She was the pride of the fleet - a gleaming white ship with red trim that dominated any port she visited. And she was in trouble.
"Sir, we're reporting extensive damage throughout the ship - hydraulics are basically non-responsive, we're down to the last AA battery, and we're only running on a fifth of our power. If they're able to rearm and reinforce, well..."
There is truth in the dance. Bodies interacting, people displaying a primal movement, bone-deep impulse - whatever it may be - released by the rhythm.
But, like the fart sound of two sweaty chests during sex, there is humor in the dance as well. At least Rodney was a good sport about it.
"It's not so much that he has two left feet," a voice floated out onto the floor. "He has a three legged race going on out there!" Rodney ignored the jab - he knew what he looked like. Beth, however...
"Hey you wanker!" she shouted at the unseen heckler. "Why don't you get a life!?"
"Beth, please," Rodney whispered, paired with an ill-timed hip thrust.
Continued from Part 1. “So the prince and the farmer’s daughter got married and lived happily ever after.” Lydia finished up. The boys expressed their thanks for the story. Julia, however, was less than pleased. “That’s it? That’s your story?” “Yes...is there something wrong with it?” Lydia asked, genuinely concerned. “Yeah, it sucked. How fucking girly.”