The Too-Tight Pants Dance
by Avery Ray Colter

She knows not how it drives me wild.

With baited breath I stare,
As she looks contemplatively
At the pair of jeans she holds up in her hands.
She crouches on the floor; her curves transfix my eyes.
I can already see the mismatch in size.
Quietly I watch; my pulse begins to rise.

Stepping into right leg, stepping into left,
She straightens those exquisite knees;
Up she pulls them, first with ease,
Then begins the sensuous squeeze.
Shifting, tugging, wriggling,
In a figure-eight her hips gyrate,
To see it makes my eyes dilate;
The sounds she makes in quiet struggle
Echo through attentive ears.
Tremulous round mass,
Maneuvered and compressed;
On she presses with this test.

Then she turns...
...her side now facing
A man whose heart is racing.
Her tummy, ripe and tender,
Will it stand fast or surrender?
Muscles flexing once and twice,
Flesh is clamped as in a vice;
I am caught up in suspense,
As her urgency I sense.
In my body I feel heat,
So impatient yet so sweet,
As my eyes are tightly locked
onto curves so richly stocked.
The look upon her face,
So much anguish, such sweet grace.
All her strength into it goes,
For this garment now to close.
Her voice so much in need,
Flesh retreats, but not with speed;
Are my eyes tricked by my heart,
Or are threads pulling apart?

What would this girl think of me,
If she knew just how I see,
How her monumental toil
Sets this watcher's blood to boil?

"Snap!" I hear the sound,
Through all my bones it resounds;
It sends wavelets travelling on
Her sweet skin until they're gone.

She relaxes now.
The pace of her motion slows;
Her formerly excited voice
Breathing a long low sigh.

What's not bound, still expands;
I want to hold it in my hands.
If I only had the chance,
Led to yearning by her dance.

She looks downward in dismay;
What can I ever hope to say
To this girl before me now?
Can I ever tell her how
Her sweet struggle makes me feel?

She knows not how it drives me wild.