Warning: This story contains same-gender sexual MAINtext throughout. A Plot-What-Plot tale to tease and intice you, dear reader.
This was written after my first Hawaiian vacation. I’ve had one email from a woman who attended the same show about six months after I did. She knew exactly which dancer I was referring to. LOL!
I sat front row center. It was the third time in three days I’d seen the show, a Polynesian review of Hawaiian history, and I readily awaited her appearance. Dinner was over and I ignored my tablemates, strangers seated with me only because they were among the first in line, craning my neck to keep an eye on the technician’s booth.
Aha! There he is! I watched as the now familiar tech settled into the dark booth, putting on headphones and flicking switches on his soundboard. The musicians on either side of the stage were playing mellow guitars and ukuleles; I recognized the song that signaled the beginning of the performance. Eagerly, I turned about in my chair, eyes scanning the dark stage.
A woman walked in from stage right, the spotlight from the booth shining on her. She was very good looking, but it wasn’t for whom I was searching. First, a small fashion show was put on regarding the locals’ use of a lavalava. On either side of the stage, the dancers from the review showed up to indicate the proper tying and wearing of the long piece of cloth.
On my left, I saw her and my heart began to pound. There she is! Her skin and hair were dark, as were all the natives, but her hair was highlighted, face expressive. She’s adorable. Somewhat smaller than the other women, she was well proportioned for her size. I watched, trying not to drool in my lap as she illustrated how to wear a lavalava in bikini form. Once all the knots were tied and extra cloth tucked, she turned sideways and looked in my direction, winking. Damn! Wish she were winking at me!
The spotlight was turned off and she ducked backstage, another performer taking her place. I sighed and took a sip of my drink, mouth dry from wanting. She’d be back during the main performance, only making one final appearance at the end of the fashion show with the rest of her comrades. When the lights came up on the stage, the narrator’s deep voice began weaving a tale and I lost all track of time.
Gods, she’s beautiful! I watched, spell bound, as she danced about with the others. Apparently, she wasn’t considered a star attraction, two of the other women taking center stage throughout the review. I was annoyed on her part at the director’s obvious blindness. Her talent was so apparent; she made every step look simple, from the rapid-fire hip movements of Tahiti to the languid and graceful Hawaiian dances.
During costume changes, when she was nowhere to be seen, my eyes flickered about restlessly. The mass of people attending tonight’s performance was the usual tourist crowd – half from Japan and half from the nearby mainland. All were happily getting toasted on cheap Mai Tai’s and Blue Hawaiians, spending more money as the liquor flowed. I didn’t order another drink until the fire knife dancer came onstage. He’d be hamming it up for a good fifteen minutes, so I had time to spare.
Once finished, the safety netting around the stage was pulled back and the show continued. When they got to the nineteen fifties, I had to smile. There she was, dressed in a Hawaiian print poodle skirt, rocking around the clock. I realized it was almost over when the narrator sang a couple of Elvis Presley songs. Looking at my watch, I silently cursed. Damn! It’s been an hour and a half already? The drums were strong and the fog machines worked overtime as the finale began. Everybody in the room applauded and cheered.
All too soon, it was over. I set my half empty drink down, depression already edging closer. Only a few more minutes remaining; the performers would be in front of the entrance, letting tourists take their pictures and such as they left. I would do as I always did – wander past slowly until I was on the other side of the escalator. From there, I’d settle into one of the hotel chairs and watch until the crowd broke up. She’d go back inside, presumably to change into street clothes, and I’d leave. On my way out, I’d pass a tour booth in the lobby and order tickets for tomorrow night.
Sighing, I rose from my chair. Half the audience had already filtered out and I was into the foyer in no time. I searched the performers, looking for her. It took several moments before I realized she wasn’t there. My heart thumped in surprise, concerned. Did she hurt herself? Was she sick? I hope she’s okay!
As was my habit, I walked to the other side of the escalator, but her absence kept me agitated. I remained standing, leaning against the railing as I scanned the crowd. The audience laughed and commended the dancers, cameras flashing as they utilized this opportunity to be up close and personal. But eventually the last of them drifted away, the performers waving and smiling. Clapping themselves on the backs, they returned to the theater, their job complete.
She never showed.
A handful of Japanese were in one corner, a small family of four relaxing after a night on the town. Nearby, a bell clerk wandered past, extra towels under his arm, heading for the elevator. I could hear the standard live Hawaiian music downstairs near the pool, see the flicker of torchlights reflecting on the ceiling from outside. I was at a loss, unsure of what to do. Even in three short nights I’d developed a pattern; now it was broken and I was adrift.
Several minutes passed and I sighed, dejected. With a frown, I made my way to the head of the escalator. As I climbed on, I turned around to watch the theater entrance, a last shred of hope fading away to nothingness as I descended. I stopped at the reservation desk on my way out, purchasing a ticket for tomorrow night. The clerk gave me a funny look – small wonder considering I’d bought one from him the last two nights. But he didn’t say anything, being the good little hospitality servant he was.
Standing at the hotel entrance, I watched the nightlife. Tourists traipsed by on their way to or from bars and shows; ever-present hawkers with their parrots and cameras took pictures for sale; occasional surfers returned from the beach with their boards and tans. My stomach grumbled and I realized I’d better get something to eat before returning to my hotel.
I was a dozen steps away when I heard someone calling my name. Turning automatically, it occurred to me that no one here knew who I was.
She was wearing one of those sarongs, wrapped about her waist and knotted low. A halter covered her breasts and her hair was pulled back on the sides, a pale flower tucked behind her right ear. With a beautiful smile, she came down the steps, a lei of purple and red flowers hanging on her arm. Stopping in front of me, she held it up, eyebrow lifting in question.
Obediently, I ducked my head, smelling flowers mingling with her perfume as she slipped them around my neck. Before I could straighten, her hands found the sides of my face and she held me still, looking into my eyes.
“A Hawaiian welcome isn’t complete without a kiss,” she murmured, brown eyes becoming sultry.
Her lips on mine were like satin, her mouth opening and inviting me with a flick of her tongue. I felt her step forward, her body melding with mine as her hands released my face to wrap about my shoulders. My hands found their way to the tanned skin of her bare waist and lower back, my tongue slipping inside to explore.
I’m not usually so wanton, but I’d been dreaming about this for days and I couldn’t help myself. Deepening the kiss, I could hear her moan into it as I tightened my grip, one hand reaching up to tangle in her long hair. Around us, people came and went out of the hotel, continued their travels on the sidewalk around us. No doubt some were offended but we weren’t disturbed, the Hawaiian tolerance for the alternative lifestyles famous throughout the world.
Soon, kissing wasn’t enough to feed the fire within. I longed to caress her, to make her cry out my name, to feel her hands and mouth on me. As I pulled out of the kiss, I calculated how far it was to my hotel.
Once her mouth was free, she licked her lips and nearly purred, “Aloha.”
“Aloha,” I responded with a breathless chuckle. “Mahalo for the welcome.”
“Mmm, I’m not done welcoming you, yet.” She stepped away and I released her, though she took one of my hands in hers, entwining our fingers. “Come on.” We followed the sidewalk until we came to a tiny side street. Here, she stopped at a medium sized scooter, releasing my hand to climb on and grin at me. “Hop on. Let’s go for a ride.”
Honey, you can take me for a ride anytime, wild thoughts chirruped. I settled onto the back seat as she started the scooter. “Where are we going?”
Laughing, she peered coyly over her shoulder at me. “Somewhere special. Now hold on and lean close.”
I did as ordered, molding my body to hers as she pulled into the stop and go traffic that was downtown Waikiki. The trade winds whipped her long hair about and I could see why she wanted me closer – aside from the other, more obvious reasons – else I’d be stinging from the contact. As it was, it was difficult to not do more than hold her, my hands aching to move from their place at the juncture of hip and thigh.
Soon, we were in Honolulu. From the predominance of other languages, I recognized China Town. My Polynesian beauty pulled onto a side street, weaving through a neighborhood that was spotted with small bars and businesses. She drove the scooter into an alleyway, shutting it down.
“We’re almost there,” she informed me, waiting as I dismounted before putting the vehicle up on its stand. The key was deposited into a tiny handbag slung across her shoulder. Reaching out, she took my hand, pulling me toward a gate snugly tucked along a cement wall. “Come on.”
I was a little uneasy – visiting a new city, lusting after an unattainable dancer who was now in the process of seducing me. No one would know where I was should something happen. Lagging a little, I said, “You never told me where we’re going.”
“Yes, I did,” she said, turning to smile. “Somewhere special.” Sensing my reticence, her smile faded and she stopped, stepping closer, pressing against me. Hands slid along my hips and up my back, grasping. Her voice, already low, became husky. “I saw you that first night, you know, watching me; your eyes caressing me. After the show, I went home alone.”
Her proximity crumbled my last defenses and I held her lithe body close, sighing as she nuzzled my throat.
Her hands began a firm massage, her voice muffled as she continued. “I lay in my bed and touched myself, wishing it were you – your hands on my body, your lips on my breasts, your fingers inside.” She moaned and clutched me closer. After a long pause, she said, “When I saw you last night, I went home and did the same thing. But it wasn’t enough.”
It was difficult to breath. The vision of this woman, her hands roaming brown skin, writhing beneath her touch, dreaming of me – Gods!
Pulling away from me, she grasped my hands and stepped backwards. “I’ve prepared a very special place for us.”
I followed, swallowing hard.
She released my hand to open the gate, her impish smile returning at my acceptance. “Close your eyes,” she whispered.
My lids slid shut of their own accord, heart thumping. Her hand found mine once more and she led me through. Floating on the air were the scents of flowers, wood, growing things and lamp oil.
“Stay here,” she instructed, releasing my hand. “And no peeking!”
Hearing her step and the gate latching behind me, I asked, “What if I peek?”
Hands boldly caressed my upper legs, fingertips teasing my inner thighs as she leaned against me from behind. “You don’t get your reward. And I’ll be alone again tonight.”
I heard myself sigh, my center throbbing in arousal. “No peeking,” I croaked. When she moved away, I groaned at the loss, swaying in her absence.
Movement around me – the lighting of a match, rustle of cloth, distinctive rattle of shells, gentle music in the background. Her hand grasped mine again and she led me further into the unknown, guiding my shuffling feet up one step.
“Open your eyes.”
We were on a small wooden terrace, a cave of brown and green. Ivy crawled up lattice walls and across the ceiling overhead, a lounge chair and tiny table the only furnishings. Reflections from the torchlights along the gate path flickered from the sliding glass window behind her. She, however, had my complete attention. I licked my lips in anticipation as my eyes wandered across her.
The wrap had been retied, knotted on one hip and revealing an expanse of tanned thigh. Her feet were bare as were her breasts, the only upper adornment being several strands of shell leis. Grass circled her wrists and ankles. Aside from the occasional noise of traffic from the outside world, I could have been in the 1800’s, preparing to love an island beauty in the rain forest.
“You’ve been watching me so diligently,” she said, a smile gracing her lips. “I thought I’d give you a… private lesson on our native dance.”
With that, she closed her eyes, hands rising gracefully into the air as she wove a story. Her hips moved in an exaggerated, slow movement, the hallmark of Hawaiian hula. My mouth grew dry as she undulated before me, more sinful than any of the other dances I’d seen, her seduction obvious.
I watched for some time, enjoying the blood coursing through my veins, the heat in my belly. That heat exploded when her hands began caressing her skin and she showed me what she’d been dreaming of the past few nights. Unable to help myself, I stepped forward, wanting those hands to be mine, wanting hers on me.
Her smile returned at my movement and she swayed in a circle, presenting me with her back. The muscle flexed beneath her skin, her hair brushing her bared shoulders as she turned her head to glance at me over her shoulder. Her hips swiveled, brushing her rear against my groin, purposely grinding backwards. I could see that her hands were still busy in front of her, could hear her sigh as she teased herself.
Finding her hips, my palms rode them before sliding up her back, fingertips tickling her sensitive sides. I brushed the hair away from one shoulder, pressing my body against hers, letting her lead me in this dance of passion. Hands slipping forward, I found hers massaging her breasts. As I took over, she moaned, lifting her arms over her head, her hips becoming more insistent. My lips found her shoulder and I left a wet trail up her neck to her ear, feeling one of her hands slide into my hair and hold me close.
Her skin was warm and soft, breasts neatly fitting into my palms. The nipples brushed my hands, already fully extended in desire, and I circled them with my thumb. When I rolled them between my fingers, she groaned louder, her breath becoming more ragged, the dance forgotten. My tongue slipped into her ear and she shivered, digging her fingers into my hair. “Is this what you wanted?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
Almost humming, she gave a tiny nod. “Almost,” she breathed.
Before I begged the question, she dropped her hands to the knot on her hip. Drawing the lavalava slowly from her waist, she turned about in my arms, revealing herself fully. The wrap was discarded, draped along the end of the lounge chair behind her, and she began pulling my tank top over my head. I chuckled at her eagerness, allowing myself to be divested of clothing. When she stepped back and raked my form with a searing gaze, I found myself blushing and looked away.
Stepping forward, head bowed as she placed hands on my bare skin, she raised her eyes. “This is what I wanted,” she murmured, leaning forward for a kiss.
Her skin against mine was a catalyst, her lips a hot spark that ignited my lust. Gentleness evaporated in our mutual fire as we fell upon each other, devouring each other in a rush of wetness. She guided me toward the lounge chair, pulling me down onto it, onto her. Everywhere were hands and teeth, mouth and tongue as we familiarized ourselves with each other.
She ground her center against me, whispering in Hawaiian and moaning as I trailed down her neck, nibbling the flesh. The leg not trapped between my thighs was wrapped about my waist, heel digging into my buttocks in an effort to pull me closer, hands clutching my shoulder and head. I rubbed my sex against her, smearing her with my offering. My teeth found a swollen nipple and I bit down on it, a rush of yearning flowing through me as she cried aloud.
Attacking her breasts, I rolled the nubs between my lips, tonguing them thoroughly and massaging them with my hands. Her moans filled the air, far better sounds than the strains of ukulele music that still floated about us. Her hands were in my hair and soon, she was forcing me down, pushing me where she wanted me to go. Obligingly, I traversed the path of her belly, licking and kissing the well-muscled abdomen that had seen many years of exercise.
I could smell her want, her need, as I approached. With little urging, her legs spread wide for me, revealing her glistening desire. Her skin quivered under my lips as I trailed along her inner thigh, moving slowly towards her center. At the juncture of thigh and pelvis, my cheek brushed her clit and I bit down on the fleshy muscle beside it, hearing her grunt in surprise.
“Please please please please,” she whispered, fingers frantically running through my hair. Hips rose, trying to hump my head, but I held my place, sucking gently. Panting myself, I broke off before I could leave a distinctive mark, knowing she’d be dancing tomorrow night in the review; though the thought of staking my claim before all who’d see her did have a certain appeal.
She gasped when I released her thigh and nuzzled her sex. I laved her with my tongue, pressing against the small knot of nerves and tasting her for the first time. In response, her hips moved and I could hear her moaning. Finding her velvet folds, I sucked them into my mouth, caressing them before opening her with my fingers. Dining on her exquisite taste, I wanted for nothing, feeling her body writhe beneath my lips. Soon, I replaced tongue with fingers, slowly thrusting inside her heat while I paid closer attention to her clit.
Settling into a rhythm, I shifted to get more comfortable, freeing one hand to caress her body. Finding her hip, I guided her as she pressed against me, arching her back as she rode me. Her skin was sweaty, her breath coming in moaning gasps, her hands holding me close to task as I brought her closer to the edge. I could feel small tremors in the thighs wrapped tightly against my head, feel slick inner walls clutching the three fingers that pumped in and out.
For a moment, she froze and trembled, my tongue flicking against her. She cried out as she came, her body once again all sound and motion as her orgasm rocked her. I continued to fill her with my fingers, slowing the tempo as the last of the waves rippled through.
Gently, I disengaged, pulling free of her now lax body. I paused long enough to lick my fingers clean, feeling another wave of heat fill me at her vulnerable, sated form. Then I climbed up to settle on the lounge chair, pulling her into my arms until she was sluggishly draped across me. Cuddling her, I brushed her hair with my fingers, waiting.
She stirred, eventually, humming with pleasure as she pulled herself up on one elbow. Smiling, she followed my jaw line with one finger, bringing it up to trace my lips. I opened my mouth and drew her in, sucking on the digit. Her eyes became hooded and she leaned closer, licking her lips.
“Your turn,” she whispered, her breath brushing mine.