Moving to the Beat of a Drum

He was at it again. At least, I assumed it was a “he. I hadn’t seen this new neighbor yet, but oh Lord, had I ever heard him. Every night, there he was, drumming away, a complicated beat, a complicated rhythm, and a complicated way to keep me from getting enough sleep. But tonight¦tonight I’d had it. Time to tell this annoying jerk once and for all that yes, I loved music, but I didn’t love it at two in the morning.

I changed back into what I had worn that day, a loose white t-shirt and shorts. It was an incredibly hot summer, and I had tried not to admit to myself that if the drumming hadn’t kept me awake, the heat just might have. But insomnia is always easier to take when you having something “ or someone “ to blame it on. So next door I went, after slipping into my bunny slippers, and I knocked on his door.

Through the door I heard a cry of, “Just a minute! And then the drumming stopped. If only it had stopped three hours ago. Even two! And then the door slowly opened, and there stood one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever seen. Nipple-length, thin dreadlocks (nipple-length because he was topless, wearing only shorts), rich, warm, dark brown eyes, and the fullest, most kissable lips imaginable.

“Uh, I stuttered, then tried to elaborate. “Uh¦

“Yes? What is it? His voice was just as beautiful as he was, a smooth, deep, flowing sensuality in his every word. I could happily listen to that voice all night, I thought.

“You know, he continued, “I just put a pot of water on the stove for tea. I know this may be forward of me, especially since it’s incredibly late at night, but perhaps you’d like to join me for a cup? I haven’t met any of my neighbors yet, and based on your bunny slippers, I’m guessing you live in the building.

“Why not? I smiled, and followed him into his apartment. Why not, indeed.

His living room was positively filled to the brim. All over the place there were African masks, beautiful, glossy drums, and piles upon piles of CDs. Luckily, there was just enough space on a brown, threadbare couch for me to sit down.

“Just a moment, and I’ll check on the water, he told me. “And I hope the level of disorder doesn’t disturb you. It’s just that I’ve moved in so recently, and I haven’t had time to get everything organized.

“Oh, of course, I certainly know what the first few nights “ or few weeks “ can be like after you move.

“Good. My name’s Enrique, by the way. And you?


“Clara¦what a beautiful name. Has a musical quality to it, a beat, one might say. And I would know, Enrique said, winking at me. “You’ve probably noticed that I’m a musician by now, seeing all these drums, etc. scattered about. Then a whistle came from what must have been the kitchen. “Right, the tea! I’ll be right back.

He left the room, and I picked up the CDs next to the couch, flipping through them for a few moments. Nobody I’d heard of, but I wasn’t too familiar with drumming, or the type of music which tended to emphasize it – I liked mostly indie rock and rap. The third CD I picked up was called “Tantric Rhythms, and had a couple gazing faux-soulfully into each others’ eyes. And of course, that was the one I was staring at when Enrique came back into the room.

“Ah, that’s one of my favorites, he said as he settled in next to me on the couch. I blushed, something which I’ve always been incredibly good at doing. Yes, I’m a bit of a prude, but I found I couldn’t help entertaining thoughts of him popping in the CD, of us following along with the music, letting our bodies match its rhythm¦

Fuck. Now I was getting wet, in a strange man’s apartment, in the middle of the night. What on earth had gotten into me?

“Would you like to drink the tea while we listen to that? I promise I won’t make any untoward moves, but it’s not just your name that’s beautiful, I must admit. His gaze made it clear that he meant his words, and so I nodded my head at his suggestion. No, it certainly wasn’t because he’d called me beautiful that I was allowing him to make put on this obviously sexual music “ no, it was the growing arousal flowing under my skin that made me agree to it.

So he put the CD on, and as deep, bass notes began to come out of his large speakers, he began to dance, waving his hips from side to side, lifting up his arms, and it was beautiful, and it was hot, the way he danced, the way his body flowed ever-smoothly along with the beats and the notes that guided his every movement. I couldn’t help myself “ I got up and joined him. I’ve never thought of myself as much of a dancer, but something about this music, about this moment, and about this man, well, I was willing to make a fool of myself if that was what the situation called for.

And so I writhed my way towards him, and he flowed towards me, his movements smooth and slow, mine a little faster, until his arms were wrapped around me, his fingers dancing across my thinly-clothed sides. It was then that I realized that I’d forgotten to put on a bra on my way over here, because a glance downwards told me my nipples were surprisingly hard for such a hot night. But what we were doing, this forbidden-feeling dance, these touches, his finger and hands squeezing me in just the right ways, this was heating up the night even more.

Moments later, Enrique seemed to notice my nipples straining against my t-shirt, and his hands came closer, closer to them, until his fingertips brushed against each of them, just slightly, so very gently, and then his large hands cupped my breasts and squeezed. I melted against him then, but still managed to stay upright, and still, still we danced, smooth, back and forth, as I felt him grow hard against my ass, felt him press his cock against me with a groan of pleasure. “Mmm, I wasn’t expecting this when I answered my door.

“Me neither. I was just coming over her to complain about your drumming, I laughed, a laugh that turned into a gasp as he squeezed my breasts hard and fast, and then again, a pulse of pressure that came and went in time with the music.

“You really know how to move, sweetheart. Enrique sighed, then, his lips brushing against my ear. The sigh sent shivers down my back.

“I¦thanks. I really haven’t danced much, you know. Just by myself.

“You dance with yourself, huh? Can I¦can I watch you touch yourself to this music? Can I watch your fingers dance across that little clit I know you have buried between your legs?

“Y-yes, you can, I told him, words that certainly surprised me. But I followed up on my answer, pulling off my clothes as I walked towards his couch, shedding the last of them as I reached it. I sat down and spread my legs, showing this gorgeous man my pussy, showing him how wet I had grown from his touch, from our dancing.

“I love how wet you are, Clara. Now show me what you do when you’re alone. Enrique slowly lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs and leaning forward. The music still pulsed against my skin, a steady beat, a beat I could match easily, and so I let my fingers follow along, each circle of my clit following the sounds, the speed. And then, then it sped up, faster, heavier, perfect timing because oh, did I ever want to come. But when I was almost there, so close, Enrique lunged, and then his fingers replaced mine, slapping my clit in time to the music, and he kissed me for the first time. I came during that kiss, came in waves, each beat of the music matching the pulses of my cunt.

My eyes fluttered open, and then I was staring into Enrique’s squinting eyes, crinkled up to match a wide smile. I swallowed, and waited for my breath to slow enough for me to speak. “I¦thank you, Enrique.

“Of course, sweetheart. Now, would you like to have that tea? I’m guessing it’s a little cold by now, but on a night like this, I don’t know what I was thinking, serving you hot tea.


Enrique and I talked for hours, sharing stories. He told me that he made his living drumming for the local orchestra, as well as playing in a band at local clubs and parties. It was strange, getting to know him after we’d been so intimate, but I found that didn’t bother me as much as it could have. I woke just as the sun was rising, collapsed against him, and as he woke, too, he led me into his bedroom, and we fucked, slowly, as the room filled with light. Then he served me some oatmeal and toast, and then I went home. Thank goodness it was the weekend, because I had some major sleep to catch up on. But first, I had to go to the music store a few blocks down, and buy a small drum.

That night, when he started drumming, I matched his staccato beats with my own, and I heard a gleeful laugh coming through the wall we shared. We drummed into the night, and then I went to bed at two, too tired to stay awake. But tonight, after three quick knocks from my side of the wall, he stopped drumming too, and yelled, “Goodnight! in that lovely voice of his, a voice that began singing a gentle song, one which carried me off to sleep, and which must have led me into my incredibly hot dreams.

Maggie Morton

Maggie Morton's first novel, Dreaming of Her, is published by Bold Strokes Books - it's an erotic, lesbian, fantasy novel, and has a fair share of romance as well. Her gay, fantasy novella A Fairy's Embrace is published by Xcite Books, and her writing appears in various anthologies, including Eve's Big Bang, Kinky Girls, and Dark Desires. She lives in Northern California with her partner and their Japanese Bobtail.

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