Horizontal Swing
Part I

Dance class was fun as usual. It was great to have the undivided attention of the teacher. Much less a charming one that I feel attracted to. Things seemed to be heating up and I wondered if it was in my imagination that he appreciated me as more than just a student. I considered myself mature enough not to jump to conclusions based on his attractive nature and winning personality. At the same time I felt a move that was definitive was needed. Someone had to give a signal that the other could act upon safely, or simply ignore with a touch of grace. It had to be clear enough to be acted upon, but gentle enough that if both did not feel the same, it could be forgotten and moved past.

This class therefore was to be about just these sorts of signals.

Tristan’s hands were on my hips, he demonstrated proper movement by moving them for me. Rhythm was just as important as the moves themselves. Being that I was already greatly attracted this lesson was not helping me keep any level of composure. I was forced to look away often, afraid to impose upon him the obvious desire in my eyes. His voice brought me out of my self-imposed distance as he insisted, “Anne, I told you not to look away. You need to look at me.”

With incredible strength I forced myself to face forward. I moved my head slowly and coyly. His hands were still firm on my hips and I couldn't remember if it was absolutely necessary to be dancing this close. Our eyes met as I gave him my focus and he smiled and affirmed, “Very good, that’s it!” I felt shaky and nervous looking into his eyes while he praised me. Then I focused, trying to drive my uncertainties away for lessons. I still had to fight my passion, attempting restraint. It made it all the more difficult seeing the intensity in his eyes. I realized his passion could be for the dance itself and not the female partner he now had in his clutches.

All the same, his hands felt stronger and tighter on my hips, he pushed me forward and back in a silky manner and I felt like my skin would catch on fire from the flames now leaping free of my eyes. This was so much like a metaphor for sex that I was light headed and quite weak. I was feeling even more so when I watched a curious intensity that looked to be desire and appreciation in his eyes.

I was finding the whole event of being just a good student much harder as he held my gaze and my hips with it seemed the same grip. I strained to get my feet to obey as he chanted “Up, Down, Swing Back.” I had to break that visual contact, I swung back as instructed and looked away again. In the act of breaking eye contact I felt embarrassed and easy to read.

“Lets try that again, but you can't look away.” He announced.

‘Damn! ’ I thought ‘This is torture. ’ I looked back, his hands took my hips and before our feet could move I made the most interesting sound accompanied by my blush and nervous wide eyes. It was becoming a feat not to engage him in a look of pure cat–like desire. He caught every signal like a seasoned catcher at a World Series game. And just like a panther he toyed with my response. In retrospect, it was probably to make sure he was not mistaken either. We began to dance again and I was falsely convinced that he did not notice a thing.

“Focus, Anne,” he said deeply. “Don’t break eye contact.” Then we resumed movement. His hands still firm on my hips, his eyes steady on mine, he seemed closer than ever before. I forced my feet to glide and obey. His eyes made me feel every bit woman, every bit animal and suddenly every bit desirable. I wondered why this never happened with any other dance partner I had at the clubs. My lips parted in a beckoning manner as old as time. My face melted from the sheer exhaustion of trying to suppress the feelings. Every ounce of my attraction and passion engaged his intense gaze, from the heightened color in my cheeks to my expression, which was all female. His eyes intensified with primal recognition and mine answered equally. It was just like watching a storm rolling in over a furious gray ocean. He looked like he wanted to kiss me, I returned the look with a glance toward his lips; my green eyes were snapping fire.

It happened so fast I am unsure whether either of us could have truly understood its power. There were only scant inches that parted our gaze and now there was his warm lips gently meeting mine. It could even be thought a simple accident, just a brush of lips while we danced. But I had leaned in and the pressure was accepted and invited. That’s when an innocent brush of lips transformed into a warm and soft kiss. I was frozen, steps be damned, and I could feel a deep tremble start internally. I grabbed a hold of his shoulders like I was a woman drowning. Indeed in many ways I was.

I held tight and delighted in the taste of his silky lips. His kiss was perfect, as if we had kissed a thousand times; it grew deeper in a gradual way. By the time I felt the touch of his tongue I was melting against him fearlessly. His exploration was an art form, teasing my tongue with his own, taking my practical thoughts and replacing them all with images of other things he could do with this same gently exploring tongue. His hands had still not moved from their possession of my hips, and he held me tightly to his groin. His own excitement was openly expressed by our bodies touching.

Part of me was terrified about breaking any contact of the kiss for the stark and brightly lit reality of the dance studio. I was deeply fearful of an apology. I did not want him to apologize for his slip. And I was unsure about the results when he inevitably would come up for air from these bone-melting kisses.

Finally it did happen. I went from the feast to suddenly free. I was wordlessly looking at him, as he stood there equally silent. Inside I begged him not to back down.

“Wow!” He exclaimed, with a large smile, finally breaking the heavy silence. I smiled and giggled at this charm and said “Exactly, wow!” He had managed to make me feel at ease again with that large playful smile.

I backed to the mirror and leaned against the dance bars to find my equilibrium. Then just as quickly as the lighter side he introduced, there was a heavy silence. He moved toward me and I said nothing in a mild conflict. He stopped within a hairs breath between us and looked back into my eyes. I felt the desire bank back up and my breath caught again with the heat of the moment. His careful gaze caught every nuance and leaning forward he kissed me again. He pushed me back against the mirror and his lips were more savage, demanding passion. And that is exactly what I gave back. I kissed him slowly and deeply, my fingers encircled the back of his neck, holding him close.

For what seemed a long time we exchanged deep caressing kisses. He broke away very slowly and gently; he glanced up at the wall clock and announced suddenly, “Ten minutes, we are going to dance.” I was shaking through and through and entirely speechless. He put the music on and whirled me around until my breath was deep and my face shone with a dancers glow. He had me laughing and excited with each new move he treated me to. The music stopped and he folded me back into his arms in a dramatic dip and kissed me gently on the lips for emphasis. Damn! That was romantic! ~ This was exactly the thought that spun through my head.

He pulled me back up and asked “Any chance you would like to join me for dinner tonight? You were my last class.” I laughed, excited and relieved all at once. I nodded and he sat for a very calm and friendly second to give me directions to his house. He haphazardly packed away his belongings and led me from the room to my car like a perfect gentleman.

Once I was in my car the reality of the situation had my head spinning. I was hoping he would not change his mind about what had happened in the time we had our thoughts to ourselves. I was also wondering if we would be able to eat at all, what happened in the room seemed a force stronger than hunger for food. There was indeed a great deal of animal passion between us.