He went to the library and took out a video called, “Latin Heat: Learn Salsa Dancing in One Day.” It had taken a lot longer than a day–often, after work, he had gone into the family room to practice on his own. They had spent all three weeks watching the film, practicing in shorts and T-shirts. She was good and watching her move to the intoxicating Latin beat excited him. Twice she wore a tank top without a bra, and he was captivated by the motion of her breasts, which bobbed provocatively as she rolled her hips in the seductive, sinuous fashion that makes salsa dancing so erotic. They enjoyed these times. Their bodies still imperfect in their movements were always in contact—hand to hand, face to neck, thigh to thigh, or clenched tightly together in a lovers’ embrace. Often, they ended up gasping on the bed before their showers, tearing frantically at each other’s clothing, not seeming to be able to get naked fast enough. Their lovemaking was exuberant and passionate, and their growing expertise in salsa seemed only to enhance it.
The night before their big “dance date” she came home with the “Dirty Dancing” videos.
“We need to see how this is meant to be done,” she declared. They lay on the couch to watch them and were making out almost immediately. Their hands groped one another’s bodies with joyful abandon, and they watched the dancer’s movements carefully so they could duplicate them the next night. After “Havana Nights” they watched “Lambada,” and by the end of that movie they were naked and aroused, their skin beaded with perspiration. They were so enthralled with the pulsating rhythm and sinuous movements of the dancers that they wanted to dance themselves. They tried, but after two minutes they ended up on the floor in a tangle of sweating limbs and swollen organs, quickly succumbing to their passion.
Before he left for work that morning, she told him she was going to buy a new dress for that night and that it would knock his socks off. He could hardly concentrate on his work, and that evening after supper, when they went to change their clothes, his heart was pounding like a teenager’s on his first date. He put on his new white linen shirt and his black slacks and dress shoes, splashed on her favorite cologne, and went to the living room to load the CD player and wait for his wife.
She came to him with a wanton look in her eye, and her passion as they began to dance surprised him.
She had bought a new “salsa dress,” as she called it, and it was definitely picante. The bodice clung to her torso, the neckline plunging to her sternum to reveal a delicious length of her cleavage. The halter style bared her back all the way to the base of her spine. The skirt draped her buttocks and thighs seductively, and the diagonal hemline reached from below her knee on one side to near her hips on the other. She wore a tiny lace thong with a satin-edged opening at the crotch. Her bosom was bare under the dress, and the tips of her breasts pressed eagerly against the filmy printed fabric or simply spilled out of the bodice as she moved. She made no attempt to cover them.
She looked hot, and she knew it. As their bodies responded to the music, her movements became increasingly sensual. She pressed herself against him, grinding her hips against his groin and occasionally straddling his extended thigh. When they were spooning, she pressed his erection into the cleft of her sweet, round bottom. Facing him, when he swung her away, she would at times break his grasp and lift her breasts in her hands, then run her palms down her stomach and between her legs. Once she slid her hands up her one bare thigh, pulling her skirt with them until he could see the narrow strip of satin stretched across her swollen vulva, her engorged lips peeking from the slit in the panties. She writhed and wriggled, and the pain in his groin was almost more than he could stand.
He turned her and pulled her to him, her back flat against his chest. Then as they executed a fancy turn and a dip, she lifted one leg to a near-vertical position, letting the hem of her dress slide to her waist. He grasped her ankle and held her that way for a moment, then slid his hand along her leg and up her smooth thigh to the edge of her panties. As they continued moving together, he slipped his fingers under the low waistband of her lace and satin thong. She was smooth and hot and engorged, and her arousal had made her slick with desire. She moaned as he fingered her, enjoying the sensation of his touch along the edge of her vulva. She had borrowed his beard trimmer that afternoon to crop her bush, then had used the depilatory cream from Brazil, followed with scented shea butter, to make her vulva and butt silky smooth. It had been like a Brazilian wax without the wax—or the pain. She felt gorgeous and sensual and powerful, and knew she had captivated him with her beauty and grace this night.
As they swiveled and swirled to the music, he continued to stroke her womanhood. Sliding his fingers into the satin slit in her panties, he plunged them into her body, reveling in the slippery heat of her vagina and the feel of her muscles contracting around his probing fingers. She pulled herself away for a moment, but then she was pressing her back against him, moving up and down against the throbbing bulge in his pants, and taking her hand out of his so she could fondle her breasts. They were taut and swollen, and she pinched her hard nipples through the diaphanous georgette before putting her hands on the dress and kneading her naked breasts with the desperate intensity of arousal.
With a moan and a quick, deft turn of her body, she broke free from him and turned to face him. As the music spurred them to, even more, intense passion with its hypnotic beat, its wailing brass, and enticing vocals, she straddled his thigh and began to ride it in time to the music. She danced with abandon, her eyes tightly closed, her fingers entwined in her own hair as she slid up and down his thigh in a musical foreplay that soon had her gasping with eagerness and had left a slick, dark streak on his black slacks.
He reached behind her head and undid the clasp of her halter. The bodice of her dress collapsed, sliding down her chest and, after catching briefly on her erect nipples, bunched up at her waist. Her breasts bobbed and jiggled freely now, like the two tawny gazelles of Solomon’s Song springing joyously through the forest. She cupped her palms under them, lifting them to him as offerings of her love and objects of her own desire. He put his hands under her buttocks and slid her further up his thigh until he could bow his head and nuzzle her bosom, licking and nibbling her nipples and then sucking hard at her wordless urging. The music was still playing, but now they cared more about the song they were composing with their bodies—an erotic melody of skin against skin, punctuated by frantic moans and gasps and accompanied by the undulating movements of her glistening torso and slithering legs.
She put her hands inside his shirt and hugged him, pressing her face against his neck and her breasts against his chest. His musky masculine scent made her wild with lust, and she dismounted his thigh so she could thrust her body hard against his. She reached down and unzipped his pants, then reached in to find his swollen manhood twitching with anticipation. He wasn’t wearing underwear, so she grasped his shaft and pulled it out, letting it spring free. Knowing how it would send him, she gently spread the bead of fluid around the spongy glans, which was huge now and nearly purple with hot blood.
He nudged her toward the wall. She backed up gracefully then, teasing him now by starting to dance again, but holding onto his member and using it to pull him after her. When they reached the wall, she guided the head of his penis to the yawning slit in her panties, now damp and pungent with her yearning. She teased her clitoris with his flesh, pulling him into her vagina only a half an inch before taking him back out and using his glans like a fingertip, stroking the gossamer sheath covering her hard love-pearl underneath, the gift of God to a woman so her husband could lavish her with unspeakable pleasures.
He lifted her body with his remaining strength, palms under her thighs, and let her lean back against the wall. She mounted him again, this time wrapping her silky legs around his hips and taking him deep inside her. Writhing and thrusting, they slammed their hungry bodies together with an energy and intensity they thought they had spent long before. He grunted with the effort of thrusting and holding her up, and she screamed and dug her nails into his back as the waves of ecstasy crashed over her body and churned into her very soul.
Sated for a while, he went to his knees, sliding her along the wall until she was sitting on the floor. Her legs were still splayed, and her naked torso heaved as she sucked up huge gulps of the syrupy summer air.
“Oh, Baby, was that us?” she asked. “I felt twenty years younger in your arms tonight, and I want to dance with you again and again and make wild love to you until the sun comes up. No wonder those Latins never get any sleep.”
“That was us, all right, Darling. And I thought you didn’t like hot salsa! Whew—that was incredible. I feel younger, too—and like we’re the only two people on the planet. You thrill me, you know it? How come we didn’t learn to dance like this years ago? This is going to keep us young and vibrant and alive. You looked sensational, too and I happen to think you are the most beautiful, alluring woman on earth.
While he was speaking, she stood up and stripped. Her dress slid down her legs and ended in a rippling puddle around her feet, soon to be joined by her thong. She stood above him then, her breasts still thrust enticingly upward, her beautifully manicured vulva just inches from his face. He stroked the backs of her legs as he spoke, then buried his face between her thighs and drank in the heat of her flesh and the pungent aroma of perfume mixed with her scent. She rubbed his head lovingly, letting him nibble her labia and flick his tongue across her clitoris until she once gains felt the stirrings of arousal deep within her.
She pulled him to his feet and gently took off his clothes, letting them join hers on the floor. Her hands roamed over his body, teasing him, coaxing him to new arousal. The music had stopped now, and silently she led him to the door leading to the deck. They went out into the night, walking naked in the gloom, down the steps into the yard, then under the deck to their little semi-tropical hideaway. The air was heavy with the fragrance of gardenias, and the only sound was the occasional splash of a fish snatching an insect from the glassy surface of their lily pond. They went to the hammock and laid down. She wrapped her body around his, hungry again for his love. Kissing him, licking his nipples, sucking his lower lip and stroking his satiny shaft, she urged him on until he was once again thick and erect and yearning. Their bodies melded again in the silence, this time with exquisite gentleness and contentment and overwhelming joy.
When they were satisfied, they embraced and enjoyed the caress of skin and hair and lips. “Let’s sleep in the hammock tonight,” she said. “I love being naked out here.”
“Okay. We’ll worry about getting into the house when the time comes. And tomorrow, let’s move to the islands and dance for the rest of our lives.”
She sighed sleepily and grunted in agreement as she reached for his hand.
“Te Adoro,” he whispered.
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