Janet felt no shock at the sudden display. Instead she remained dancing, now nude in her own mind. To her, reality was not on the dance floor, but on the stage. She was that girl. She was totally naked before the crowd. Her loins were on fire and she was a woman! She was a woman!

She looked at Martin, dancing three feet from her, imitating the same soul searing African movements of the dance. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. She began dancing for him, not aware of who he was. His image was fogged before her. This, for the moment was her man and… she was his woman!

The fire between her legs grew as she threw up her arms and tossed her head from side to side in a dance that imitated the sexual act. Her hips thrust forward, again and again and Martin responded by moving closer, grinding his pelvis at her as though he were taking her right there on the dance floor.

Their bodies were inches from each other. One of Martin's legs was between hers as they danced, rubbing against her exposed thigh. Her miniskirt was hiked high on her legs as she bent backward and forward in the most primeval motions of dance.

She watched Martin's hand come slowly toward her like a snake in the Garden of Eden, beckoning, urging her to come closer. The hand found her waist and drew her closer until their bodies touched at their loins. Janet could feel his penis hard beneath his trousers, straining at her. She ground her hips against him. Her mouth was opening, breathing heavily, spurred salaciously on by the growing fire inside her. The lights flashed in brilliant colors on her half-open lids. She put her hand on the back of his neck, leaning backward, pushing her enflamed crotch against his straining penis. She stared at him, her eyes searching for his identity. Each beat of the drum pounded at her, exciting her further. She could feel their bodies touching, touching. She imagined them to be on a bed, ready for each other, ready for the final thrust that would connect their flesh together.