Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day
THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE
My research had raised more questions than answers. And it sure hadn’t gotten me laid. When I designed my nonexclusive dating experiment, there was one convention I presumed to be true; the pussy is the undisputed gatekeeper to heterosexual pleasure, and the dick will always drop in when the invitation is extended. Katsu had confirmed as much. But after ninety days in the laboratory of serial dating, results from the field simply sucked. My consult with Sergio only confused me further. I had no precedent to comprehend what he described. I was dating women the last time I was single, and chicks couldn’t be any more different.
I was especially disheartened that Sergio’s explanation so accurately answered my sexual impasse. It was just too damn straight for me. I wanted to change my ideas and expectations about what was possible with sex and intimacy. I was turned on by some old school dynamics between men and women; I liked when a man opened doors, picked the restaurant, and made the first move for a kiss. But misrepresenting my intentions, to spark a man’s interest, wasn’t just unacceptable; it was a turnoff. I was an adult.
These hurdles were real, however, and it was clear Katsu and I had been overly optimistic about the power of the pussy. I was emboldened after that dinner conversation and I’d been even more encouraged when I discovered the Nerve website. I had been making fresh moves in all aspects of my life; I’d even enrolled in a new salsa class. I thought back to that first night of class, before I began the email experiment, when I had met a charming stranger. At the time, I was sure the encounter marked the launch of my bold, new life. And what a promising start it seemed to be.
The salsa class was at the Century Ballroom, a dance hall in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood that had evolved into the epicenter of the city’s social dance boom. My performance group had disbanded, and I was ready to focus on the partner moves of the dance with the music that I’d come to love. For me, signing on for a class at the Century Ballroom was akin to my own private debutante event. After the Thursday night class, I would be mixing it on the floor with the hottest and sexiest salseros outside of L.A. This was serious salsa action, and I wanted to be fluent in the scene as quickly as possible. I had a lot to learn.
I arrived early for that first class, and found myself a seat on the far side of the dance floor. There were only a handful of people on the sidelines at that hour, mostly students waiting for the advanced class. I was nervous; I knew the class would be a stretch for my skill set.
“I haven’t seen you here before.” I looked up to see a short man, standing next to my table, a big smile pasted on his face. He seemed a bit too eager for my attention, and I wondered if he was hitting on me. I was there to study dance, not meet men, and besides, he looked too ordinary for my taste. I had no problem being friendly, however, so I explained my salsa background across town.
“You’re going to like the teachers, they’re good. And don’t be nervous about the dance that follows—everyone is welcome at the Century.” He told me his name was David Ryan, and I answered yes when he asked me to save him a dance after class.
I held my own in the class, and was glad I’d had the gall to enroll at that level. I definitely had a lot to learn, and being led by advanced partners was the best strategy. Everyone was helpful and encouraging, and the hour flew by.
David caught me as I was coming off the floor, with his outstretched hand and a bow. I was charmed by the gallant gesture, and followed him back to the floor. He held me in a closed embrace and waited for the music, our faces inches apart: his bright smile warm and encouraging.
“Be good to me,” I said, smiling back at the sparkle in his eyes. When the music broke, what happened next was as surprising as it was unforgettable. My first dance with David was sexy, hot, and flawless—it was everything that I imagined the dance could be when I went out that first time with Toni. I had no idea I was capable of the complex moves from his repertoire—he merely led, and I just followed—like it was something I did every day.
“Another?” he asked at the end of the song.
“Yes! That was fantastic—I don’t know how I did that!”
“You’re a great dancer,” he said, and I thought he meant it. He caught the music cue, and led with a basic, an inside turn, then—down!—the man dipped me to the floor! I was erect again in a heartbeat, speechless, and already into the next turn before I knew what hit me.
“I’ve never done that!” I squealed, and David responded with a sequence of daredevil dips linked together with some fiery spins. I couldn’t believe what we were doing. Somehow I’d landed in a Hollywood musical, and he and I were the stars!
He controlled all my movement by leading with perfect frame, clear signals, and a spicy routine—he was a master. I danced with others that night, but nothing came close to the sexy energy and excellent footwork he extracted from me. This was what I wanted when I first set out to learn how to move to this music; the irresistible fusion of two dancers as one, inspired by the irrepressible spirit of that Caribbean sound. I didn’t know if I’d discovered a salsa mentor, or if David might be a contender for a meaningful connection. Optimistic, I walked out into the street that night with two things I didn’t have walking in: a sassy strut in my gait and a Friday night date.
We met for dinner at a little Italian café in Wallingford. I learned that David worked as a software engineer at Microsoft, but dancing was his passion. He knew all the ballroom classics, but salsa was his favorite. He was a nice guy, with an infectious smile and a warm and friendly attitude. The conversation flowed easily enough, but there was no chemistry over dinner to compare with the drama of our dances. My dinner with David was not just my first date with a man since my husband; it was also my second date with an adult man ever. I wasn’t nervous as much as curious—how did these things move forward? Or was it going to move forward? When we walked to my car and the conversation began to ramble, I wondered why he’d made no move toward a kiss. I thought men were known for bridging that divide as quickly as possible. Maybe I wasn’t his type? Or was he just shy? I had nothing but questions for myself as I drove away, and wondered if David was simply going to be the dance mentor I had hoped for.
We decided to meet the following week for a salsa workshop with my original teachers. That would be another opportunity to stir up our salsa chemistry. To be honest, I wasn’t at all certain about David as a potential lover, but I thought it only made sense that we should at least try locking lips. I knew from my many nights at the lesbian club in Portland—if a hot dancer could kiss even half as well as she could dance—there was a chance that sizzle could translate to sex.
I thought about it during the week, and I decided that I had to be ready to initiate makeout potential with David; however the logistics were awkward. We were meeting at the workshop venue, and the distance to either of our homes for horizontal action would be a serious commute for one of us. I wasn’t going to invite him over without some assurance that our chemistry was compatible. We needed a test kiss.
After class, we walked to a bistro pub, and when David sat beside me at our table, I was pleased with the signal he sent— side sitting is not for friends.
“What’d you think of the workshop?” I asked, after we toasted with our drinks.
“There was nothing there for me to learn—but that’s not why I came out tonight.”
“Oh, I understand you perfectly, Mister Ryan,” I said, yet again following his lead. “You just want first crack at the newest salsera to hit the boards of the Century Ballroom.”
“How can I deny, when the truth is so evident, and the dancer so sexy?”
Unlike salsa, flirtation was a dance I had mastered, and I was delighted to realize I had misjudged the man after our first date; there was nothing shy about his intentions that night.
“So tell me: you learned this dance to meet sexy women?”
“Guilty, guilty, and guilty. I had two left feet, and I couldn’t follow a beat to save my life ten years ago.”
“I don’t believe you! You’re a master!”
“A master at overcoming catastrophic humiliation, maybe. But, dance—no way. That was hard work. Really hard work.”
I was stunned and impressed. It was impossible to imagine that the man who could turn, dip, and glide me across the floor like Eddie Torres himself, had ever suffered from lack of rhythm or stage fright. David evoked absolute confidence on the floor, and he wasn’t demonstrating any shyness at the table either. We were shoulder to shoulder, and he was touching my arm easily with the full grip of his palm, bringing his face in close and holding my eyes confidently as the evening progressed.
When I returned from the ladies room and he had picked up the check, I was excited about my plan to engineer a first kiss. I took his arm as we walked the three blocks to my car, leaning into his frame and enjoying the fit. Chemistry was brewing. When we reached my Audi I opened the passenger door, and offered to drive David to his car. He got in and we sat side-by-side, in those isolating bucket seats, with that hopeless stick shift between us; that blasted obstacle that I had plotted to overcome. I inserted the key into the ignition, and turned to face my passenger.
“Well, David,” I said. “I can either drive you back to your car, or we can move ourselves into the backseat and makeout.”
The invitation had hardly passed my lips when the front door opened, and without a word, he was out of the front seat and into the back seat—mission accomplished! I hustled my butt to the back, and had barely shut the door when his lips lasered in on my mouth. He lifted me onto his lap and grabbed hold of my ass from under my skirt; my panties were at my ankles in a heartbeat. The velocity of his passion blew back my hair and extinguished all rational thought. It was all mouth and hands, his were everywhere all at once, squeezing my naked butt cheeks, pulling on my hair, finding my neck and pressing my kiss deeper onto his tongue. David Ryan and his five-alarm come-on consumed all the oxygen in the Audi A4, and extinguished all my ambivalence with the force of a fire hydrant.
I sent a telepathic high five to Katsu for reminding me that I held the key to my brave new world right between my thighs. It was too soon to know if our second date passion would lead to a meaningful connection; but it was the perfect time to shift our promising experiment out of the backseat and into a bedroom. I invited David to follow me back to my place, and then I asked him the next obvious question: where in the hell had my panties landed?
TOMORROW: Chapter 17
Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.