For me this dance was more than about a country’s memorial celebration of its African and slave legacies, but also a release of the bonds that had held me from experiencing this transcendental bliss with my husband. Bill’s breath was ragged against my face. He pinched my hard nipples and set my arm to tingling with his wet, wicked tongue. Heat spiraled down my body and centralized in my pussy. My hands left his neck in search of that heat. I ran my fingers over my clean shaven mound before slipping one of them into the warmth between my legs. I slipped the finger inside of me. I found that ultra-sensitive ribbed flesh known as my g-spot. Slowly I began to massage it. One of Bill’s hands moved down and cupped my behind. He massaged the flesh that wasn’t as firm as it used to be but I loved him for not noticing or not caring. His fingers slipped between my cheeks. He hand slid lower and one of his fingers joined mine in my pussy. Together we massaged all of my sensitive areas. My. It was my curiosity that seized the opportunity and caused me to pull into the cramped parking lot below the sign. I certainly don't remember doing it.I turned the car off and sat for about five minutes staring at the sign. "Semi-Live Entertainment"; for the life of me I couldn't figure out what it meant. I looked at the forbidding black door and almost retreated to the safety of my imagination. A small voice inside kept telling me to run. I didn't.Pulling the collar of my coat against my chin in a vain attempt to ward off the chill and rain, I dashed across the thirty feet that separated me from the promise of semi-live entertainment. The door was heavier than it looked and it took a concerted effort to gain access to the den of mystery. In the dim light I could see about forty patrons clustered in small groups around tables or the bar. Off to my left, the stage was dark and empty. My curiosity about the entertainment; semi-live or otherwise would not be satisfied tonight. I almost.
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