Date: Sun, 18 Nov 2001 18:45:59 -0800 (PST)
From: L H <tendermidnight@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dancing Cheek to Cheek (lesbian)

Foreward: This is still pretty much in draft form,
particularly the last part. I have a possible chunk to
add on as another section, but I think for now it's
better without it. Let me know what you think and how
it could be better!

Please send comments or suggestions to
tendermidnight@hotmail.com.

She throws you off balance the first time you see her
because it takes you a moment to feel certain of her
gender. Her swagger is made up of very wide steps, her
illfitting trousers are belted awkwardly at the waist,
her faded navy tube socks slouch over her beatup
loafers, her buttondown shirt hangs loosely off her
body, and her wild, tousled black hair obscures most
of her face. Yet despite (or, admit it now, perhaps
because of) her ambiguous gender, you find yourself
strangely attracted to her.

Then you notice her breasts swinging even under that
oversized shirt. It's subtle at first, but then you
find you have to pull your eyes away for the sake of
decency. When you pay just a bit more attention, you
can see her sweet, open face beyond the hair. So she's
definitely a woman, and you're glad to have that
cleared up.

You might be wondering where you are when you see this
compelling woman. You're at a conference, doesn't
matter what kind. It's in a city you've never been to:
a small, sleepy, boring city. You have come alone.
It's been interesting thus far, but you aren't looking
forward to spending tonight alone in your hotel room,
and there doesn't seem to be anything else to do past
9 in this town. Right now you're at a panel
discussion, with about thirty people.

The woman you're admiring has just entered a bit late
and quietly sat down across from you in the back row.
She pulls out a pencil from her briefcase and holds it
almost daintily between two long slender fingers
curled in a beautiful curve. Next she procures a pair
of glasses, and adjusts them on her face. Then she
crosses an ankle over her thigh and leans in towards
the speakers, with a look of intense intent.

The panelists finish speaking and open the floor to
questions. Calmly the woman raises her hand. She is
called on, leans back, opens her mouth to speak, and
then: utter brilliance drips off her tongue in low
earnest tones.

You had noticed her before, of course, but now she is
flashing bright red all over your radar screen. The
panel discussion ends and you go to the next one only
to find that she is on the panel! No longer must you
refer to her only as Mystery Woman, the placard placed
in front of her reads: "Cynthia Rothenburg, Member of
the Board."

For an hour, a whole hour, you have the pleasure of
experiencing her speaking, enthralled by her deep
enchanting voice, but even more by the articulation of
her words and the brilliant spark of intellect behind
them. They create a tension and excitement that
spreads down into your body, then back up into your
mind. In a word, she is fascinating. What's more, she
seems to be looking primarily at you. (Or are you just
kidding yourself?)

Afterwards everyone is dispersing for dinner. You go
up to her as she's collecting her things. "I just
wanted to tell you I was really impressed with what
you were saying back there. It was just right on the
mark. We need more people like you."

She smiles shyly. "Thanks." she says, then pauses.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Alyssa." you say quickly. She reaches out her hand
and you feel a surge of electricity pass between you.

You briefly consider asking her to dinner, but asking
people out is something you've never been particularly
You've been so busy lately with your career that other
needscomfortable with. She's looking into your eyes so
deeply you feel like she can see right through you,
like she knows what you're thinking. You look away,
nervous as a middle schooler.

"Well, um, I've got to get going. Dinner, you know."

She nods. "Well, nice to meet you, Alyssa," she says
warmly. "I hope I see you around again."

Me too. you think, but you don't say it, instead
concentrating on not tripping and making an even
bigger ass of yourself.

It's later that evening after a very boring dinner
with some very boring colleagues. You're in your hotel
room when you decide: what the hell. You pull out an
outfit you've packed just for some such circumstance:
a tight black skirt; soft, slinky lowcut red blouse
made of cool knit silk, black silk stockings with a
seam up the back and high black stilettoes. It's the
one hot outfit you own, and you rarely have a chance
to wear it, but you often find yourself packing it
along on business trips, just out of some vague hope.
Lately you've been so busy with your career that
certain other needs have fallen by the wayside.

You take a long, hot bath, luxuriating in the water
and thinking of Cynthia. Then you put on your clothes,
twist your hair up intricately, and even pull out an
old long-neglected bag of makeup. When you finally
check over your reflection, you deem it more than
acceptable. You step out the door of your hotel room,
resolute and ready for action. Then you stop suddenly
in your tracks, remembering that, in fact, you have
nowhere to go.

Resigned, your stride a little less purposeful, you
march in defeat to the hotel bar. You try to remain
upbeat as you take in the unpromising looking people
already quietly scattered there. But when you finally
slump into a seat at the bar, it is still with
resignation. You embody the proverb, all dressed-up
and no place to go. "A beer. Doesn't matter what
kind." you say to the bartender, still trying in vain
to sound cheerful.

All eyes are on you, but you try not to make eye
contact with any of these unlikely-looking prospects.
A few men try to pick you up anyway, and you manage to
politely brush them off. Finally when you've put in a
good hour and lord knows how many beers, you think it
might be time to go home in defeat. But then from over
your shoulder you hear a familiar enthralling,
intelligent woman's deep voice. "So we meet again,
Alyssa."

You turn around and try to play it cool when you see
her, although your face is itching to light up like a
Christmas tree. "Cynthia!" it's difficult to contain
your excitement. "How are you?"

"Eh, pretty well, pretty well." she says sliding
easily into the stool next to yours with debonair
charm. "You look..." she pauses as though searching
for a word, but really it is her eyes that are
searching your own, "stunning. Really Alyssa,
absolutely stunning." Her tone has grown deeper and
more serious along with her face. She leans toward you
a little as she says it, and you smell a spicy and
exotic fragrance, which seems out of place on so
earnest a woman.

Blushing is something that cannot be helped, this is
something that you've learned, and you learn it again
as the familiar flush creeps along your face and you
look at the ground. "Thanks," you reply, your voice
sounding timid. But when you look down, you see her
old beatup loafers, faded navy tube socks, and can't
help but smile, easing up a bit.

"So," she says, brushing aside the gravity and
returning to her light, easy manner, "any reason
you're so dressed up?"

"Oh god, I don't know. Just trying to create a little
excitement, I guess. There doesn't seem to be too much
to do around here."

"Well, you've certainly succeeded at that," she says.

"At what?" you blink distractedly.

She raises her eyebrows. "Creating excitement." Her
tone is wry and the corners of her mouth crinkle into
a small smile. A very small smile. But it makes her
eyes appear even kinder than they already were. "So
not much to do, eh? Can I buy you a drink?"

"It's a nice offer, but I'm afraid I've already had
too many tonight!"

"Ah. Well then..." you become confused when you see
the look of rejection that briefly crosses her face.
She begins to stand "I guess I'll just be-"

"Wait." you say, quickly. "I didn't mean..." Just say
it, you order yourself, you'll never even see her
again if she says no. "I really have had too much to
drink. What's more, I've been HERE too long, in this
damn little bar. But...I'd love to go somewhere else."

She pauses, looks at you, sits back down slowly.
"Well, actually...someone was telling me about this
little jazz club nearby. I don't know anything about
it, but it's worth a shot. Besides, I'm not sure there
are exactly too many options."

"Sounds good to me! Do you know how to get there?"

"Yes, at least in theory. I could drive you if you'd
like."

"That would be nice, thanks." Once again you are in
the position of struggling to contain your excitement
while you pay your bill and follow her out of the
hotel. You shiver as you step into the dim parking
garage, trailing behind her quick, long gait.

She stops at a small burgundy hatchback, chivalrously
unlocking the passenger side door for you first,
holding it open as you climb in, then slamming it shut
behind you. When she gets in and starts the engine,
NPR comes on, but she quickly puts in a cd. The voices
of Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong waft through
the air. The car smells distinctly of what you now
identify as her smell. Breathing it in contentedly,
you lean back into the seat.

When you finally get to the place, it has no
identifying marks on the outside. Hmm... you think,
This might not be half bad. Then Cynthia holds open
the door and the sounds of the polka burst out,
disrupting the still night air. Uh oh. Inside, about
20 people, none of whom could be under 60, are
enthusiastically polka-ing away.

After a moment of stunned silence, Cynthia bursts out
laughing, and you join in. Neither of you go inside.
Cynthia quickly shuts the door, and the music is once
again inaudible. The two of you stand on the empty
sidewalk, the only light coming from a nearby
streetlamp, which flickers.

"Well!" she exclaims, "Some jazz place!" You nod.
"What do you think? Do you want to try it anyway?"

"Um..." you look at the ground and raise an eyebrow.

A cool night breeze causes you to shiver again. She
puts a hand on your bare arm, and her gentle
unexpected touch makes you shiver even more. "You're
cold." she says, obviously, her voice warm. Then,
after a pause: "I tell you what, I have some cd's in
my room. If you're still interested, we could go back
there in listen." she says this all lightly, but
without looking you in the eye. "Maybe." she tacks on
awkwardly, "I mean, if you want to-"

"I want to." The two of you get back in the car.

On the ride back, as you talk and laugh, you find
yourself harboring more and more serious feelings for
this woman. You are not the type to make fast
connections with people, at least not serious ones. It
usually takes people months to get to know you, if
even then, and vice versa. But with Cynthia, it's
different.

You reach the hotel and Cynthia pulls the car into a
space. "You know, I've never felt this close to
anyone," you tell her. And it's true. Right after you
say it, you find your breath and pulse quickening a
little. Cynthia reaches over and softly pushes a piece
of hair off your cheek, behind your ear. Slowly, you
turn to face her. Slowly, she leans toward you, her
hands on your hair. Without thinking, you reach up and
gently hold the back of her neck.

When your lips meet, it is the sweetest moment you
have ever known. Very, very gingerly, her soft lips
reach yours once, twice. You feel yourself melting
towards her. But at the same time, something very
incendiary is welling up inside of you. Beneath the
sweetness, embers are glowing. Suddenly, they spark
into flame. You feel her strong arms firmly pull you
towards her. Her breasts brush yours, hard nipple
against hard nipple. Hungrily you go towards each
other with open mouths and longing tongues. Desire is
laid bare against desire, and then suddenly you fall
away from each other. You are panting and shaking.

"Maybe we should go back to my room now." she suggests
gently.

"Oh yes," you agree between pants. "But...hffh...I
should...hffh...tell you...hffh."

She waits expectantly and you try to gather yourself
before blurting, "I've never been with a woman
before!" (It's true: you've never been with a woman
before. The idea had somehow neve occured to you, but
in this moment, it seems perfectly natural.)

She blinks. You panic, worried that this will scare
her off. Is there any way you can take it back? You
want her so much, you can't afford to botch this one.

"So THAT'S why you seem so eager." she teases. Oh god,
kill me now, you plead silently. "Well, baby," she
says in a ridiculously low, breathy, seductive tone,
running her finger along your thigh and tilting her
head, her expression a parody of lasciviousness. "I'd
say right about now it doesn't look like that will be
true for much longer, does it?" You don't know whether
to laugh or throw yourself at her. Either way, she has
put you at ease once again. You laugh.

The two of you jump out of the car and practically run
into the hotel. The man at the front door looks
suspicious when you breeze by, out of breath, surely
flushed, and holding onto Cynthia's hand.

She unlocks her door and you both burst in, then you
pause as she shuts the door. Silent and still, you
stand for a minute, just looking at each other. You
are overwhelmed with desire and joy, nervous and eager
anticipation.

You can take it no longer and turn away from her
beautiful kind eyes. Slowly and with shaking hands,
you take off your shirt, fold it, place it on the
floor. She doesn't move but you can feel her watching
you. Carefully, carefully, you unzip your skirt, slide
it off, step out of it. Your breath flutters, caught
like a bird in your ribcage. Never in your life have
you felt so naked as now, though you are still wearing
your black lace bra, matching panties, stockings, and
shoes. You have been much more technically naked
before other people, but none of them ever looked at
you the way she does. You can almost feel her take in
every line, curve and hue from behind you.

The floor creaks. You hear a rustle of fabric and
realize that she too is taking off her clothes. Eyes
closed, you imagine that smooth olive skin and have to
bite your lip to keep from crying out with desire. Now
your whole body trembles. Your skin seems to sing,
joyfully taking in all the sensations of the air, but
craving something more.

You sense her taking one step towards you. Your pulse
pounds in your ear. She takes another step towards
you. Oh, please now. You are worried the trembling
will overtake you, uncontrollably crash you to the
ground. One more step. She is behind you. Now your
breathing is so loud, it seems to fill the room. You
can feel her breath on your shoulder, she must be only
inches away.

You startle when you feel her delicate touch come to
rest on the back of your hips. With beautiful
painstaking slowness, her fingers slide around your
hips, her arms encircle you, and your trembling begins
to subside. A feeling of peace starts to settle over
you as she gradually pulls you into a tight, firm
embrace, her breasts cradling your back, her lips on
your shoulder, her hands pushing on the space just
below your navel."Oh my sweet..." she murmurs, opening
her mouth and pressing it's wet warmth on your back.
"sweet Alyssa."

"Ah," you reply as both a cry of helplessness and a
sigh of content.

It feels as though you could never get enough of this
silent embrace, but after quite awhile you feel
perfectly calm, and that's when she speaks. "I
promised you music." she reminds you, her rich, deep
voice far-off and dreamy. "If only to get you back
here. But still, how about it? May I have this dance?"

Her arms loosen around you, and you turn to face her.
She has on a camisole in lieu of a bra. It is very,
very soft, and sheer, and it clings to her large
breasts, with her eager nipples looking as though they
might poke through the thin material. She also wears
black men's-cut briefs, and you find yourself oddly
wondering how it would feel to take the thick cotton
between your teeth. That can come later. For now, you
reply, "Absolutely."

Your eyes languish on her as she walks over to the
stereo. Without her awkward, bulky clothes to muffle
it, an undeniable feline grace is apparent in the
sleek way she moves. You savor the sight of her,
rolling your eyes over the long, lean curves of her
body. "You're so beautiful," you whisper, too soft for
her to hear.

"There," she says, with satisfaction as the music
begins to float into the air. She also seems to float
as she approaches you, her arms outstretched. The
music is Ella Fitzgerald once again, this time without
old Louis. The song is "Cheek to Cheek" which is
exactly how you dance together. Her skin just rests
against your own as the two of you waltz around her
hotel room in your underwear.

She holds herself erect and moves so gracefully that
elegance seems to exude from her. You find yourself
going weak at the knees, held up by her strong arms.
You concentrate just on following the flowing motion
of her body and the pressure of her hand at the small
of your back. "Heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart
beats so that I can hardly speak. I seem to find the
happiness I seek, when we're dancing cheek to
cheek..."

When the music ends, you continue holding each other
for a moment. Then she leads you to her bed, and eases
you onto it. You sink into the soft mattress, and look
up at her, still longing. As you watch, she pulls off
her camisole. You inhale sharply at the sight her
full, smooth breasts, rising and falling with her
breath. She lays down beside you slowly, looking you
steadily in the eye.

You begin shaking again as you reach for her breasts,
touching them lightly with your fingertips, then
cupping them in your hands. She closes her eyes and
rolls her head back, moaning a little with her mouth
closed. "Mmmm...that feels good."  she mumbles.
Encouraged, you bring your lips to her body, gently
licking and kissing her breasts. Finally you take her
nipple into your mouth and feel it swell there. She is
moaning loudly now, but seems conflicted, pulling your
head closer to her, then pushing back away.

Excitement overwhelms you once again, and you lay
back, trying to catch your breath. As you do, she
climbs over you, kissing you hard, sucking on your
tongue and even biting your lips lightly. Then she
eases up and with very, very slow deliberation, begins
planting kisses down your neck to your breasts. She
traces the edge of your bra with her fingertip, then
reaches around and unhooks it. Slowly she peels it
back and tosses it aside. "Oh, my beautiful girl." she
whispers.

You are still shaking as she gently and almost
reverently kisses your breasts, then moves down
further to your navel. Slowly, carefully, she peels
your soaked panties off of your body, and smoothly
slides them down off your legs. She slides up between
your legs, gently easing them apart. When her face is
level with your exposed cunt, she lets out a breath.

She is paused there: waiting and watching cautiously.
You want her so badly that tears threaten to fill your
eyes. "My dear, beuatiful girl." she says finally,
smiling at you over your quivering body, "I've never
seen such silky, fine hair. But..." her delicate hand
perches on one of your spastic hips, "Nor have I seen
anyone shake so much." She moves back up, leaning her
face over yours, wiping the dew of sweat off your
forehead, lightly touching your cheek. "Be honest. Are
you quite alright, Alyssa?" she asks kindly, with
gentle concern, "Should I stop?"

"Ooooh..." you are nearly whimpering now, your need is
so great. Somehow you still manage to force out the
words: "Please don't stop, Cynthia!"

A slow smile lights up her face. She kisses you just
under your earlobe. "Ok, baby. I won't stop. Don't
worry." You muse over her paradoxical effect on you:
the same action both soothes and excites you.

The two of you are a study in contrasts: you, frenzied
with anticipation; she, serene and peaceful. But then,
she presumably has the benefit of experience you
haven't had.

She trails sweet kisses along the line of your jaw,
and as she does, you feel her hand moving down your
body, leaving a wake of lightning. Then in a flash, a
sudden explosion wracks your body as she presses her
palm between your legs, applying steady pressure to
your cunt. No teasing from this woman. A long, low
moan escapes you. When she dips her fingers between
the folds of your skin and pushes hard on your clit,
your hips begin to grind in a slow cadence.

You are in another world entirely as she fondles you
with those long, graceful fingers. When she enters you
it is as though she has taken hold of your center,
your essence. She fills you and you are hers entirely.
Orgasm after orgasm pounds out of your body. You grab
onto the sheets and her strong arms hold you close
although your rocking body bucks her into the air.

Gasping for breath, you are convinced you see the
night sky spin starrily around, although you are still
inside. When your orgasm begins to fade from
explosions to waves, the stars fade and you see her
open face looking sweetly at you, her eyes calling to
yours, pulling you inside of her. The last wave washes
over you, and with a sigh, you settle back into your
body.

Heaven. I'm in heaven, you groggily think once again,
smiling sleepily at her as she holds you, stroking
your hair, your breasts, your stomach, your ass, your
back.

"What did you think?" she asks with a smile. God, her
voice is so sexy.

"Ohhh...there aren't words. That was incredible,
Cynthia. Transcendent. Thank you so much."

"It was my pleasure." The comment makes you a little
more wet, as you are excited by the idea of Cynthia's
pleasure. All of your apprehension and uneasiness has
melted away.

"You have to let me return the favor."

"I think that can be arranged." she says coyly. Then
quickly she returns to her usual earnestness and
serious tone. "But no, Alyssa...don't worry about it.
Seriously, I should be the one thanking you. Anyhow, I
have hands, I can take care of myself."

"Mmmmmm. Cynthia, do you ever have hands," you say
enthusiastically, holding the object of discussion and
gently kissing her fingertips. "And I know I couldn't
even approach their skill. But just...ahhh, please let
me try." You eye her lustily.

"Well...ok" she relents. "But Alyssa, you have to
promise me you won't do anything you don't feel like
doing." The comment seems so absurd it doesn't even
warrant a response. As though there's anything you
don't feel like doing to her! Happily, you kiss her on
the cheek and begin to slide down her long, sleek,
body. You are eager to wipe that bemused, affectionate
smile off her face and make her groan with pleasure.

You reach those thick black briefs of hers, and
realize that now you'll be able to satisfy your
earlier curiosity. You take the thick cotton waistband
in your mouth. Holding it between your teeth, you tug
it down past her hips, then lower still. A distinctive
and alluring smell dizzies you and makes your mouth
water. She moans softly with approval. You pull her
underwear the rest of the way off of her using your
hands, then return back up.

A bush of thick black hair, as wild as that on her
head, is waiting for you, contrasting sharply with the
white skin of her thighs. You touch your cheek to it,
revelling in the tickling feel of the wiry hair.

Slowly teasing, you part the thick hair. Cynthia moans
louder now. You note with satisfaction that she is
very, very wet. Finally, hungry and eager, you drag
your tongue slowly along the length of her tender,
sensitive skin, tasting her, feeling the smooth, moist
texture. By the time you reach her clit, her hips are
already rising and falling, tensing and relaxing. You
can see it throb. You take it entirely into your
mouth, sucking hard, and she groans loudly, grunting
with each powerful thrust of her hips, faster and
faster.

The two of you fall into a rhythym outside of time as
she comes with a low moan and you just keep licking
and sucking, trying to acquaint yourself with her
timing. Finally her hips fall hard back down into the
bed, and with one final kiss, you bring your face back
up.

Cynthia looks ethereally beautiful, flushed and
radiant. She is so alive and strong, her pulse
pounding through her veins, her breath shaking up her
lungs. Both of you are silent, there is no need for
words. The affectionate smile of gratitude on her face
says enough.

Savoring the taste of her still clinging to your lips,
you settle with content onto her shoulder. She puts
her arm around your back, resting her sensitive
fingers on your waist. Peaceful and exhausted, you
settle into her and feel her surrounding you. Soon a
sleep, floating sleep envelopes you.