The things that swirl around in my head – lap-dancing, today – I wouldn’t be your ordinary erotic dancer, four-inch heels would have me gasping for air in the stratosphere, and you’d be staring at my kneecaps as I strutted around you in your chair, a standard desk chair, it swivels like my hips, and has no arms – they’d get in the way – so as I strut, I trace my fingertips along your shoulder-blades, maybe they are a little cold today, like the weather, and my nails don’t dig because I keep them short, but I’ve painted them glittery burgundy in your honor, along with my toenails – yes, I’m barefoot – I’m told I’m good with them, maybe you’ll find out someday, but not today, as I pass around behind you; my fingers, they’ve found your top button and I couldn’t resist, two, three, and my hand is down your shirt – it’s getting warmer now – like my breasts that dangle tantalizingly close to the back of your head, brushing against your hair – do you feel me, I certainly feel you and give your chest a playful squeeze – alright, both hands, and now you can definitely feel my two pillows caressing your neck
what am I wearing you ask, not much, but as I said, I’m not your ordinary lap dancer, and my bra selection is limited mostly to running wear, since I spend so much time pounding the pavement, but a sports bra makes me nice and firm, nothing to bounce around, and bikini briefs – no thongs in my wardrobe – and have you noticed that I almost always wear dark colors underneath, burgundy today to match my nails and my hair, which I had done this morning – I’d indulge you with it, but it’s too short for anything particularly sensual now – oops – I’ve accidentally untucked your shirt, and unbuttoned it – sometimes I’m just on autopilot – I strut around in front of you; do you like my nice firm tummy, it pulses for your delectation, but maybe you don’t notice, since you are nuzzling between my breasts,
take a nice sniff, no artificial scents on me, I’m allergic to them, just normal body smells, sweat, pheromones, yes, I’m hot with them today – I thought about doing a striptease for you, but there is no teasing here, I’m serious, pulsing with the music – OK, maybe the bra can come off, I find them too confining, so off it goes and around your head – there, we bounce a little, just for you – and what do lap-dancers do – yes, I’m so there pulsing up against you, with you between my legs – I lower myself onto you – I need this as much as you do – there is so little fabric between us, and I can feel you pulsing with me as the music speeds up – have you ever had a belly-dancer on your lap – every muscle finely controlled for your visual enjoyment, but how about up against you for your tactile pleasure, jiggling my pillows in your face as my firm lithe body throbs around you ever quicker, firm – yes, we both are (snickers) – and I course my fingers through your hair because I’m getting carried away, I have a runner’s endurance and could go all night if you wanted me to, but maybe now’s the time for you to stick your tenner in my – well, the bra is gone, so I guess it will have to go in my panties, right there in front – go for it – I don’t mind it getting a little damp, not if it is earned through my pleasure and perhaps yours – put it in nice and deep, so it won’t fall out – yes, right there – no I won’t stop, not till I’m damn well ready, and I won’t mind if you put your arms around me, just don’t get any ideas – this is a business transaction – another tenner? – fifty and it’s a deal, go ahead, slip it in, nice and, ahhhhh, deep
That’s me, wet and windswept – we are having gales outside right now, 50+ mph gusts and all that, but it’s not raining, I’m wet, well, just because of what has been going through my head lately: sex, more than usual, and it’s crept into my dreams, wild ones, naked as usual, running, dancing, touching, being touched, but never climaxing – it’s so frustrating – it’s been too long since my last passionate, blood-pumping romp; he was a loser, at least I found that out later, but he was alright in the sack, if unimaginative, not like my fantasies, my dreams, hey, do any of you elder-statesmen remember Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass, my parents had an LP (you know, black, with visible grooves) of theirs from the early seventies, it had a “naked” woman dressed completely in whipped cream – well, last night I dreamt I was that woman; it was so vivid I could actually feel the cream all over me, with her it was probably some kind of foam that she wore for hours while they attempted to get just the right photograph – I had the real stuff with just a touch of sugar, and no bathing suit or whatever like she probably had underneath – I practically swam in it and it was heavenly, all that was missing was chocolate
must stop there for a moment, but no periods, not allowed today, because I’m up, and up for it, too bad you aren’t here right now, because when I get like this, there is no stopping me and if you were here, I’d be all over you – you wouldn’t have a chance, you could pretend that I was wearing that whipped cream, or maybe you brought it along, I’d like that, I do have some honey down in the kitchen, you could pour it all over me, and then I’d wrap myself all around you and we’d share it before we removed it from each other (orally), yes, I love the taste of honey on a salty sweaty body (yours, perhaps)
but getting back to that whipped cream, what an amazing feeling, maybe you would join me, and maybe we’d – you know – before our ‘dinner,’ yes, swimming in it, in each other; it’s images like that which have made me a wreck and kept my panties damp, crimson today, like my mood, my desire, why aren’t you here right now, we could have such fun, ahh, it’s sad that I live in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, populated by the blue-rinse brigade – my special friend is nearby, but it wouldn’t be a good idea for him to be here, because I might do something I would regret later – so that’s your cue – you should be here, right in my chair, I’d be in your lap, doing (you know!), and thinking of edible paraphernalia, whipped cream, honey, cooking oil – yes we would be doing our own cooking, and then maybe some chocolate ice cream later – are you staying for dinner?