After we finish eating you invite me out to the dance floor.
I replace my shoe and take your offered hand, following you
to the open area for a slow dance. I tense up briefly as
your arm wraps around my waist, but soon I relax as we begin
to move across the floor with the slow rhythm. Seizing the
moment, I kiss you, warm and tenderly on your mouth. You
respond by pulling me a fair bit closer, so that my breasts
are pressing firmly against your chest. Our sweaty palms
part so my arms can wrap around your shoulders as your left
hand joins your right along the small of my back. We are now
barely swaying with the music as our foreheads press
together and our noses just barely touch.

When the song ends the band starts an up-tempo number, but
we leave the dance floor rather than continue dancing; we
are both getting riled up, and we don’t want to work it off
on the floor. It had been our intention at the beginning of
the evening to ring in the new year at the party, but now I
can think of nothing else than taking you up to my hotel
room to work off our sexual tension in a much more
productive fashion. We stop briefly to claim my purse from
the coat check before heading hand-in-hand through the lobby
to the elevators.

We get on the elevator with an older couple who are
apparently too tired to see the evening through to the end.
We stand in the back of the car, our arms around each other.
Your hand starts to rub my ass through my dress, a prelude
for what is to come.

When the other couple gets off the elevator on the sixth
floor, we turn up the heat. Moving in front of me, you press
your body up against mine and push me against the back wall.
Our mouths meet for a deep, passionate kiss, our tongues
jousting with the hormonal energy we are generating. The
next eleven floors pass all too quickly, and before we know
it the doors open as the pleasant but neutral voice
announces our arrival at the eighteenth floor. Reluctantly,
we part and step out on to my floor. When we make it to my
room, your hands are all over me as I fumble through my
purse looking for the plastic card that serves as he room
key. I scold you playfully and slap your hand, asking you to
please control yourself for twenty seconds so that I can get
us into the room.

Once inside, our moods suddenly shift. The tension has
shifted up to another notch, and once again we feel nervous.
I call down to room service to have them send up a bottle of
champagne so that we will be able to celebrate the changing
of the calendar in an appropriate fashion. For the next
fifteen minutes we sit on the edge of the bed, necking like
two high schoolers on our second date. We both laugh as I
take off your tie and toss it across the room.