Dancing wasn’t my strongest suit. I was more of a bob in place kind of girl. I learned how to grapevine in middle school and I’ve hung on to that skill like a lifeline.
Valentine pulled me about halfway into the crowd, to a place where we could dance without too much extra contact. Drink in one hand, she put the other on my waist, and pulled me into her, her hips moving sinuously against mine. I tried to match her rhythm but couldn’t. I sloshed half of my drink over my hand before I managed to pull away. Valentine shook her head and leaned in close to me.
“Close your eyes,” she yelled. “And pretend you’re having sex!”
I looked at her dubiously, but she gave me such an insistent look that I sighed and did as she said.
I closed my eyes and let my head loll back, feeling the heat of the room press itself in on my body. I felt the brush of Valentine’s hands on my hips as she moved to stand behind me, pressing the length of her body into my back. Her hands pressed my hips, gently but insistently, and slowly I picked up the rhythm, my hips and waist making languorous figure eights in time with her own. It did feel like sex—matching her rhythm like that, her warmth pressed against me, moving in time.
This 10,000 word novelette is intended for mature audiences.