It’s dark and I’m pressed up against another body. Another body whose hands are on me, and we’re sweaty. We’re dancing. Or swaying, or grinding, moving together, wanting. In my fantasy, this person is a woman. With long hair or with short hair, it does not matter. I’m wearing a dress, a short dress, and stockings. She pulls me even closer to her, grinding her hips against mine, her leg between mine, mine between hers. The sweat and desire is palpable between us, but I do not kiss her. Kissing her would ruin the fantasy, extinguish the desire, and kissing on a stranger on a dark dance floor is rarely satisfying.
The fantasy changes, now the body against mine is male, taller, bigger hands on my waist, on the small of my back. Someone I know, someone with a very strong, attractive jaw. I’m in high femme drag, fake hair on my face, but he doesn’t care, he likes it, is as turned on by gender bending as I am. Maybe his mouth meets mine, maybe not – it’s inconsequential to the fantasy. All that matters is our bodies pushed together, our sweat, the wetness between my legs, my hips pressing into him. I can feel his want, and that is all I want – to consume his desire for my body.
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