F is for Fantasy

All he can do is stare while she dances to the pulsing beat.

He can’t explain why he’s so captivated by her. He barely even knows her.

She’s beautiful, of course, he thinks as her tanned body spins and her long, dark hair flows with her. She’s young. Too young for him, he knows, and maybe that’s part of it.

As he gazes at her gyrating figure, he imagines a world where they end up together. Maybe they bump into each other at the store. They laugh. They meet for drinks, then for dinner. One date becomes two, then three.

He brings her home to meet the parents, and, as expected, they don’t approve. In the fantasy though, they eventually accept her and embrace her when he proposes…

The music winds down, and the girl stops. She leans over the chair he’s sitting in and pecks him on the cheek.

“Another dance, my love?” She asks.

“Of course, my dear.” He reaches into his pants and pulls out another $20.

The next song begins, and she starts grinding on his lap as he drifts away.