in and staring at her for as long as I did, I just went for it, and leaned in to kiss her so we could shotgunned the last hit together. It was the only thing I could think to do, I mean I couldn’t find anything to say, so I’d figured, as a gentleman, give her the last hit from the thing she prepared.
That’s when sparks started flying like the fourth of July. Before I knew her legs were stealing me as she sat on the roof, while I stood in front of her, with both our hands all over each other. I had one hand holding her face close to mine and the other down her pants. She had her hands rubbing my body all over while trying to rip my shirt off of me with the other. We both could see how fast things were escalating and as soon as she pulled back from a kiss to catch her breath and asked her if she wanted to go inside. “Yes” was all she could get out and there we were back in my apartment. In my room more specifically, quicker than you could spell out the word onomatopoeia.
Those sparks we had on the roof had caught fire and we couldn’t get enough of each other. We were up all night getting tangled in my sheets together. We barely napped for two hours, only to pick up that morning exactly where we left off. My bed was stained, our clothes were everywhere, and we were laying there naked together, morning breath and all.
It was that morning, late that morning, when we finally got out of bed and she finally could see all the damage she had done to me the night before. All I remember was thatI vaguely remember us talking about how we liked it a little dirty and I felt as though things were going just as they always have. I mean I don’t remember the extent of our conversation, at least not until we were getting ready for the day, that next morning and she saw my back in the natural light.
My back was completely ripped to shreds. It looked like I was whipped a million times, where in reality, it was only her ten fingers that did all the damage. So much so that I didn’t even make it to the pool that next day. I mean I couldn’t, there would have been a million questions arousing, people asking me about what happened. Then there would be even a million more snap chats, roasting me for my appearance all over the internet. I didn’t want any of that.
All I wanted to do that weekend was to spend that Saturday by the pool and I couldn’t do it. I was crippled by a scratched up, even a little bloody back, as a memento from the night before. I was pissed I had to spend that one hundred degree day inside and shirtless because of her. I will also admit immediately, that there is no way I would change a thing. The night we had has been on the forefront of my mind for the past six days and all I want to do is find another night with her and a dance floor again so we can tear the night up again.