The Hay Loft

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In the dance hall, the lights are dim amber as you are walking back to your seat after a few fast dances. This scene is so familiar to me now yet it never gets old. I’ve got it bad for you, yet you don’t have a clue.

As I sit at the rail, I order up a Courvoisier cognac to give me strength and watch your every move intensely. Your eyes are so deep and sparkling with the joy of the dance, how I wish they sparkled for me. Your hair is so soft, yet hangs so straight, like long, pin-strait, strands of auburn silk. Not a wave to be seen till you move and it flies with the wind or with the joy in your heart as you dance. I long so to feel it against my hand, my face, my body, my everything.

Your lips are so fine and delicate with a light flesh-pink lipstick, giving your face the final touch of being all girl. Yet it is the blush of your skin with its peerless perfection that take my breath away and makeS me long to hold your face to my chest every time you seem to notice me looking at you.

Your body is no less perfect than your face as your breasts are deliciously delicate yet clearly stand proudly pushing into the fabric of your blouse. Your hips are so shapely, your legs toned from what has to be sports or frequent gym visits.

When the first set finishes you approach the rail with an order for you and the other girls with you. Immediately, I start to feel my heart beat faster. I take in your lips, so made for mine: moist, wet and softly tinted. Your auburn hair cascades down the sides of your face. When you sit to make and wait for your order, your legs cross in such a naturally erotic pose. You sit smiling, shifting in your seat, and I am transfixed. When the barkeep arrives and you order, your voice makes me dizzy. It is so light he has to lean in to be sure he got the order right. He winks and says, “Yes Mam, coming right up!” clearly and politely acknowledging your gender.

I have never felt like this till you...so excited by just your appearance and your classy yet very subtly erotic gestures; the finger brought to your lips as if pursed to kiss sends chills up my spine. The way you tilt your head in speaking reveals a porcelain smooth and vulnerable neck. You are teasing my imagination to hunger. I swear it.

With my heart racing, a slow dance just beginning, I rush to your side, look you straight in the eyes, so deeply I almost fall in, and risking it all without even thinking, I ask in my deep bass voice, “Would you care to dance with a country gentleman?” For so long I have wanted to do this. For so long your mere presence has overwhelmed me at these dances. This time I barely know what I am saying, what my body is doing. You look back into my eyes, reaching out your hand, quickly glance back at the other girls at your table and say to there, “It worked! Can one of you please go get our drinks?”

You rise straight to my arms. I enfold you within them as if I have known you forever.We are acting on instinct alone. As I carry you across the floor, our bodies seem made for each other, molded like two hands in prayer. All my senses are alive and on fire with passion and I can’t even seem to vocalize what I am thinking.

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