One, Two, Three, Go

ALESSANDRO

"Let's go again." I laughed. "Come on, I'll count this time."

He sighed and dropped the shot she just gulped, then, she turned to me with sweat on her pretty face and smiled a warm smile, the smile of a drunk friend indeed.

"Okay." She came mild.

We picked the shots.

"One, two, three, go!" I hollered.

We gulped once more.

The shots were all overturned now, we've finished all the concoctions the barman mixed for us, so, what next, if not joining the crowd of French-speaking citizens and dancing our worries away if we had any?

"Do you want more?" the barman asked. Maybe my ten-dollar can buy a lot more, or, he wanted more ten-dollar notes.

I had a couple of them in my pocket after I was told that some Africans would rather accept the dollar with a smile than their currency because there was always a streetside forex for them.

I haven't seen any, and the barman was the first to collect my dollar bill, so, I should say those who told me those things before I came to Africa must have been wrong.

"No, we don't need more." She said by herself.

I wanted to call her name and invite her to the dance floor, but I remembered I didn't know her name yet. I had named her stilettoes patient, and she didn't answer when I called her that silly name.

She shouldn't like it for sure, but I felt that asking for her name at this moment would spoil the thrill, so, let me remain the gentleman.

"Want to dance?" I asked.

"Sure." She answered.

I took her hand in mine and led her to the dancefloor. The music had changed to another Nigerian party song.

I knew the artist who sang it, he won a Grammy with Beyonce on a song they made together, and I have been to one of his shows.

"You like Wizkid?" she asked me as we delved into dancing.

"Sure, he is good," I replied.

We were both shouting, everyone around us was shouting, because the song was banging hard, and the white people on the floor were merely adapting to the African kind of dancing, I was adapting, too, especially because stilettoes patient was here, teaching me.

The music changed to Rihanna's piece, twerk, and the ladies positioned their behinds to their men's thighs.

I love the song, but I loved it more the very moment she turned over and positioned her behind against my thigh.

It's an offer I can't and can never wish to refuse. They twerked on their men. She twerked on me, so hard I felt my erection.

Some of the men were already going wild with the business, hitting on the behind of their ladies as though they were up in the business of man and lady exercise called coitus, the business of the bedroom.

"Come on, go hard!" she shouted.

She wanted the same, and I obeyed. I had to, I did.

***

The song continued for a long, but then, the DJ changed to another, it was Patra, queen of the park. I knew Patra from childhood because our neighbor plays a lot of Jamaican music, and I do slip into his place to listen to those loud pieces with him, while my parents are away.

Goddamn! She turned over after getting me hard with the twerking, held me to herself, and kissed me.

Yes, we were both drunk, but I knew we were in it, we were kissing.

It was a feeling I've not had in a long while. I was enjoying it, and she, too.

I brought her closer to myself and held her tight, my hand glopped her backside, it was fully intentional because we both wanted it.

She was such a good kisser, and trust me, our mouths tasted nothing good other than the concoctions we took.

Her hands held my head to steady it, and my hands held her waist to steady her as she still wriggled in dance moves, but then, she stopped and looked me in the eyes.

"My name is not Stilettoes patient; my name is Sita Kouassi." She shouted in my face so I could hear her amid loud music and people going wild in dance and romance.

She leaned in once more and resumed the kiss, but she didn't stay long with it.

she broke after a minute, and holding to my hand, she dragged me out of the dancefloor, out of the club, over to a long walkway, held me to the wall, and went down on her knees.

I watched her pick on my belt. The light at the passage was blue but I could see her do her stuff, though not that. My zip was next, and my corpus spongiosum was next.

She rolled her hand around it, and without hesitating, she guided it into her mouth.

I moaned.

It's such a great feeling. Something I've not had in a long while. She did it well, perfectly, and the warmth of her mouth, coupled with the movement of her tongue around it made me sing songs without meaning.

She didn't do it that long, she was so aroused, there was something in the concoction that made us wild, something we both seemed to love at this very moment.

We wished no interruption, and none of such came, no one seemed to have business walking the passage, but there were long cries of pleasure coming from the doors attached to the walls.

She stood up and I turned her over to the wall, held her hard to it, and slowly, I kissed her neck, shifted her long jacket, and met a second obstacle.

"Do you mind if I…"

"Do it already." She cried.

It wasn't safe. A lot could come out of it. we don't know each other that well, but I knew just what to do in case it went wrong.

I held her pants, and her pantie, too, took down both of them and went deep into her wet paradise with my hardened rod.

We didn't take long, it was quick, and the cum, I shot into her pantie, which hung helplessly on her knees.