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There were only a few couples, so it was still easy for me to follow them. The first few songs were faster-paced, and they stayed moving, never getting very close. Then soon, a slower, more romantic song started. He pulled her into him, and they started swaying together.I watched them on the floor dancing through several slow romantic songs. With each song, he crept his hands lower until he had them cupping her ass. I knew by now he had confirmed there were no panties under them white jeans. I watched his fingers flex on her ass cheeks.As the night went on, they started alternating between dancing and getting very friendly in one of the more private booths. I really didn’t have a great vantage point, but I could tell when she threw her head back, he must have been massaging her pussy through those jeans. I was pretty sure she was doing the same to his cock.It wasn’t long after this I saw her get up and head towards the bathroom. After she disappeared into the bathroom, my cell. The charcoal was free. We headed home. Except for a blow job so she could sketch my erection we didn't make love. I modeled nude. She sketched. We talked. I told her about the City and my artist friends and the high school for artists in Harlem. We cuddled and slept. My mother arrived around sunrise waking me. She looked exhausted. She went to bed. I stayed up thinking.When light broke through the window the little whore awoke. "You're still here. I'm still here," she said quietly."Let's go have breakfast," I said.We went to the neighborhood boulangerie for baguette and café au lait. A pretty girl my age served us. She had dirty blonde frizzy hair, blue eyes, a long face and a body used to work. She had always been nice to me and we had chatted a few times amiably, but not that morning. When we got up to leave I asked what bothered her. She looked down and spat out, barely audible, "Putain." She looked up revealing teary eyes."Wait a second," I said, but the little whore pulled me.
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