Tag: remembering mardi gras

Remembering Mardi Gras

I was wearing ten strands of beads, and the night was just beginning. My date had left to find a restroom and I hadn’t seen him since. Then again, who needs a date at Mardi Gras?

My dress was tight and soaked from sweat and spilled drinks. I smelled like Rum & Coke. I had worn a tube dress because it yanks down so quickly and easily, and I was determined to win my share of beads. It was also short, in case I gathered the courage to try earning a few more strands of Mardi-Gras beads. But so far I hadn’t dared – that was like inviting rape. And every man in a three foot radius grabbed for your pussy the second you lifted your skirt.

“What will you do with your beads afterwards?” yelled a voice at my ear, straining to be heard above the music and noise of the crowd. I craned my neck to see him: the crowd was so tightly packed that it was nearly impossible to turn around.

“I thought I’d hang them on my grandmother’s grave,” I shouted over my shoulder. “She always did love Mardis Gras.”

He laughed. It was a rich, dark Cajun laugh. “You’re funny. I appreciate that.”

I felt him put his hands on my hips, which constitutes ‘dancing together’ in a crowd like this. I looked down. His hands were large and dark, with fingers that were thin and elegant but also strong. Heat rushed to between my legs. His head leaned forward against the back of mine. We danced. Several minutes later he spoke again.

“You remind me of my best friend in high school. I can’t figure why.”

“I hope your best friend was a girl.”

He laughed again. “Lor’, yes. I haven’t seen her since high school.” A minute later he added, “I think it’s your hair. She had long hair; she kept it just the way you do.”

“Were you two strictly friends?”

At first it seemed like he hadn’t heard me, though I knew he had. He took so long to reply.

“I always wanted more, but I never had the guts.”

I could feel him growing harder against my ass. The heat between my legs grew in like. I pressed slightly backwards, rubbing back and forth against him. His breath rushed past my ear. His hands migrated downwards until they came to rest at the hem of my dress. The heat between my legs grew again, and I could feel myself growing wet.