Lost in Translation – Part I

For a Mature Audience

I had a date to a dance theater.  My gentleman caller had planned a romantic dinner at a lovely restaurant and purchased front row seats to a sold out show.  The performance was an urban contemporary dance with an international dance troupe.   I knew my date didn’t care for this type of art, but he was pulling out all the stops to impress me. It was our third date and so far, I was very impressed.  I appreciated the effort he had put forth.  I was attracted to him because he was educated, handsome, and quite advanced in his career.  He was under 40 and had accomplished a great amount from a young age.  We had amazing conversations, and could talk about anything from politics to philosophy to the various arts.  We had not been intimate yet, but I felt tonight was the night.

He led me down the dark corridor of the theater, touching the small of my back.  We took our seats and he placed his hand on my lap, taking my hand into his.   The gesture was sweet and comforting.   The curtain rose to a dark stage.  Music began to play as shadowed figures appeared.  Suddenly a beam of light flashed as more dancers came into view.   The tempo quickened, with various people moving across the floor. 

I was drawn to him the moment he stepped on stage.  Our eyes connected and my heart began to beat to the rhythm of the music.  I unconsciously squeezed my date’s hand.  He squeezed back, perhaps mistaking my action for me inquiring about his enjoyment of the show.  At that moment, I did not care.  I could not take my eyes off this dancer.  He was exotic, fluid motions, moving his body to the music like waves on the ocean.  It was perfection.   I was so taken by him that everything around us disappeared.  There were no other dancers, no stage, no audience, no date.  Just he and I.  And he was dancing for me. 

My breath quickened, my chest rising and falling to his beat.  I was completely entranced.  He looked straight at me as he moved, communicating with me through his body.   As if in a spell, I led my date’s hand to the hem of my dress and slowly pulled it up.  I guided his hand up further, to my lace panties, gently pushing his fingers towards my center, all the while never taking my eyes off the dancer.  I was sensually intoxicated. The intensity of various sensations was incredible. I was overwhelmed with sight, sound, and touch.  I never wanted this to end. 

Without warning, my date pulled his hand away, smearing my wetness on my thighs.  I heard the sound of clapping from afar.  Yet it was getting louder, as if I was in a dream and slowly waking up.  I realized the dance had ended.  The curtains had gone down.  “Weren’t we being naughty,” my date chuckled. “It is intermission, can I get you anything?” His voice startled me out of a fog.  I wanted more of my private dancer.  I wanted to still be ensconced in my sweet reverie. 

I had forgotten how to speak.  I licked my lips, swallowed, and told him I needed go to the ladies room. He escorted me there.  I went into a bathroom partition and took off my wet panties, bewildered at how excited I had become.  I placed my intimates in my purse and walked to the faucet to splash cold water on my face.   What was wrong with me? How did I get so worked up?

Once we were back in our seats, I felt somewhat calm again.  Yet the music started, and my heart began to pound.  The dancers returned to the stage performing various acrobatic moves.  I spotted my private dancer as he did back flips across the floor.  My breath caught watching his powerful yet lithe form.  He continued on with more flips in the air as he exited the stage. 

No! Don’t go!  It was torture to have only glimpses of him.  I needed him to dominate the show.  I needed all of him.    

Luckily, I sighted him standing in the backstage.  He was breathing heavily as he pulled up his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and neck.  Time stood still as I watched sweat drip down his perfectly sculpted torso.  I could feel every drop roll up and down each muscle on his washboard stomach.  I wanted to taste those droplets.  Even though the dancing continued, I was riveted by what was occurring behind the scenes.   He turned and our eyes connected.  I felt a jolt of electricity run through my body. 

“The show is almost over.  We should leave as soon as the applause end to avoid traffic.”  My date shook me out of my fantasy once again.  The show was almost over?  How was time passing so quickly?  Oh, if I had an entire night of watching my private dancer, it still would not be enough. 

The remainder of the performance past in a flash.  The dancers took their bows.  My dancer stood on the far corner.  I was so saddened by this finale.  I was not ready to leave him.  Unfortunately, I had to go. 

My date drove me home, in a good mood, chatting away.  I nodded as if listening, yet only my physical body was present.  Everything else of me was still in the theater.  Once we reached my house, he turned off his car, leaned over and kissed me on the lips.  I closed my eyes, and my private dancer’s face came alive.  I became extremely excited, kissing him back hungrily.  I moaned into his mouth, which woke me from my trance.  I opened my eyes, and realized it was still my date.   Like a true gentleman, he unlocked his door, walked over to my side, opened the car door, and walked me to my house.  I expected him to want to come in.  Yet, he just kissed my hand and wished me a good night.    

Immerse

To be continued…

Falling in Love with Dance

Music and dance have been a part of me since I can remember.  They are essential for my daily existence.  They have been my salvation during emotionally difficult times.  Yet despite my need, I never pursued these arts seriously … until a few years ago.  I walked into my first dance class with great trepidation.  Even though I have rhythm, I was in uncharted waters.  I had never followed specific steps or choreography.  I danced freely, straight from my soul, joyously without any boundaries.    I chose Brazilian samba dancing, because the African beats spoke to me.  The Rio de Janeiro style dancers, passistas, captivated me with their beautiful costumes, bedazzled with jewelry and feathers in a rainbow of colors.  Their dance was fast, seductive, and fiery.  They had the confidence of a queen with the smoldering sensuality of a courtesan.  However, the glitz and glam was not what sold me.  What lured me in was one element that distinguished these dancers from the rest:  their smile.  Passistas dance with their hearts.  They smile, they flirt, they enchant, they bewitch, they love.