To the dance floor

You decide to head to the dance floor. After all, what is a party without dancing? You hadn’t been there but a minute when you saw her, dancing with her friends.

Irena was a tall, blonde girl you had Poli Sci with. She was tall and statuesque, with blonde hair that was usually in a ponytail, but tonight was in some sort of up-do. She was a wearing a killer black dress, that barely covered her ass, and which showcased her b-cup tits nicely. Her heels were also showing off her legs nicely. To top that all off, she wore a black lace choker around her neck, which you found curiously arousing.

She was the daughter of Polish diplomats, and spoke with just a hint of an accent, which made her all the sexier. You and her would chat most days before and after class, and occasionally have lunch together, but nothing more serious than that. Hopefully, that would change tonight.

You make your way over to her as casually as you could. When she sees you, she waves at you and, leaving her friends, make her way over to you and gives you a hug. The music was too loud to talk, but judging by her smile, she was happy to see you.

You danced with each other for a while, pretty tame at first, but by the end she was grinding on you. She had to be able to feel the half-chub you were sporting. Well, if that didn’t scare her off, that was a good sign.

Eventually, the music switched to a song neither of you liked, some trap-soul garbage, and, gesturing to your empty beer and then to the bar, you suggested you two adjourn to the bar. She smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

When you finally get to the bar, where things are quiet enough that you can talk, she hugs you again.

“Zhank you so much for inviting me to the party! It’s so nice to get out and “cut loose”! And it’s so nice to see you without having to listen to Professor McGarrett drone on about International relations. I get enough of that at home!” she said with a laugh.

“Haha, of course!” you replied “What kind of party would this be if we didn’t have an honest-to-god countess under our roof!”

She rolled her eyes at you and smiled. During one of your lunches together, she had mentioned that, while her father, who had entered the Polish Diplomatic Service in the last years of the Communist regime of that country, had been a card-carrying communist, her mother was from a family that had been ennobled by the Austro-Hungarian monarchy in the 19th century. Whenever she was being dramatic, or running late, or just when you wanted to rustle her jimmies a bit, you would bow stiffly at her and address her as “Grafin de Markewitz”.

She slapped your arm. “Well this countess can drink you under the table!”

“What are we drinking?” you enquire. “Vodka, obviously. In my country they say wodka is the only drink fit for a man. So maybe on second thought, you should stick to beer!” She joked.

“Ha, well what does that make you, then?” You say as you pour two shots. You toast each other, throw back the shot, and slam the empty glasses down on the table.

After about four shots, you are feeling the . You never liked vodka, but you’ll endure it for a shot at a night with Irena.

Shot number five was a disaster. Your hand eye coordination failed, and you ended up spilling it all over your shirt. As Irena busted up laughing, slipped on some of the spilled vodka, ended up on the floor, causing Irena to laugh even harder.

She quickly stopped, however. Seeing you red-faced in embarrassment, she was kind enough not to rub it in.

“Here, let me help you” she said, giving you a hand up. Pulling you up caused her to lose her balance, and you ended up grabbing her around her waist to prevent her from falling.

“I guess I’m feeling it too!” she said laughing. “and these heels aren’t helping!”

Your arm was still around her waist, and she was leaning into you, with her arms around you. You noticed Wade walk by, give a knowing look at you and Irena, and make an obscene thrusting gesture with his hips. You flipped him off and he went on his way.

Bringing your attention back to her, Irena asked “Do you have somewhere where I can take these heels off for a while? And you need to change your shirt. You reek of .”