him.)
We all dance as a group for the majority of the fast songs. Boxwood has come up with a unique set list. All the songs are about love, but with a twist. They are also about injury, pain, bleeding. Songs like Bad Medicine, Bleeding Love, Cuts Like a Knife, Tear Us Apart – all done in Boxwood’s aggressive rock style. Finally, I have the opportunity to slow dance with Davis when the guys start playing Heart-Shaped Box. Charlie sings it more articulately than Kurt Cobain did, but still with an edge. When there is a break in the lyrics, Charlie hops down from the stage, swoops Jules up in his arms and kisses her with abandon. We all witness it and whoop our approval. He really is a prisoner of love for Jules. When he dances with her, he never takes his eyes from hers until it’s time for him to get back up and finish the song. When he does finish he leans down and kisses her again. All the “Boxwood Groupies” that the boys have recently been acquiring, sigh with jealousy. Lucky Jules.
I’m happy the songs have gotten slower because I’m more tired than I realized. Davis is a little buzzed, having had more than a few beers and birthday shots of Jack. I can tell because he is singing in my ear, and he actually does sound a bit like Kurt Cobain. When he is not singing to me, he is kissing my neck, ears, my temples. One of his hands is on my lower back, his pinkie creeping toward my bottom. The other hand is laced in mine, tucked between us, pushed up against his chest and my breast. He slowly moves his thumb back and forth, stroking the top of my breast. I can’t help but sigh, the movement is arousing and torturous. I feel a small trickle of moisture slide between my breasts. I think it’s time to get out of here. I pull back to gaze at Davis’ slightly loopy grin and then his beautiful eyes. They are roaming all over my face, but then jerk downward toward my chest.
Shooting me a lopsided grin, he slurs, “DD?”
“Yes, Mavis?”
“I’m a little drunk.”
I flex up on my tippy toes to whisper sexily into his ear, “I know. Let me do my job and get you back home, birthday boy. You still have my present to open.”
Still embracing me, he leans back slightly to look at me, “I thought you said you didn’t get me anything.”
“I realized I had something after all. I wrapped it before we came to the dance. Come on.” I give him a wink and then a peck on the lips.
Davis becomes quite motivated at the prospect of unwrapping another present or maybe for some alone time with me. He goes to gather up Kathleen and Smitty. From where I stand, I can see an animated conversation between the three of them. Lots of pointing back and forth between Kath and Smitty and then a big smile from Davis. I wonder what they could be discussing. Come to think of it, even though I have been wrapped up in Davis all night, I haven’t seen those two out of each other’s company for the entire evening. Hmmm.
Like we did when we arrived, we walk out with opposite dates. Me with Smitty. Kathleen with Davis. None of us are holding hands, or giving any signs of intimacy. When we get to the car, Davis roots around in his pockets, pulls out the keys and then pushes them into my palm, sliding his fingertips across, sending a shiver through me. There are a few flashes from photographers, but less than when we arrived.
Davis says loudly, “Smitty, I’m gonna sit in front. I might get car sick … K, man?” I know he’s said this for the benefit of the photogs, just so he can sit up front with me. He’s never complained of motion sickness
We all dance as a group for the majority of the fast songs. Boxwood has come up with a unique set list. All the songs are about love, but with a twist. They are also about injury, pain, bleeding. Songs like Bad Medicine, Bleeding Love, Cuts Like a Knife, Tear Us Apart – all done in Boxwood’s aggressive rock style. Finally, I have the opportunity to slow dance with Davis when the guys start playing Heart-Shaped Box. Charlie sings it more articulately than Kurt Cobain did, but still with an edge. When there is a break in the lyrics, Charlie hops down from the stage, swoops Jules up in his arms and kisses her with abandon. We all witness it and whoop our approval. He really is a prisoner of love for Jules. When he dances with her, he never takes his eyes from hers until it’s time for him to get back up and finish the song. When he does finish he leans down and kisses her again. All the “Boxwood Groupies” that the boys have recently been acquiring, sigh with jealousy. Lucky Jules.
I’m happy the songs have gotten slower because I’m more tired than I realized. Davis is a little buzzed, having had more than a few beers and birthday shots of Jack. I can tell because he is singing in my ear, and he actually does sound a bit like Kurt Cobain. When he is not singing to me, he is kissing my neck, ears, my temples. One of his hands is on my lower back, his pinkie creeping toward my bottom. The other hand is laced in mine, tucked between us, pushed up against his chest and my breast. He slowly moves his thumb back and forth, stroking the top of my breast. I can’t help but sigh, the movement is arousing and torturous. I feel a small trickle of moisture slide between my breasts. I think it’s time to get out of here. I pull back to gaze at Davis’ slightly loopy grin and then his beautiful eyes. They are roaming all over my face, but then jerk downward toward my chest.
Shooting me a lopsided grin, he slurs, “DD?”
“Yes, Mavis?”
“I’m a little drunk.”
I flex up on my tippy toes to whisper sexily into his ear, “I know. Let me do my job and get you back home, birthday boy. You still have my present to open.”
Still embracing me, he leans back slightly to look at me, “I thought you said you didn’t get me anything.”
“I realized I had something after all. I wrapped it before we came to the dance. Come on.” I give him a wink and then a peck on the lips.
Davis becomes quite motivated at the prospect of unwrapping another present or maybe for some alone time with me. He goes to gather up Kathleen and Smitty. From where I stand, I can see an animated conversation between the three of them. Lots of pointing back and forth between Kath and Smitty and then a big smile from Davis. I wonder what they could be discussing. Come to think of it, even though I have been wrapped up in Davis all night, I haven’t seen those two out of each other’s company for the entire evening. Hmmm.
Like we did when we arrived, we walk out with opposite dates. Me with Smitty. Kathleen with Davis. None of us are holding hands, or giving any signs of intimacy. When we get to the car, Davis roots around in his pockets, pulls out the keys and then pushes them into my palm, sliding his fingertips across, sending a shiver through me. There are a few flashes from photographers, but less than when we arrived.
Davis says loudly, “Smitty, I’m gonna sit in front. I might get car sick … K, man?” I know he’s said this for the benefit of the photogs, just so he can sit up front with me. He’s never complained of motion sickness
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