Brixton Bounce
"Dancehall queen Keisha teaches shy IT worker David how to move—and discovers that the quiet ones always have the best rhythm where it counts."
David had no business being at the Brixton dancehall. White, awkward, two left feet. But his Jamaican coworker had insisted.
"Trust me, bruh. These girls will teach you tings."
Then he saw her. Thick doesn't begin to describe it—she was magnificent. Curves for days, moving to the bashment like the music lived inside her. Every bounce, every wine, every drop made his mouth water.
She caught him staring and grinned.
Oh no.
"You!" She pointed at him. "Come dance."
"I can't—"
"I'll teach you."
Before he could protest, she was pulling him onto the floor. Her body pressed against his, guiding his hips.
"Feel the rhythm. Move with me. That's it..."
Her ass pressed against him, and biology took over. She felt it and laughed.
"Oooh, the quiet ones always packing. I'm Keisha."
"D-David."
"David, baby, you gonna learn to wine tonight."
She took him home.
Her flat was warm, music still thumping from a speaker. She pushed him onto the couch and started moving again, dancing just for him.
"You like what you see?"
"God yes."
"Good."
Her dress came off. Then everything else. That body was even more incredible without clothes—soft belly, thick thighs, breasts that made his hands ache.
"Touch me, David. I know you want to."
He'd never been with a woman like her.
She rode him like she danced—rhythmic, intense, bouncing on him with a skill that left him breathless. Those thick thighs gripped him, her hands on his chest, her moans filling the room.
"Yes, David! Just like that! Don't you dare stop!"
He gripped her waist and gave her everything.
When she came, she screamed in patois. When he came, he forgot English entirely.
Round two happened against the wall. Round three in her bed. By round four, David was convinced he'd died and gone to heaven.
"Where did you learn—" he panted.
"Jamaican women know how to move, baby." She kissed him lazily. "In dance and in bed."
"I want to learn more."
"Then come to class on Thursday. And come here every night after."
David's coworker noticed the change immediately.
"Bruh. Why you glowing like that?"
"Met someone. At the dancehall."
"She teaching you to wine?"
David thought about the way Keisha's body moved, the sounds she made, the way she'd woken him up that morning.
"She's teaching me everything."
Brixton had transformed the awkward IT worker into something else entirely.
And every Thursday, he learned a new move.
Both kinds.