I couldn’t take my eyes off you as you gracefully strode towards me. Confidence oozed from that huge grin you give, perfectly complemented by your delicate features, your talkative eyes and a sharp jawline. It was a face that I’d known my whole adult life. From first meeting you at college and an all too brief relationship, through a strong friendship which I eventually lost track of, to a reconnection built on understanding and empathy, truth and honesty, love and regrets. A face that had always brought a deep, wide smile to mine.
I couldn’t help but notice your body, too. As much I told myself not to objectify you, I wanted to take as much of you in as I could. The swing of your hips as you walked. The grace of your long legs, the split in your dress drawing my gaze as it grazed across your thigh. The midnight blue of the fabric complimenting your curves, kissing your torso in all the right places, perfectly framing your ample bosom… I filled my lungs with air in anticipation of you taking my breath away.
Then your infectious grin was in front of me, mirrored in my own inane smile. Words formed in my mouth but crashed against my teeth as they tried to escape from my lips, my senses askew at the sight of the sparkle in your green eyes. You placed a gentle finger against my mouth to soothe my unease and followed it up with a soft kiss.
A tidal wave of memories swept across my mind as your lips met mine - dancing between you and your best friend at a ‘70s theme night and hoping to not get an erection - stealing glances across the common room between lessons - our first, deeply passionate kiss that made my head swim - the scent of your neck as I held you close - our one and only sexual encounter, a hastily executed hand job in your bedroom whilst your parents downstairs - the break up not long after you had made me erupt - the next few years of looking and longing, but knowing that external pressures kept us apart… Passion, regret, excitement and trepidation sat in my chest as our lips parted and you took my hand, leading me to the awaiting door.
We were met by a lace-masked Maitre d’, all in black save for the decadently deep red pocket square they sported. You gave a name, not yours I noticed, and received a knowing nod in return. Led by our man in black, we were guided to a dimly lit, but grandly decorated room, tables arranged in the round, all facing a stage with a pole at the centre. More masked men in black with red kerchiefs surrounded us, pulling out our chairs, filling our wine glasses, setting down napkins and cutlery and candles. As we sat, the aroma from the wine piqued my interest. Peppery, full, a hint of vanilla and raspberries. I held the glass to my nose for a deeper pull and revelled in the scent, just as I had done in the nape of your long neck so many years ago. I put my lips to the glass as if it was your slender collar bone, and gently drew the liquid into my mouth. The depth of the Rioja was excellent, and I felt it wash away those shipwrecked words from earlier. I turned to smile at you and tell you how good the wine was, but was interrupted by unexpected arms between us, setting down plates of grilled asparagus and hollandaise, a poached egg perched on top, deftly decorated with a touch of nutmeg.
Your eyes caught mine and you gave my thigh an excited squeeze. Drums thumped and cymbals crashed as a spotlight tore through the darkness and stung our eyes, landing on the stage and reflecting off the polished metal pole. A swung bass riff rumbled through our feet and stomachs, introducing us to blasts of brass and stabs of distorted guitars, culminating in a sultry, slow jam.
From out the darkness, above the spotlight’s beam, hands appeared at the top of the pole, gripping it with all their might as a body unfurled itself against the steel, slowly revealing themselves inch by inch, defying gravity and the audience’s sense of what the human body can do. There were sequins and glitter aplenty, washboard abs, sinews stretched and muscles popping, tassels hanging from nipples and a smile etched on to our performers face. They skilfully slid down the pole, legs wrapped around and arms out to the crowd as they slowly circled the steel, greeting the audience with spectacle and flesh. Your eyes widened to take all of it in as your fingertips pressed a little harder into my leg. I now know why you wanted to choose the venue for our reacquaintance…
We ate as we were entertained. Plates came and went, and the food was as exquisite as the acts on show. We were treated to more pole work, a hilarious magician, and were privy to an incredible burlesque routine which ended in the Monroe-inspired dancer dousing her near naked and perfectly sculpted body (and the closest tables) with champagne, only to catch the last drops in her mouth and fire it into the air in a spray of defiant decadence. We were both left elated, breathing heavy and pupils dilated. The tasting courses finished and we both enjoyed a sweet and smokey bourbon with more than a hint of maple running through it, our hands on each other’s thighs, your fingers perilously close to my rigid dick which you must have been able to feel twitch with every rush of blood through it’s prominent veins.
The lights dimmed further and faded to a blood red as the pole retracted into the stage. Masked faces in sharp suits that belie gender or form moved quickly to set up sharply angled boxes as the guests around the room relaxed further into their seats. My curiosity wandered as I caught a wry smile crawl across your face, and felt your fingertips graze the head of my cock. You took a deep breath as you palmed along my length and leaned in towards me. My face met yours and our lips locked, your tongue finding the tip of mine in an instant and insistently pressing against it. The electricity in our kiss built and you edged closer to me, guiding your hips towards my hand that was now on the inside of your leg.
The music changed - dark techno pumped out of hidden speakers - and alerted us to a change in atmosphere. There are five bodies on the stage, all in various poses, draped across the angles of the furniture, doused in the red light, skin glistening with oil. They’re all naked, save for a harness around a particularly chiselled torso and a collar attached to delicate chains leading to nipple rings adorning a proud bosom. Hands are moving over their bodies, exploring their own skin as the music appears to have them entranced.
Nipples are pinched. Fingertips move across tightly defined muscles, around soft curves, between thighs. Hands reach out for the flesh of another as taut dicks are gripped and swollen mounds are enveloped. The entertainers buck and writhe as they touch themselves, the rhythm of their onanistic beats falling in time with the music. Sweat beaded on oiled skin and shimmered like glitter under the foreboding wash of red. The scent of excited, warm bodies filled the air and as the dancers turned their attentions to each other, some audience members took the cue and began to focus on their partners.
I had been so engrossed in the festival of self-love in front of us that I hadn’t noticed your left hand gently resting on the outline of my bulging cock-head, enjoying its persistent pulse against your palm, or that your other hand was tucked between your legs, dress ruffled halfway up your thighs, exposing your skin to the red light, glittering with perspiration in the same vein as the people on stage who were now fucking each other with their mouths. Tongues and fingers probed folds and creases, mouths muffled moans whilst they enveloped hard dicks. I couldn’t hold back at the sight of one dancer taking two cocks into their mouth and, after checking that our fellow coterie had abandoned all decorum in the spirit of the stage show, unbuckled my belt, unhooked and unzipped my trousers, and pushed them and my jockey shorts to my knees.
My stiff cock sprang from under the waistband of my underwear and bounced against my abdomen, stopping at ease and gently throbbing in the warm air. It felt good to be released, to be free and exposed. I didn’t care about the people around us, nor about the masked server behind us, and neither did you as you leant across from your seat and took the thick base of my dick in your right hand. You said nothing as you looked me in the eye before kissing me, fully, deeply, whilst giving my now aching member a heavy squeeze. You moved your lips from mine, thin chains of saliva connecting us and then breaking as you turned your face down and took in the sight of my exposed crotch.
A pause, and then the blissful feeling of completion as you took me into your mouth, wrapping your full lips around the head of my penis and circling me with your tongue. You moaned as you smelled and tasted me, savoury excitement and heady wood. I groaned as you slowly worked me deeper, taking each inch deliberately, still gripping the couple between your insistent fingers until your lips met them, and then you opened your throat and took me in further. My head swam as you swallowed my entire length, my eyes still bewitched by the licking and sucking and spitting on the stage in front of us, my cock squeezed by the muscles in your throat as you gulped against my engorged tip. An audible gasp left you as you released me, leaving my dick covered in strands of thick saliva and pale from being so tightly squeezed. Tears sat at the corners of your eyes as you smiled at me, proud of intoxicating me with your incredible skills. I grabbed your head and pulled you in for a spit-soaked kiss. I wanted to show you how grateful I was, but I also wanted to taste my cock on your tongue and share in that joy.