“Light-years,” she suddenly said aloud. It had always pained Sta-ie-che that, to the day of his death, he never understood why she had done so. She told her mother that she felt she owed it to her father’s memory to help in this way. There was no force chair for Sta-ie-che. The craft had been designed for five men. And, of course, it will appeal to the nerds and techies. As she bounded from one end of the stage to the other, she used several of the standard pleasure dancer moves which thrust her cunt or her ass toward the audience while she simulated the pelvic motions of sexual union. Then she reflexively added, “But I can dance better than that.”
She wasn’t sure whether or not she had seen the particular video of which he spoke, but she was pretty sure that what she said about being able to dance better than the winner was true.
