Neale Sourna's TANGO
WITH ME [A romantic, erotic short story]
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Tango with Me
by
Neale Sourna
Elaine
left Cleveland, Ohio, USAfor Buenos Aires, Argentina the home of sultry Argentine
Tango to learn from the best-a man, named "K," she's only seen in shadow and
smoke in a documentary.
He's
not the man on the screen, a fiction; this is a living, dangerous man of sensuality,
and a bit of cruelty. So is the Tango he teaches her, until she's ready and
had enough of fiction and the push and shove of dance, to find herself exposed
before all and doing the "Horizontal Mambo" upright. 998 wds
“Elaine,
you shove and I shove; but I won’t let you go. We’re in the Tango and our struggle
is part of our dance and life, isn’t it?”
Whatever!
I’m tired, infuriatingly horny for him, and he’s forever bossing and correcting
me all around his private practice area,
above his dance salon of wood, mirrors, and rich colors, ringed by café tables
and bar.
I’d arrived here, a visitor with a visa, hoping to
learn from a man I’d only seen in shadow, smoke, and artistic angles prowl and
masterfully “struggle” with his partner, with such sensuous elegance in a documentary,
in which they’d only called him “K.”
But,
worse, how can I learn, when the dance itself arouses him to maddening firmness,
every time we move pelvis to pelvis.
“Pay
attention, Elaine. Your O-hi-o is behind you. Be here, in Buenos Aires, where
we are Tango—the inner sexual attraction versus the outer willful resistance
of man and woman. It’s eternal their battle of will and sex—.”
“Yes,
K. I know!”
He
squinted at me, darkly.
“Elaine.
What is wrong with you?”
“Why
must something be wrong, with me?”
“You
always call me K, when you’re impossible. You’ve snapped and grumbled and been
dissatisfied every time I touch you, these past weeks. Tired of the Tango, and
of me, so soon, North American?”
“Don’t
call me that.”
Cheers.
Someone was doing fantastic moves on the main floor. It was dance night, no
instruction, just being inside this incredibly sexy and intimate dance, because
if felt so wicked and good at the same time.
But
K was getting on my last damn nerve.
“Well
... Kurt, I’m tired of you shoving me around.” I shoved him.
The
fucker shoved back.
My
thoughts heard Mom crow, “Serves you right, going half way around the world,
speaking like that, being taught to do THAT, with a man like him, in public.”
“My
damn feet are throbbing in these heels.”
“You’re
a woman. You can’t Tango in track trainers and your Cleve-Land [Cleveland] State
sweatshirt.”
I
turned my back to him and stared down at them from his balcony view. The salon had been nearly empty, then, when
I’d arrived, gushing with….
Excitement!
To
learn from the true master this sensual couple’s dance, of mixed African and
Spanish bloodlines—the snap turn of heads, angling their shoulders, wrestling
in the dance, and flicking their taunting, teasing feet between each other’s
legs.
Like
sex on high heels!
I’d
naïvely burned into my savings, to touch this glamour. Only to be insulted by
his dance partner, for my stupidity and imperfection, and rudely humiliated
by K himself.
My school Spanish is faulty when I’m unsure, but I’d
cussed him out, in fairly flawless Andalusian I’d learned from my best friend
and her mom. He’d understood.
“Fuck you. I’ll find a better teacher.”
Then, I’d run into the streets of the second most heavily
populated city in South America and was instantly lost; but, he’d followed me
and brought me back—never saying why. Or why he wouldn’t take payment for my
training.
But he’d said:
“I’m not that dream in the film, or in your head, North
American. I’m real. I’m flesh. I’m a dangerous man.”
He
is that, as he now leaned all his exquisiteness against my backside, slipping
his hand around my imperfect waist. But….
He
sniffed my hair! So, now I have dirty hair, too?
“Tango
with me, Elaine.”
“No.”
Women
do not say no to him and so he pulled me tighter to him, his hand low, on my
pubis, setting me on liquid fire which nearly poured from me. I struggled, but
the man’s made of steel and dragged me back.
“I
don’t want to,” I grumbled.
He
shifted and his half hard cock—I told you, “the Tango” gets him up!—brushed
so rudely against my sensitive ass cheeks, making me insane. I stomped on his
foot.
“Ow!”
He let go, then.
I
ran down the stairs, and halfway across the main floor to the doo—.
“Elaine!
Everyone
froze, startled, but not me, until that steel grip caught me by the elbow.
I
managed to rip away. Surprised, he grabbed me; I wiggled out, but fell. Furious,
I ripped off my high heels and threw those Mandarin torturers at his head. He
caught each, and gazed back with smugness.
“Aa-uh!”
I lost all my words in all languages.
He
ripped his own feet bare, mocking me, before lunging and seizing me by the waist,
to lift and force me against a central pillar. He stared at me, surprised; I
glared back, until his glance fell to my lips which he then took with his own,
hard and without mercy.
Yes!! This Is the way I’ve always
wanted to be kissed, I
would’ve thought; if I could think.
Our
emotions were naked and without reason, before everyone, as I gave him no mercy
in return.
The
crowd gasped, when I feverishly shoved his hand through my slit dress. And then
I gasped, when K ripped away my panties, before seconds later….
His
rock hard cock pierced into me wide and deep, and also without mercy.
Neither
of us cared that we weren’t alone, as the Tango blared louder and resumed all
around us.
I
clutched at him and bucked my hips, rocking to catch his cruel thrusts. They
were demanding, bruising, and ruthless; but, we cared not, as we fucked and
I made him even more insane for me when my slippery cunt sucked tightly on him,
demanding, grasping, and ruthless.
We
said nothing, if gutturals and panting doesn’t count.
We,
Kurt and Elaine, were in perfect, brazen synch, as we slowed our movement and
selfishly smoldered together, enjoying each other, while fucking in plain view—his
cock unbreakable and penetrating deep into my sopping wet ring, of soft, greedy,
but yielding….
We
came.
While
the others swirled and strutted around us, in their own intimate Tango.
THE
END?
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