It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing

A Sexual Fantasy

— By VanillaBean

Tinnily and cracklingly the music rings out of the gramophone.
My hand lies on his shoulder. I feel his hand on my back while he leads my steps. My wide skirt strokes my legs with every move. I see my red finger nails on his tattooed arms. Each and every time he pulls me back to himself I do smell his odor. I love the feeling of swing dancing. It makes me forget everything around me.
“It makes no difference if it’s sweet or hot.”
Oh it does, as it is hot.
The next time he pulls me to himself my bright red lips kiss his neck. He opens the zip of my dress. Everything blurs in front of my eyes…
Still the music tinnily and cracklingly rings out of the gramophone.