Is this him?

The thought made fresh wetness seep into my thong.

The hands slid lower, fingers brushing the hem of my skirt. I should have stepped away. I didn’t. I arched my back a little instead, offering more. The stranger behind me groaned — I felt the vibration of it against my shoulder...and his grip tightened.

Then he was gone. The crowd shifted and I was alone again, breathing hard, thighs slick.

I kept dancing. The music got louder. My head felt floaty. Every time someone touched me I imagined it was him — the masked stranger from my fantasies. The one who would finally do what I’d been...