The CPR Class

Chapter 2

She drove to a club she'd been to a few times that she liked.  The atmosphere was sexy, modern, classy.  They had good music and tasty drinks.  The two arrived right at happy hour.  Eva found an empty booth near the back of the club and sat down.  "What would you like?" she asked, glancing at the drink menu.

    "Oh, I don't drink," Arthur admitted.

    "Mormon?" said Eva, raising a coquettish eyebrow.

    "No, no.  I just don't like alcohol."

    She giggled.  "You've just never tried the right one!"

    "Naw, I don't like what alcohol does to people.  One of my best friends growing up, her dad was a hard drinker, and after I saw what liquor made him do to her, I promised myself never to touch the stuff.  That's all."

    Eva raised her eyebrows.  A female best friend, eh?  Not a good sign.  Aloud the woman said, "I hope she was okay..."

    "She wasn't, but, well, what's done is done.  You go ahead and order; I'm perfectly fine just chatting."

    She smiled.  "What about dancing, say later on?  Do you dance?"

    "A little," he confessed, as shyly as a child before their first audience.  "Not to this kind of music, though.  More the old-fashioned kind of dancing.  I'm... really out of practice."

    "Well, this kind of dancing is easy.  I'll teach you how."

    One slowly-sipped Manhattan and considerable conversation later, the woman did just that.  The song was something new, modern, with a wild, throbbing baseline and an exotic melody like something out of the mideast.  "Come on, Arthur," she said, hopping up and snatching his hand.  When he protested halfheartedly, she laughed and pulled him out on the floor.  "We've been here for almost two hours; it's about time you stretched your legs, don't you think?  Come on, Lieutenant, don't be shy.  Just let the music move you."

    "Move me.  Right," he muttered skeptically.  She demonstrated.  Deftly her hips swung from one side to the other, her arms twisting around him; she steered him by the shoulders, and when he tried to hold her in the opening stance of a waltz she pushed his hands down to her hips - maybe a little lower.  She hoped he caught a feel of her ass - yes, there, he was blushing.  She let go of his hands and he quickly returned them to her waist.  "I can't do this," he started to say, but she stopped him with a finger on his lips. 

    "You're not relaxed.  You've just got to let go.  You're not on duty right now, Lieutenant.  Let the music get in to you - just let it work its stuff, let the beat have its way.  Come on, try again."  She smiled reassuringly at him, and he sighed and said, "Okay - okay, I'll try."

    And he did relax, though it clearly took extreme effort on his part.  Once he stopped moving like Frankenstein's monster the kid was actually halfway decent, thought Eva, pleasantly surprised.  Consciously she leaned into him - consciously she made sure her pelvis brushed his as she gyrated, that her breasts rubbed against his chest through the shirt.  Ever so gradually she let her hands slip down his back - slowly, a snail's pace, so as not to freak him out.  It worked until her hands got past his waist; then she could feel him stiffening up, and she raised her grasp accordingly.  One step at a time.  Especially with a boy as shy and jittery as this one.  The club was getting busier.  Sweaty bodies crowded the dance floor.  Eva knew that it was just about time for her to make her move. 

    "This place is kind of stifling.  Let's go out and get some air?"

    "Sure, sure."  Holding her hand, he threaded a way through the crowd to the door and outside.  A pulsing rhythm pounded the air outside the club like a giant's heartbeat.  It was chilly and quiet.

    "Thanks," said Eva, brushed her hair back and smiling at him for a moment longer than was comfortable.  She sighed, glanced away and back.  "This club is getting too crowded, anyhow.  Let's get out of here."  She turned slightly, angling her body towards him, shifting her stance just a tad... and then, she turned on the Face.  Sultry, moist, beckoning-slut eyes, just so, in a face that dripped earnest intentions and girlish uncertainty - softly-parted, half-pursed lips, promising virginal purity and hot dirty lovemaking in the same woman, at the same time.  It was an expression that telegraphed the fulfillment of even the most chaste and the filthiest of fantasies.  She didn't bother with preliminaries this time - this was the Face at full power, and it almost knocked him over.  Literally.  She saw him sway a little, take a half-step back to catch himself.  ...and now for the coup de grace.

    "Want to come back to my place?"

    He mumbled something weakly about a bus.

    "I can give you a ride.  Just come inside for a moment?"

    He nodded wordlessly, as if in a trance.

    "Fantastic!  Let's go!"  Queen takes king, she thought smugly.  Checkmate.