The Dance - Sex Stories

The Dance

It was a short, wet two blocks to Sam’s house and he walked quickly because it had started sprinkling again. It had been raining earlier and now puddles on the street, shimmering mirrors of black and silver from the street lights, flashed and disappeared then appeared again in new shimmering puddles along his way. Trees sporadically dripping in the light breeze offered undependable protection from the drizzle and just added to Sam’s foul mood. Hands shoved deep into his pockets and his head drawn into the collar of his light jacket made it appear he had become a kind of weird turtle as he hurried along. Sam walked into the attached garage; hung his wet jacket on a hook, kicked off his soggy shoes, unlocked the back door, and entered the kitchen. The light over the sink glowed its 60 watts of dull greeting. His mother’s car wasn’t in the garage, so he guessed she was still out. Not surprising he thought, it was after all Saturday night. He knew she would be home sooner or later, almost certainly d***k, perhaps with a male friend. Not his problem he thought with a certain sadness. Sam sighed, opened the frig and took out a can of soda and a jar of peanuts. His evening had been a disaster, although others would remember it differently. A party at a friend’s house was way less fun than it should have been. The one girl Sam was interested in was with someone else, the other girls were slugs and there were no new faces. He had had a few beers, shared a joint on the patio with two ...

... guys, but hadn’t danced at all. Sam had sulked around until midnight and then split, totally bummed out. He walked the few blocks home and… well here he was, Mr. Happiness in the flesh. In the playroom Sam dropped into a fat overstuffed chair and tried to find something to watch on TV. Watching an old movie he fell asl**p. His mother’s touch woke him. “Hey, Big Boy,” she was rubbing his head, “wake up and tell me about your evening. Did you have fun?” Sam knew she was a little d***k, standard stuff, but he was still glad to see her. He liked his Mom. “Hi, Mom. No, I didn’t have a good time,” he stretched and yawned, “the party sucked.” Sam’s mother’s smile always made him feel good, and he felt better now with a fresh smile, just seeing her. “How was yours?” “Good enough, but nobody knows how to dance anymore.” Irene, Sam’s mother found a cigarette in her purse, kicked off her shoes and lit the cigarette with a Bic. She adjusted some pillows and sat on the couch across from him pulling her legs up under herself and smiled at him. She blew smoke to one side and gave Sam a sympathetic look. “I guess that means you didn’t meet any new girls… sorry, Sammy. I think some girl missed the boat.” He liked to see his mother relax as she was very sexy and he loved it when she gave him all her attention which she was doing now. “No biggie, Mom. No new girls… or decent old ones. I never even asked anyone to dance. They were skuzzy, Mom.” Irene smiled and listened. She knew her fifteen year ...