Story: The Dancer – By Les Lea

theDancer

I’d seen him dancing on the podium at my local club. I was never sure if he was spaced out or not but he seemed to be able to throw his lithe body around that tiny stage the entire night. He wore the sexiest, slinkiest, briefest of briefs as he bounced around and the sweat just poured in buckets down his slim but well developed frame. His tiny, shiny nylon briefs almost transparent from the moisture collected in the material as he gyrated in that throbbing cocoon he seemed to be confined to. Beams of flashing light pin-pointed other dancers spaced around the club but, all eyes were on him. When those beams tracked across the crowd and blazed into the undoubted star performer everyone was totally engrossed in his spinning, flexing, rhythmic dance. He looked just beautiful… I mean, really beautiful… not a term I would normally use about another guy but on this occasion I can’t think of a better description. Of course I was just one of a hundred or so other guys who were besotted by what they saw. That sweaty, silky, smooth body sensuously swirling, dipping, clapping and spinning in time to the pulsating beat that reverberated through everyone’s body was just mesmerising. His unbelievably cute and tight little bum just inches away from my face as I struggled to get ever nearer to this vision, this beautiful boy… my boy. It was always difficult because when he hit the podium… a huge crowd gathered around, others, like me getting off on the fact that some of his sweat sprayed out on to us mere mortals as he spun in what seemed complete ecstasy.

For several weeks I would go to the club just to watch him… never bothering who else was there, I didn’t want to pick someone up… it would have been a betrayal of my sexy lad up on the podium working his butt off. I pretended to myself that he was mine, we were together and all his sexy dancing was aimed just at me. When I went home after the club had closed I’d strip, lie on my bed and think of him; my pillow coming in for gallons of sweaty, spunky loads as I ground my hips into my pretend lover. I spent literally days just watching him gyrating, being particularly engrossed in the tattoo he had just above his right hip. It was quite a large depiction of a stalking panther and with every movement of the young lad’s body the tattoo seemed to move in its own special way. I was engrossed by him and his ‘mobile’ tattoo and wished that I could meet up with both and get to know them better. As my bedroom fever took complete control of my body I would make love to my pillow as if it were him. Stroking, soothing but pumping him full of my never ending ‘love’. In the morning my cock would be raw and my bollocks hurting from the number of times my love had pasted the cotton pillow case. I was obsessed about someone completely unobtainable and even though I knew it in my head, my heart wouldn’t give up on the sheer joy he brought me as he took to that small stage and performed for just ‘my’ benefit.

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