DANCING UNDER THE STARS 

Sex with a stranger under a meteor shower was unexpected.  Claire had missed her connection on the Greyhound coach headed towards Oklahoma City; final destination Los Angeles.  OKC would be the half way point in her journey to start a new life and to fulfill a personal mission which she kept secret from all her close friends, including Sasha and Toni. 


What was a girl running on ice supposed to do? Not wanting to work the same mundane routine day in and day out, Claire said to the little girl abandoned years ago; trapped within a steel cage-handcuffed, whipped, and gagged inside her own adult body.  She learned to suppress the inner pain and throw her innocence, or what little she had left under some filthy, cum-stained sheets as some sweaty, heaving body pressed on top of her.  Their collective body heat could power the entire city of Hotlanta.  The humid evening air was filled with the aroma of alcohol, tobacco, pot, and cheap sex.  Her drug of choice was the risky sexual high she received from the act of banging some random guy without protection.  She needed this ‘fuck fix’ like others crave a Starbucks Caramel Macchiato with extra drizzle and whip cream to finish off.  

Claire would think back to her college days and the many sleepless nights, along with high pitched screams of young girls achieving orgasmic bliss.  The hall ways would be filled with a heavy skunk haze, beer bottles clinking, and squeaky beds on the weekends.  Some of the girls kept extensive journals and even day planners just to track their casual encounters. The dorm life was all about the hedonistic lifestyle and maybe doing some studying in between the sheets.  Claire loved using a library cubicle to satisfy herself during a study session.  She relished the risk of getting caught and even ate Sasha out one afternoon between classes in the one section of the library where all the published graduate theses and dissertations were shelved and hardly researched.  


There was just something wickedly erotic about making out around some dusty old books which some scholar surely deprived him or herself of sensoul contact to get it done.  Claire was not as studious but could don a pair of thick-framed glasses, posing as a sexy ass librarian just to get closer to the intellectual; yet free-thinking and sexually-novice first year exchange students.  Their accents just turned her up so much more than the thermostat in the room could ever do, even on the coldest of nights.  Her inner goddess desiring to get thrown across the front counter and taken advantage of like free tuition.  She imagined her “Feel the Bern” tank top being ripped violently off her body.  Her exposed lavender lace bra barely concealing her size 36 C breasts, unhooked from her back as gentle, yet practiced hands would grace a piano.  Her warm, wet tongue tracing her left areole very slowly for what seemed an eternity, as if savoring a scoop of the finest imported Gelato straight from the cobblestone streets of Roma, Italia.  

Now back to getting plugged by this random stud under the stars.  Tonight was just magical, one of those celestial happenings where your naked self aligns itself with the planetary rotations of the exposed universe. After Claire had missed her connection, this built, muscular UT student on his way to the Lonestar State.  He sees her on the bench at the metro station and walks slowly over to her, his alligator square toe boots, Levi denim jeans, and a white t-shirt that read Trump 2016 in red with an American flag backdrop across the front.  On the back it read CC-Protect our Armed Republic.  His well-defined abs are clearly evident underneath the 100 percent Hanes cotton tee.  He could have passed as Blake Sheldon’s son with his rugged, masculine urban cowboy appeal.  The only accessary blatantly absent from his wardrobe was a black acoustic guitar and a hand caressing a Mid-Western gals heart-shaped ass in a pair of very short daisy dukes. 

Claire appeared disheveled and lost, as if she is another runaway teenager type trying to find her way to la la land.  The type of girls guys like him prey upon.  Jason knew he owned her the moment she set eyes on him.  Those weak, blue puppy dog eyes instantly connected with his deep-set, dark, intent full gaze.  Piercing through her very soul; investigating her sore for wear body from her blonde hair down to her perfectly manicured size 5 feet.  For a guy with a foot fetish, this chick was free game. 

Claire was romantically attracted to the strong, virale man whom you can see both saving herself from a stalker and then ripping her clothes off and having his way with her.  Claire didn’t even get his name at first, so ravished by the random encounter that she threw caution to the wind; along with her hair which she had tied in a ponytail down the center of her back.  Her long, flowing, wavy blonde hair now caressing her bare breasts, sticking just enough to her sweaty skin to cover her pink, perky, and fully erect nipples.  


There is something strange and mysterious about this guy, her subconscious shouted loudly at her.  She would have a defiant attitude as the young girl inside her danced wildly in expectation.  She would happily surrender to the night, performing as if she were dancing with the stars.  

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