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Angelina’s exquisitely boyish body was absolutely crafted for such dancing. Her hips swayed in perfect motion, the rest of her body flowing in response as if made of water. Her beautiful straw- blonde hair swung back and forth as she moved, and in her eyes was a smoldering, from-under expression of inherent lust for the dance, that seductive gaze that most dancers give their partners. I could see her gorgeous breasts bob beneath her thin, white camisole. Her slim thighs looked as if they’d been melted and poured into her worn jeans.
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She was absolutely breathtaking.
Despite my lack of natural rhythm and technical knowhow, I had to join her. She grinned when I began to move, too. She came up, consistent in her gypsy-like movements, and put her arms around me as if we were slow dancing. I immediately slid my hands around her waist, and I felt her body press into mine. She then dipped low in some elaborate dance move, and I instinctively followed. We both slithered downward, pressed tightly against each other, and back up again. I laughed with the exhilaration of it all; my body was a race of adrenaline and hormones, not to mention that I was genuinely enjoying myself.
Suddenly, Angelina let go of me, and whirled around so that she was now behind me, her breasts pressed into my back. I stiffened up immediately; I had no idea what she was doing.
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“Just relax,” she said. “Do what you were doing. It’s the same thing, only I’m behind you.”
I shrugged. Sounded simple enough.
It was anything but; I was so tense and aroused at the same time that I couldn’t concentrate on anything she or I was doing. By the time the song had ended, we were a chorused eruption of giggles.
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