Well, you were ordered to...

After a moments hesitation you go. You're a little apprehensive as you were never a really good dancer and you couple that with the amount of **** you've drunk so far.

She is already at the jukebox when you get there. It's a touchscreen internet jukebox so the selection should be excellent. You finally take a moment to look her over.

Her hair is blond. It's pulled up in a very loose bun you figure, there's probably a name for it but you have no clue. She seemed to be reasonably tall, the top of her head would fit right under your chin. She's wearing a loose cream colored shirt, partially tucked into her tight blue jeans. She also has comfortable brown boots on. You try and keep from looking...but your eyes start their impression of iron as her breasts make like an electromagnet. The shirt is loose but they definately looked to be big and perky.

You step up beside her, she gives you a smirk, "Thought never come. Like what you saw?"

"Yeah. Look...I'm not a great dancer..."

"Sure you are. Everyone is. You just haven't tried. Oh this is a good one."

You look at what she picks..."Whoa...I thought you said dance..."

"I did."

"You can't dance to 'Raining Blood' by Slayer."

"Sure you can. Remember Slam Dancing is dancing."