At the club, sitting at the table he watches the girl in skimpy outfits trotting around for a free drink and someone to go home with or to a hotel or the backseat of their car in a dark corner. Breasts almost popping out of the brassieres, patted, lift-ups and implants. Short skirts with thong underwear, the music playing loudly and bodies rubbing, bumping against each other, sweating flesh in tempting heat. She sits at the bar by herself waiting for him to come over to buy her a drink. Last week was an encounter of his fantasy; and hers. Flaunting her legs at him, her sex is getting moist, not from the urge of deviant desires but the humidity of the atmosphere. Yet her urges carry her along in her seduction. A man comes over to say hi. “Hey there,” he says to her, “what are you doing here by yourself?”
“Waiting for you to buy me a drink,” she reply.
He feels that he’s going to be a voyeur again. She teases him by making sexual gestures and innuendoes to the guy. He is quite handsome, medium built, muscular. The guy stares at her as if he wanted to take right there at the bar. The bartender comes over, “What can I get you?”
“An apple martini.”
The guy lifts the beer in his hand, telling the bartender that he wants another of the same. Seconds later the bartender came back with their drinks. He pays for it. They stay there at the bar talking for a while. Then the guy grabs her hand and disappears to the dance floor. He watches as she gives him a naughty smile, licking her lips with her index finger, then blows him a kiss. He stares at her, giving back that naughty smile, thinking, “I’m going to strip you naked later tonight.” He isn’t worried if the guy ever gets to take her home. At best he would get a feel, tongue gymnastics, maybe, just maybe she grabs his bulge in his pants, eagerly wanting her naked. As the night went on he makes his rounds dancing with other girls, rubbing bodies, grabbing asses, protruding nipples. He teases her just as much, building up their urge for the night after. Bouncing to the beat of techno music, then to the rhythm of house music, slowly the forces of their pulls them toward each other.
She sits at a table relaxing as men come over to talk to her, to ask her to dance, to buy her drinks. She humors them. All the while she’s thinking that she might not make it home tonight. His thoughts keep jumping back to that night of voyeurism as he’s dancing and getting a free feel of another woman’s body, watching her and her lover tangle up in one another. His pants begin to feel a little tight from the growing excitement. She watches him, urging him to grab her ass, squeezing, turning to her so she could see. Her sex is wet with that view of him playing with the girl as she dance against him, grinding her sex on his thigh, then leaning against him, her back toward her, rubbing against his stiffened bulge. Without thinking she reaches down under her skimpy skirt and feels her wetness. Her shame of public embarrassment has long disappeared. She rubs her tiny bush, just above her clit, feeling it getting soaked from the sensation. The place is dimly lit. It is always the case, strobe lights flashing, and music playing to distract people from their worldly stress and into the fantasies and desires. Everyone becomes a voyeur, watching others court, grope, and kiss in dark corners.