Dancing Queen
by Elizabeth Cage

‘Happy birthday, Jo. This should give you hours of pleasure.’

‘Cheers, Kelly,’ I replied, impatiently peeling away the lavender tissue paper. I grinned as it revealed a luminous pink vibrator.

‘Thought your old one must be worn out by now,’ she joked. ‘I’ve already put the batteries in, so it’s ready for use.’

‘You know me so well.’

‘No time to use it now, you greedy bitch. Later,’ she laughed. ‘Are you ready? We’ll be late, otherwise.’

‘Do you think it’s too short?’ I asked, smoothing down my new leopard-print dress.

‘A dress can never be too short,’ she proclaimed. ‘Bend over.’

I obeyed. Kelly frowned. ‘Let’s just say I can see what you had for breakfast.’

I smiled. ‘Filthy cow. Ready to go, then?’

It was a sultry summer night and even with the car windows open, it felt hot and stuffy as Kelly drove into the packed car park of the Tonic Singles Club. In a way, I suppose, we came here on false pretences. True, we were the prerequisite over thirty. Easily. And we were both unattached. But that isn’t why we came. We were not looking for love, as the song goes.

‘Evening, girls. Can I see your membership cards?’

Nigel, the doorman, dressed in black dress suit and bow tie, took a pride in doing his job properly, even though we were regulars. As I fumbled in my pouch bag for the plastic membership card, my feet began to tap instinctively as strains of funky commercial house music filtered down from the upstairs room.

‘Okay, girls. Have a good evening.’

Our first stop was, of course, the toilets. Pushing past the cubicles, air heavy with a cocktail of hairspray and perfume, I elbowed my way to the mirror to check my make-up while Kelly had a pee.

‘Got your pen?’ she asked, from behind the door.

‘Check.’

‘Paper.’

‘Check.’

‘Right.’ The toilet flushed and she emerged, eyes radiant, ready for action.

We made our entrance, strutting through the kaleidoscope of flashing, swirling lights, the thump-thump of the bass sending vibrations through our bodies. It was a guest DJ tonight. As usual, I sauntered over.

‘Play any requests?’ I asked.

‘What do you want?’

I’d already scribbled on a piece of paper. He glanced down. ‘What’s this? War and Peace?’ My request list was ten deep. I smiled sweetly.

Kelly got us a table behind the speakers. She gestured across the crowded dance floor. ‘You think your dress is short - look at that woman over there, flashing the gash. Hey, he’s playing Booty Luv. Let’s get us some floor space.’

We danced alone and around each other, Kelly swaying, her eyes closed. Savouring the sounds. Absorbing the music. She looked good as always, wearing a red dress, ribbon-thin straps, short, with a scoop neckline. The dress hugged her lithe, toned body, highlighting her slim waist. She moved her bronzed arms above her head.

The rhythm was pounding, pulsating, pumping.

‘I’m streaming,’ said Kelly, tweaking her waxed spikes of white-blonde hair. Sweat was pouring down her face, dripping down her neck into the crevice between her small neat breasts. ‘Back in a mo. Have to cool down.’

As she exited, the tempo changed to the slow wailing of Celine Dion and a man beside me muttered, ‘Erection section. It’s a groper.’

I pretended to rifle through my bag, avoiding eye contact with any male who might want to slow dance. Or smooch, as we used to call it when I was a teenager. In the days when we went to the church disco and leapt about to the songs of Sweet and T Rex and Mud and the Rubettes. And played strip poker in the shed outside with a group of older kids, boys and girls.

‘Not dancing?’ I looked up to see a guy with a nervous smile.

I shook my head. ‘No thanks, not to this. Too slow for me.’

‘Perhaps later?’

‘Okay.’ He walked away and was soon on the dance floor with a petite redhead in a halter-neck dress, her breasts brushing against his aubergine shirt.

I hoped Kelly wouldn’t be much longer. I disliked sitting there alone. I’d known her since school. We just clicked right away. Did everything together. Best friends. Until she’d married Shaun. After that, we’d drifted apart, although she still phoned occasionally and we met for a drink sometimes. Then, one night about a year ago, to celebrate her divorce, we went to a nightclub together and I remembered how much I’d loved to dance in my teens, how I missed it. I got such a high, such a buzz, that we started to go out together every week.

Kelly finally returned, looking flushed. ‘It’s too hot,’ she complained. ‘Slowies still going on?’

‘Last one,’ I replied. They usually played in sets of three and we were at last on to Lady In Red.

‘I hate that song,’ muttered Kelly. ‘I hope he puts some decent music on next.’

Thankfully, one of my requests followed. When I danced to one of my favourite tunes I closed my eyes and I felt like I was having sex in public, it turned me on so much. I loved to play slutty girl.

Afterwards, I was sweating. I wished I could take something off, but resisted when I recalled the time at another club when I wore a cut-off T-shirt over what was quaintly described as a crop top. I’d taken the tee-shirt off. No sooner was it over my head than a bouncer appeared. He’d thought I was undressing.

‘You can’t do that here.’

‘Why not?’

‘You can’t show your bra.’

‘It’s not a bra. It’s a crop top.’

Brazenly, I’d strode onto the dance floor. I heard a couple of guys muttering that I was a tart and much worse. It hurt my feelings, if the truth be told.

‘What’s their problem?’ I’d said to Kelly later. ‘I wasn’t hurting anyone.’

‘Some people are just prudes. They can’t face up to their own sexuality.’

We danced to an R&B set and then some 80s classic dance tracks before going outside for a swig of water.

‘Not bad tonight is it?’ said Kelly.

‘Not bad,’ I agreed.

‘Hey, isn’t that –?’

‘– Naughty Girl.’

We returned to the floor, moving slowly, sensuously to the sexy beat. In our own space at first. Then Kelly started to move towards me and I knew what would happen next. She danced around me and we were back to back, brushing against each other, hips touching. Then, as the music changed, she turned and we danced opposite, facing each other, inches apart, and I could taste her breath. She bent her knees, legs apart, swaying from her waist, her smooth arms snaking the air. I mirrored her movements, our eyes locked and we became fused together by music and rhythm and a longing so powerful it hurt. People were watching us. I felt them watching, wondering. I loved the fact that they were looking at us. It made me feel hornier than ever.

‘What do you think they made of our floorshow?’ laughed Kelly, smoothing down her sweat-soaked dress. Like me, she loved the attention. I grinned back at her. But tonight, something was different. Tonight, there was something else between us. I could feel it, like an electric charge. Tonight, I wanted this to be more than just an act. I moved closer to Kelly, and as we swayed, our nipples touched and I felt a warm tingle between my legs. She didn’t move away and I wondered if she was feeling what I was feeling. I slipped my hands around her waist, pulling her towards me, our bodies pressed together. I wanted to kiss her.

Then the music stopped. For a moment, we remained locked together. Then, blushing, she said, ‘It’s so hot in here. I need to get some air.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ I said, following her outside.

Standing beneath the dark, star-studded sky, I noticed she was trembling.

‘Is anything wrong?’ I asked anxiously.

She shook her head.

‘Do you want to go?’

‘Maybe.’

We got into her car but she didn’t start the engine. It was strange, seeing Kelly, who was usually so in control, suddenly unsure of herself.

‘Hey, relax,’ I reassured her, stroking her bare arm.

She turned to look at me and I noticed that her eyes were hungry. I leaned across and kissed her on the mouth, gently at first, tentatively, exploring her lips with the tip of my tongue. She didn’t resist, and I got the feeling she was considering the sensation. Slowly, she opened her mouth and I pushed my tongue deeper inside. She started to groan softly.

While one hand cradled her head, I let the other hand rest on her right breast, gently kneading her nipple between my thumb and forefinger through the fabric of her dress. Her nipple was already hard, and I felt a thrill of excitement at her response to my touch. Still kissing her, I carefully slipped the thin red straps off her shoulders, sliding the dress down to her waist to reveal her naked breasts. Her eyes were closed and I let my mouth move down to her left breast, caressing her nipple with my tongue, circling and darting, until she was wriggling with pleasure.

‘Do you like this, Kelly?’ I whispered.

She moaned. I smiled, enjoying this unexpected feeling of power.

She was breathing harder now, so I slid my hand down between her parted legs.

‘God, Kelly, you’re so wet,’ I exclaimed, pretending to sound shocked.

She wasn’t the only one. I started to stroke her, and her moans became louder.

‘Shh, someone might hear,’ I warned, thinking that people could come out to the busy car park at any moment.

‘I don’t care,’ she breathed, clamping my hand tight. ‘Don’t stop.’

The smell of her desire was overpowering and I buried my head between her thighs, teasing her clitoris with my tongue.

‘You taste so good,’ I told her, between lapping at her juices. By now her body was tensing and arching, her cries louder. I continued to lick, to savour her, while my fingers played with her nipples and as she came the first time, I was aware of the music pounding insistently through the open doors of the night-club, where only minutes before we were dancing together.

When she came again, her groans were so loud I had to cover her mouth with mine to stifle her cries. We clung to each other for a while, the sweat from our bodies mingling.

‘Do you want to go back inside?’ I asked, when her groans had subsided.

‘I have a better idea,’ she replied thoughtfully. ‘Why don’t we go back to your place and we can christen your birthday present. Thank goodness I bought heavy duty batteries. We’re going to need them.’