The Dancer - Sex Stories

The Dancer

"Let me off here," Lynn said quietly.

Dutifully, I pulled over the SUV. The afternoon Tennessee sun baked the dusty asphalt and brightened the lush greenery to either side. But to me, there was a darkness around Lynn, as if she were fading into the coming night.

"Are you sure?" I asked softly.

"Yes." She got out, pulling that ridiculous case out of the back seat.

I gave her one last look: a thin young woman, just 5'3" and 105 pounds. Her low-waisted, destroyed cut-offs revealed lean, tanned legs, naked down to her wedgie sandals. A short white tee teasingly flounced over an equally tan waist devoid of fat. A firm bra made the tee tent out invitingly, beautifully framed by her ass-length blonde hair. She adjusted her shades, bangles and necklace; then gave me a little wave.

Habitually dutiful, I obeyed the unspoken command and drove away, leaving her there with that antique suitcase. Driving back to the motel, in my mind's eye I saw her there, thumb out, stepping into the road for each passing car. I knew she would find a way to turn down kindly women, harmless old men and silly teenagers. She would look for single men with gimme caps and dirty shirts; the kind who'd talk to her tits and crotch.

She'd pick a dangerous one who'd say "Git'n" first, and ask "Where?" later, if at all.

I almost drove through the only light in town because I had to wipe my eyes. At the motel parking lot, I opened up the floor cargo, and took the two matt-black cases to the motel room. I looked sadly at the two other suitcases still in the closet, and sat down at my laptop on the desk.

I tried to re-edit my story from the interviews two days ago in Atlanta, but my mind kept wandering. I tried to get inspired by the lesbian site where I contributed, but no cute ideas or snarky rejoinders came to mind. Instead, she did.

* * * *

I remembered two days ago, Lynn with me in Atlanta. How she'd get up early each morning, just like every other day, and spend hours doing her morning dance. She once explained that it was Jujutsu combined with Tai Chi. She could have called it Tchaikovsky to me. It was graceful, exquisite, awesome. Sometimes blindingly fast, but mostly slow, every limb perfectly controlled. Lynn moved like liquid gold, hair swaying as legs bent and spun, arms cocked and tilted in odd but attractive ways. It wasn't a martial art - it was pure beauty in motion.

I knew fitness. I visited the gym myself, trying to keep my Army Strong bod in shape. With an Armored Division shoulder tat, I got respect. It didn't hurt to be 5'10" and 165 pounds of muscle with kinked hair shorter than Halle Berry as Jinx. I sensed the guys wondering if they could be James Bond to my Jinx. To them I was always polite and distant. I was friendlier with the girls, of course, but never on the make. I already had a woman far beyond my dreams.

That night in Atlanta, when I returned from the interviews and megabytes of sound bites, Lynn was waiting, ready for ...