Public tease

A concert, it’s dark. I’m there with my girlfriends. Crowded at the front, squeezed together, heat, and a pounding beat through the floor. Bodies moving in unison, we are all one undulating, connected creature, for a brief moment, strangers bonded together.

I feel him behind me, pressed up against me in the throng. He is tall, I don’t turn around, but graze my arse back a little against him. I feel him retreat away from me politely. I allow it, until a surge towards the stage returns him to me. I dance back against him, feel him try to pull his hips away from the contact, but there is nowhere for him to go. He thinks it’s unintentional, is trying not to be a creep. I love him a little for this, with the music pounding in my head and my body answering the beat.

I feel the front of his jeans, rough fabric through my thin skirt. It slips against my arse every time I sway my hips, a gentle touch in time to the drum bass, I know he is still wondering if it’s an accident. He stops trying to move away, instead he keeps still while everyone around him is dancing. I feel him trying not to be pushed by the crowd, he wants to know if I am doing this on purpose, he waits for me to touch him.

The music is maddening, my dancing loose and free and through it, I feel his stillness there behind me. I push back against him over and again and now he stands his ground, feet braced, waiting there for me. I rub against him and feel his hips move with me now. Hellishly hot, I feel him trying to fit against me, to manoeuvre himself so that I am unhindered in my efforts to grind back against him.

A slow song, the crowd softens, sways, I lean back into him, gently move against him in time to the music, my arse pressed firmly into his groin, his hips nudge forward. I slip against him to the beat, and he moves with me, this time no pretence at propriety, I feel his cock harden against my arse, he rests a cheek against my hair. His cock is deliciously insistent, I stroke the length of it with my arse as I swing my hips rhythmically to the music, he tries to keep beat with me for maximum contact. The song seems to go on forever, and his fingers slip gently along the side of my body, down to my waist, my hip, he wants to feel me, to pull me back against him, he wants more. I shove his hand away, that’s not how this game works. He recoils, as if he has been scalded, and I feel his hesitation, he waits to see if I will end this thing we are sharing. I don’t.

When the beat picks up again, I feel him behind me trying to make himself available, trying to anticipate which way I will move so he can move with me. A strange dance between strangers, made hot with the crashing, stroking, rubbing of bodies in the heat of the public setting.

I don’t remember now who the band was or what friends I was with, but I remember him. I spent the entire concert with the amazing hotness of this anonymous contact, being incredibly aroused by this stranger whose face I never saw, pretending to ignore him while teasing him madly. I never turned around, never acknowledged his existence, and after the band played their last song, I strode away with my friends without looking back.