The Pleasure Seekers

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So when I saw The Corporation’s ad looking for volunteers I was happy to sign up.  They didn’t call it “time travel,” but that’s what it was.  A handful of people were going to be sent to another era.  They wouldn’t be able to come back.  Only a few people would be selected because they wanted to examine the impact over time.There were so many appealing years to choose from, but they were only selecting one person for each era to prevent overlap.  I chose to apply for a decade that I assumed wouldn’t have as many applicants.  With the non-stop partying, the promiscuity, and the appreciation for slick dance moves, I knew the 1970s would be perfect for me!On the day I went back they hooked me up with some period-appropriate clothing and haircut.  Unfortunately, they wouldn’t let me take a sports almanac so I could make some wagers, but I memorized a few results and enough about the stock market to set myself up nicely.  They took me to an older building and hooked me up to some fancy machinery.  Then they gave me a sedative and soon I was fast asleep.When I woke up I was in the same room, but the bed was different and the walls were a different color.  The fancy machinery was gone.  I was surrounded by some scientist types with seventies hair and mustaches.  I had grown a pretty sweet mustache myself in anticipation of my adventure.  I assumed at least one of the ankara escort scientists was originally from my area and had been sent back to build a team and set up a facility with The Corporation’s money.The head guy gave me a quick medical exam.  When he was satisfied they sent me on my way with a handful of greenbacks, a fake passport and driver’s license, a map of the city, and handwritten directions to the apartment they’d rented in my name.  Of course, there were not any ridesharing apps in 1977, so I walked a few blocks until I could hail a cab.  I got in and gave the driver the address.  Fortunately, he knew the area since he certainly didn’t have a smartphone or Google maps.The apartment wasn’t fancy, but it had a prime location near some nightlife and it was furnished with the basics.  I had a bedroom, a dining room, cookware, dishes, toiletries, and a seating area facing a cube-shaped television.  I didn’t bother turning it on to see what was on the three or four channels I could pick up with the attached antenna.  Another man might have worried about his finances or bought some groceries, but I’m only good at two things–dancing and screwing–and I was eager to do both.  I was in a time before the biggest public health concerns and the futile war on drugs.  I’d come to the 1970s in order to live it up.First, I needed to get some new ankara escort bayan threads.  The Corporation’s clothing had me looking like Burt Reynolds trying to outrun Smokey.  I wanted to look like Travolta trying to dance his way out of Bay Ridge.It was easy enough to find the right shops. This was before the takeover of the big box store.  There were boutiques on every corner.Back at my apartment, I got dressed for a night on the town.  I showered, shaved, and slapped on an ample dose of my newly purchased Hai Karate aftershave. I slid on my nut-hugging sky blue Jockey briefs and white slacks that were so tight that a blind person could see my ample bulge.  My shirt was black silk with huge lapels and unbuttoned to show off my chest.  My white vest and blazer matched my slacks and my zip-up heeled ankle boots were made of shiny black leather.  I used the blow dryer to perfectly shape my coiffure and to fluff the big patch of chest hair sticking out of my open shirt. I combed my mustache and put on a big medallion on a gold chain.  I knew the outfit alone was going to make the ladies weak in the knees.  And my moves on the dance floor would melt the elastic in their panties.Finding a disco in 1977 wasn’t a challenge.  There were a lot of chumps in line looking like they’d raided John Denver’s closet for clothes, but when the bouncer saw escort ankara me I was beckoned right on in.  No doubt the man recognized class.  I grabbed a drink from the bartender and waited for my moment to hit the floor.I didn’t look for a partner.  I’ve never been the type of creeper who sneaks up on a woman dancing alone and tries to make a move.  Plus, I was certain the party would come to me.  I started at the side of the floor.  I moved my hips with the music.  My feet took over. Gradually, I moved to the center of the floor. I did the hustle.  I did the bump.  I did the bus stop.  By the time I got to the point move, all eyes were on me.  I even slipped in a little funky chicken.  I was feeling the groove and in my own world.  I didn’t bother scoping the room for women.  It was Debbie who first approached me.  She was petite with platinum blond hair wearing heels and a purple glitter dress with one strap over her right shoulder.We danced to ABBA, KC and the Sunshine Band, and the Spinners.  Debbie was digging my moves.  I was digging everything about her.“You dance so well!” she told me.“It’s the second-best thing I do,” I told her.“And what’s the first?” she asked flirtatiously.“Let’s just say my best moves are best enjoyed in private,” I responded.“Maybe you can show them to me one day,” she said.“There is no time like the present.”Debbie took my hand and started walking toward the door. Off to the side, I saw another woman approaching us.  She had dark skin, an afro, and a curvy body.  She was wearing a button-down denim mini-skirt and a silky red floral shirt tied in a knot to show off her midriff.  

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