Dancing lesson

I asked my friend Whitney Birch to teach me a few steps. A party tonight meant I wanted to hold my own. She put her hands on me and the lesson stopped dead. Electricity ran under my skin the moment we touched. We understood each other without words. I was wet, throbbing; she felt the same. Only one thing stayed in my head: the strap-on resting upstairs, how I would press the length inside her, open her slow and deep, and how later I would have her buckle it on, bend me over, and take me the same way.