Restraint

"Give me your hand." She mummered extended her own.

He placed his hand in hers, and slowly she taught him. First a few fumbling steps; then a couple movements in time.

A jazzy number hushed by smoke wafted through the joint, and they bobbed in time. Her dress hung lose about her, and the missing undergarments enticed him all the more.

He hated dancing, but just to be close enough to enjoy the rhythmic scene that happened before him. Fuck it. He'd dance.

The bootleg bourbon burned his throat but his feet warmed as it took effect.

Courage is a funny thing ain't it?

He couldn't remember being so courageous before. He'd had his share of scraps as a kid. He took his licks from dad and had returned the favor when the time came. He had held a gun and fired it aiming for death. But none of those acts took what he'd call courage.

He had a temper. His temper didn't make him brave. He knew that. It made him quite stupid and rather impulsive.

He was a brute. That's what Molly Carnahan called it, when he gave her a good slap. Not that really she deserved it, but he reacted rashly, like always.

Tonight he practiced courage.

One of the town people was heading into the city and he tagged along. It was a payday afternoon. His first paycheck. He could get a little fun tonight. He'd said good- bye soon after they arrived, tellin the man he'd figure his way home later. He wandered about and stopped in a little shop for a sandwich.

The evening gave way to the dark of night, and a giggle had stirred him from his aimless wandering of the city streets. A tight blonde was loosely hung upon the arm of a smooth type of fellow. As they entered the street music followed them out.

He crossed the street and entered the noisy place. It was filled with lots of young people laughing over music that kept them dancing.

A small table in the corner suited him and he took a seat.

"Whatcha havin handsome?" A leggy brunette whose breasts battled with her buttons leaned over his table to talk in his ear.

"C-coke?"

That was hysterical. Funniest thing she'd ever heard. She looked him up and down and motioned that she'd be right back.

He burned. How dare she laugh. Fucking cunt. He'd wanted to hit her. But he lowed his head and clenched his knees in his fists. Slowly he looked back up and she was sauntering away, indicating she'd return.

As he sat there he watched the jubilee of drunken gyrating that happened on the dance floor. His waitress retuned.

"Coke, no ice" she winked at him. The short glass was half full and lighter than coke. He turned the glass in his hand momentarily, then tossed the liquid down his throat. She indicated that she'd follow up with another and gave a loud laugh as she moved to the next table.

Pausing close to the tall man at the next table, he slid his hand up between ample thighs. His girl sat cluelessly next to him watching the crowd dance. The eager waitress giggled and plied herself away just before his hand reached the glory land.

James looked down at his empty glass and instantly wished he had another to wash down the lump in his... throat. Again, his hand clenched the fabric on his knees, but with much different feelings in his stomach. He raised his eyes from his glass, and was upward glance was met with a dark pair of eyes that burned him, instantly.

She peered out under her heavy lashes and he took her in. The pale dress that hung on her shoulders was beaded and glittered as she danced. He couldn't take his eyes off her. She and her dance partner moved to the music, but her movements were more subtle. There was a relaxed air about her. The steps were contemporary but the execution timeless. The set ended and the crowd's laughter loudened in the absence of music. They dispersed from the dance floor looking for another glass of goodtime.

He was delivered a few more iceless cokes and he absentmindedly drank them down as he watched her across the room.

She stood talking to her dance partner but her attention was else where. She soon rid herself of him by sending him on a quest for a drink.

She moved past the crowd and found herself in the empty chair at his table.

"Hello" her eyes studied the table and her voice was deep and husky. She moved her finger in a circle, tracing a water stain.

"Hi" he whispered back after a few moments. He watched her across the table waiting for her to look up. Across the room, she had glared into his soul, but so close she wouldn't look up from the table.

He saw her beau come back double fisted with bourbon but he was unable to locate her in the dark corner.

They sat there like that until the music started again. She stood up from the table and offered her hand back without eye contact.

"Give me your hand." He took her hand. That took courage. Not that her took her hand, but that he didn't take all of her right there.

He showed great restraint in that moment. Without his restraint, he would have placed her atop the table and grabbed her knees in each of his firm hands. He would have slid his hand up her thigh and found the clasp for her stockings. He would have snapped them against her thighs to remind her of the force he'd give her. He'd allow his hands to continue their journey past her stockings on to her bare flesh and find that she has left all proper undergarments at home. He would have found her. He would spread her apart softly with his thumbs, exposing her, and she would have moaned as the air hit her. He'd allow his index finger to explore her as his other hand worked to undo his pants. He'd start gently, knowing that anyone who chose to look in their direction, would catch wise to their actions. He'd relish in the danger of pushing into her with the rhythm of the the music, as everyone drunkenly danced, distracted from his carnal exploration into her. He'd stare into her eyes and forced her to look at him. Held her chin up so she was forced to look him in the eye while he took her on the table.

But, he had courage.

Courage to restrain himself. And he was painfully rewarded as she bobbed on the dance floor for him. His mind reeled as his feet danced.