Short Stories

One Night Stand: A Short Story

This post is a short story I wrote last year, and read to the Ajijic Writers Group.

It’s different from what I usually post.  In the past year, I’ve started to write some fiction, and in the future, I will occasionally share it with you.

You can read the story as a blog or .PDF file (the link to which you’ll find at the end of the post). If you’d rather hear me read it, click on the link below. The audio is 6:29 minutes long. I hope you enjoy it.


One Night Stand

He stepped through the doors and into the bar. It was Friday night, and the place throbbed with the beat of the band. It was dark except for the glow that emanated from behind the bar and the neon beer signs that hung from the walls. The place smelled like too many years of too many spilt beers.

To the left, on the dim-lighted dance floor, he could barely make out the couples gyrating to the music. He moved forward to the bar, checking out who was sitting at the tables in his path. He came here often – sometimes alone and sometimes with his friends. This night, he didn’t recognize any faces in the crowd.

He took the last seat at the bar and his usual beer magically found its way into his grip. Thanking the bartender, he took a sip. He was closer to the dance floor now. Putting the bottle down on the bar, he turned around, instantly making eye contact with her. Self-conscious and surprised by the suddenness of the encounter, he shifted his eyes away.

He was a strikingly handsome man, but equally shy. He could never get used to women looking at him. It made him self-conscious and uncomfortable.

He turned his gaze back to the dance floor. She wasn’t looking at him anymore. He watched her as she danced alone. She wasn’t especially attractive, but the way she so gracefully moved to the music, it didn’t matter. Her hips swayed enticingly and her skirt moved back forth against her like a flag freely unfurling in the wind. She seemed mesmerized by the music as her hands reached out as if plucking flowers from a tree. Or they’d come together as if cupping a fleeting butterfly within them. She looked at him again – her eyes reaching out for him.

Paralyzed, he tried to smile back. A million thoughts raced through his tortured mind. He finished the first beer, and another appeared for him on the bar.

She danced on alone for many songs. Tossing her hair back away from her face, he could see her breasts outlined against her cotton tank top. As she swayed about dance floor, he began to undress her in his mind. Did she move like that in bed, he thought. Were her eyes undressing him too?

The band stopped playing, and tossing her hair back again, she shot him a glance as she moved toward the door. Feeling ashamed at his thoughts, he watched her walk out, and ordered another beer.

The week flew by and he grew increasingly uneasy as Friday night neared. He obsessed about the flirting encounter day and night. If she was there, he was determined not to let the opportunity to meet her slip away.

On Friday evening, he nervously walked into the dark bar with the music blaring. As he moved to take his usual seat, he scanned the crowd. Would she be here? He wondered. Half of him hoped she would be; the other half of him hoped she wouldn’t. If she didn’t show up, he could peacefully enjoy his beers without the anxiety that she’d create within him.

At first, he didn’t see her. The lighting wasn’t good. She was dancing by herself again watching the band rather than the bar. He sat down, as the bartender met him with a beer. Turning around their eyes met. She smiled. He nodded his head.

The band played on and she danced on alone. It seemed as though the beat was getting faster. Or was it the throbbing in his temples as his heart began racing with anxiety. The flirting continued – through one beer, then another, and yet another.

What was the matter with him? Why couldn’t he move off the chair?

Then the stalemate broke. She moved toward him. As she got closer, he froze, choking on his thoughts. She was standing in front of him now. She held out her hand coaxing the reticent wall flower off his seat. Her hand felt delicate as he accepted it. They walked through the sea of tables to dance floor. The speakers blared out a fast dance song.

Standing in front of each other they each separately started to move. Her hips swayed and her hands and arms began to move with the music. He wasn’t aware of his own body; only hers. He could feel her across the few feet that separated them. One dance led to another and another. Her skin glistened as the beads of sweat rolled down her body. They never said a word to each other as the bar faded into a blur, and the world became just them.

Then, the band began a slow song. He held out his left hand, and she took it with her right. He put his right hand around her back, and she put her’s on his shoulder. He pulled her closer to him as they started to move. Their fingers gently caressed each other as they intertwined. He moved his right hand to the base of her spine to pull her closer. She moved her left hand to the nape of his neck as its fingers gently massaged him.

Their bodies moved as one. In a perverse way, he reveled it the dampness of her cotton tank top. He imagined being with her in bed, embracing her after making tumultuous love. With his eyes closed, he could feel every breath she took and each beat of her heart.

The song ended.

She slowly pulled away. She reached up and quickly placed a kiss on his lips. Turning she walked toward the door, never looking back – confident that he wouldn’t follow.

He stood there entranced. He couldn’t move.

He returned to the bar the next week, but the dancer never showed, nor was she there the following week, nor ever again.

Copyright © 2015, John Comando. All rights reserved.