by Tonya Plank
The rumba music began. I held my hand out to her. She looked disappointed. My invitation this time wasn’t the least bit provocative or laced with sexual innuendo. I was annoyed she wasn’t drinking. I kept eyeing the drink to let her know.
She took a huff, walked over to the bar and drank the whole glass. Yes!
I smiled. “Thank you,” I said. She put the glass down and walked toward me, straight into my hold. I gently wiped the corners of her mouth with my finger, then traced her bottom lip. I felt my sly smile return. She giggled. But then she looked sideways, into the mirror. I gently cupped her jaw with my hand and pulled her face toward mine, making it impossible for her to look at herself. Once I had her in my arms, touching her soft skin, her delicate bones, I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than holding her, closer and closer.
Fuck it. We could save the serious learning time for Greta. Greta had convinced me it was better for the health of our partnership anyway.
“Let’s not do the routines in order this time,” I whispered. “Let’s just dance, take it easy. Just follow me.”
I began moving to the music, which was a light song titled “The Look of Love,” where the man keeps telling the woman he sees the look of love in her eyes. I looked at Rory, as if I was saying the same to her, willing her to be mine, willing her to melt into me.
After a few basics, I felt her back-leading, which often happened when the follower got used to the pattern. I consciously took a couple of late steps to see if she’d continue to step without waiting for my lead. She did. That couldn’t happen. I simply had to correct it. “You are back-leading,” I said, stopping. “You know the steps now and are anticipating what I am going to lead you into. But you still need to let me lead. The judges can see when the woman is leading and they will know it’s wrong.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Sorry. I’m…I’m not aware of it, but I’ll try to be aware.”
I was dancing with Rory, who didn’t fight me. So unlike Xenia, the others. It made me want to take her right there. But I had another plan. I began to raise her arm to lead her into a step called a hockey stick. But I changed it to an underarm turn. She started to pass in front of me, doing the hockey stick. I raised my arm high—too high for her to pass by. She looked confused, then realized it was an alemana instead. She quickly altered her direction with a pivot and tried to go toward me fast enough to finish the step in time to the music. But she’d pivoted too quickly and nearly slipped, catching herself by whacking her hip into my thigh. Her lips and nose planted into my shoulder. The misstep was quite kinky, and for once I found it hard to be annoyed. She tittered, and slowly peeked up at my face, worried I’d be pissed.
I forced myself to look serious. “Do you see? If you were feeling my lead and not anticipating a hockey stick that would not have happened.”
“But aren’t all of our competition routines going to be choreographed anyway?” she countered with a little harrumph.
“Yes, but that’s not the point, Rory. You need to learn how to do this correctly. It’s part of the technique of partner dancing. If two people try to lead and no one follows, we’re going to be working against each other.” I could feel my frustration growing. I pulled it under control. I breathed deeply, my chest expanding, filling the space between us. Her nipple was about parallel with the bottom contour of my pec. She breathed into me. It felt good.
“Okay, I’ll try again,” she said.
This time I started to lead her into a fan. Now she was anticipating that I’d change it to an alemana like the last time. So I didn’t. I kept it a fan. She hesitated too long, making us behind the time.
“This is like mind reading,” she said with a huff.
“No, it’s body reading.”
“But—”
“Shhh,” I whispered, placing a finger to her lips. “Just start again.” Whispering helped me to maintain my cool.
We danced a few basics before I raised my arm. Again, she started to go underneath it. But I pulled her behind me, leading her into a spiral, spinning on one foot and wrapping the other around it. She loved spirals. She loved all kinds of turns. And she was gorgeous doing them. After her perfect spiral, I led her to walk around my back, my raised arm guiding her behind me. Then I spotted her glancing at herself in the mirror. Blast it. I connected with her reflection. She saw my pupils penetrating hers and stopped in her tracks. I frowned. She looked like a deer in the headlights. I slowly curved my frown into a smile.
“What are you doing?” I said, pretending not to know she was fixating on her body again.
“Trying really, really, REALLY hard to figure out your cues and not pay any attention to how ludicrous I look,” she cried out.
I released her arm and stepped back from her. “It goes without saying you didn’t look the least bit ridiculous. You need to stop being so down on yourself.”
She looked stunned. She hadn’t expected me to notice that.
“And as for the so-called mind-reading—you are overanalyzing. I can see it in your eyes. You are looking at my hand. Why is it where it is? What are all the physical possibilities of what he could want me to do? Where he could want me to go? We are not playing a game of pool or chess. And we are not having a physics lesson.”
She laughed. Good, I’d created some levity. I held my hands out and she placed hers into mine. But then she shook her head. “Sasha, I’m still not sure what overanalyzing means.”
I knew she didn’t. That’s why I had a little exercise in mind. “Fine. We will try something new. Close your eyes,” I directed.
“Dance with my eyes closed?”
“Yes. You are looking—literally—for cues. And”—with this I made a clicking sound with my tongue, as if chiding her—“you are focusing too much on how you look in the mirror.” My eyebrows shot up. I had to deal with this. I shot her my sly smile to lessen the harshness.
She began to protest. “I’m not being vain. I’m trying to make you happy—”
But again, I brushed my index finger gently over her lips. “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “I just want you to feel things with your body rather than look so literally for cues. Okay. Let’s try.” With that I took my fingers and gently rolled them over her eyes, shutting her lids.
“Okay,” she said.
I started moving, slowly shifting my weight to my right. She shifted as well.
“Good,” I said.
“Don’t jinx it!” She laughed.
“Shhhhh.” I rolled my index finger over her lips again. They were soft and slick. She’d recently applied gloss. I took my time brushing my finger past her bottom lip, tracing her chin, before beginning my way down her neck. Just as her breath caught, I stopped, and reached for her hand again. Too much, too soon. Back to work.
We started again. I began raising my hand, moving almost in slow motion. She opened her eyes ever so slightly, hoping I wouldn’t notice. Of course I did.
“Rory, I see you,” I said making my voice deep and stern so it would echo across the wooden floor.
“Didn’t mean to. It’s just natural.” She shut her eyes tightly. I remained holding my arm in the air. I wanted to lead her into a turn in front of me, to spin her once, fast, and then catch her. She raised her head in the direction of my arm, as if she was trying to see it with her eyes closed. Her hand gripped mine so tightly, her arm was so stiff, I was afraid I might hurt her wrist if I spun her. She needed to relax and be looser. She squinted her eyes open again, very quickly. But not too quickly for me to miss. I caught her gaze in the mirror. I bore my pupils into hers. I tightened my lips, indicating she was now in trouble. I let go of her and put my hands on my hips.
“Sorry,” she mouthed.
I curled the edges of my mouth up ever so slightly into my most mischievous smile. “We are going to have to do this the hard way, no?”
She took a step back, frowning, openmouthed. “No?” she said more as a question than answer.
“I’ll be back,”
I said, dashing out of the room and up the winding staircase. I walked into my bedroom, removed a soft, thick, elegant silk sash from my top drawer. It was an extra swath of fabric from a costume Xenia had made for one of our showcases, where we performed a wedding-dance-like rumba. I’d wanted her to wear a long gown but Xenia thought rumba should be sexy and show off as much of the body as possible. So, she’d had our costumer, Daiyu, cut it up. I loved the fabric and kept some. Now I knew why. It suited Rory perfectly. This is why I kept it.
I ran my hand down its length. It was silky. It would feel so nice against her creamy skin. I walked back downstairs, still running my fingers down its length.
“That’s pretty,” she said.
I walked behind her, pulled the sash lengthways and folded it over a few times.
“I’m so glad you think so,” I said as I raised it over her head and began placing it over her eyes.
“Wait, what are you doing? You can’t do that,” she yelled, pushing it out of the way and turning around to face me.
“Rory, please. Just try this.” I knew she’d initially resist.
“I need you to understand that I need my eyesight,” she said, her voice laced with panic. “This floor, this room. I don’t know it that well. What if I go flying out the—” She pointed to the patio door.
“Roryyyy,” I moaned. “Do you really think I would let anything happen to you?”
She folded her arms in front of her. “I think you would try to prevent something bad from happening. But, but, but, you may not be able to control everything if we get…out of control,” she stuttered. She was excited. So cute.
“Come on. Exactly how fast do you think we’re going to be moving?” I took a step toward her.
She took a step back. “Well if we’re doing samba or paso—”
“We will do only rumba with you blindfolded. Okay?”
“Well, what’s on the other side of that, anyway? A cliff? We never go out there.”
I felt my smile grow uncontrollably wicked as I stepped closer. “We haven’t been out yet because it’s always been night when you are here and we are practicing. There will be plenty of time for you to see the backyard—and the hot tub—later.” I stroked the length of the sash, thinking how much I would love to get her into that tub, to feel the silkiness of her bare skin against mine. But not right now. First she was going to learn how to follow. “It’s really very soft. There is nothing to be scared of, Rory.” I replaced my mischievous smile with an innocent-looking grin.
She kept her arms crossed in front of her. “I don’t like this,” she said.
“Just for a few minutes. Just until I show you that your sense of sight shouldn’t always be in control. That you also have other senses, like a sense of touch. Please just trust me.” I held the scarf toward her like it was an offering and gave her my most charming, boyish grin. “Have I let you down before?” I asked.
She looked up and her eyes darted around, as if she was trying to remember. I rolled my eyes. “Fine,” she said, uncrossing her arms at last. “But if I get too weirded out, it’s coming off immediately. And don’t tie it too tight.”
“Yes, my dear,” I said playfully, still stroking the rich material.
I was very gentle as I wrapped the perfumed silk around her beautiful head and tied the back.
“That might be too tight. I might get a migraine,” she protested.
“It is very loose, Rory. See?” I placed a finger between the knot and the back of her head and wiggled it around a bit.
“No, I can’t see. That’s the problem.”
That made me laugh. “But you felt it, right?”
She didn’t answer. She seemed to want to be stubborn and pout.
“I know you did.” I patted her soft hair down in back as I removed my finger from under the blindfold. Then I walked away to change the music.
“Sasha?” she called out. She held her arms straight out, like a person who’d recently lost her sight and was scared.
“I’m just finding the right music. I’ll be right there.”
I quickly turned “The Look of Love” back on, and returned to her. I positioned her in our closed handhold, brushing my fingers along her back until they were securely under her shoulder blade, and clasping her right hand with my left.
“Okay, we will try again,” I said.
“Just go slowly. And don’t expect me to get everything right.”
I didn’t say anything. Instead I just began moving. I shifted my weight to my left without taking a step, then shifted back, into a cucaracha. She did as I did. I turned to the right and raised her right arm, pressing on her back, leading her to go in a slight diagonal. She followed my lead into the perfect underarm turn.
“If you get elbowed or stepped on it’s your fault,” she warned.
“A chance I will take.” I hoped she could hear my mischievous grin. “But you’d better not do it on purpose,” I added playfully.
“How would you know if I did it on purpose or not?”
“I’d know,” I said, squeezing the palm of her raised hand. “Believe me. And then I might do something far, far more harsh.” I elongated the end of my sentence.
Then I decided to have some fun, show her what she was really made of. I released her hand and with both arms whipped her around by the waist.
“Eeeeek,” she screamed. She stood on one leg, crossing the other over it, pointing her toe—a position that clearly came natural to her from ballet. Her form was magnificent. She pulled her center in, straightened her back, and maintained her balance perfectly, spinning and spinning and spinning. It was beautiful. I knew she could do it. Finally, I stopped her abruptly by cupping her waist in my hands, and brought her toward me, holding her close, both arms around her back.
“Okay, I seriously feel like I’m going to throw up all over you,” she said.
I said nothing. I knew she was making it up. I pulled her in closer, sighed deeply, my lips oh so close to hers. But no, the kiss would wait. I had more to teach her before that.
“Don’t be such a drama queen, Rory,” I whispered in her ear. “You’re a ballerina.”
“Exactly. And ballerinas spot.”
“But isn’t seeing the room whiz by what makes you dizzy in the first place?”
“It still sets my equilibrium all off. I can feel the room spinning. I don’t need to see it.”
Was she really going to fight me on this? “Okay. So, why don’t you try holding your head back a little. Like an ice skater. That will help stabilize your equilibrium when you spin fast.”
“I know that,” she said, stomping her foot.
“Then what are we arguing about?” I laughed.
She stopped. She had nothing. I’d caught her. “Because, uh, I didn’t see it coming.” She stomped her foot again. Childish but cutely so.
I sighed. “But once you felt it…oh, come on, let’s try it again,” I said, throwing my arms up. I placed both hands around her waist, now holding her out from me. “Lean into my palms and arch your back. Put your back leg in arabesque. And tilt your head back this time.”
She took a dramatically deep breath and did as I said. I moved around quickly in a circle, spinning her with me. She arched back and held her arms out in back of her. They looked like wings. Gorgeous.
“Better?” I asked, stopping. I pulled her into me again, both hands solidly around her back so she wouldn’t fall over in case she was actually telling the truth about being dizzy, which I highly doubted.
“Blaahhh,” she said mimicking throwing up.
I didn’t flinch. “Very funny, Rory. I’m serious.”
“Okay, it was a little better. But just a little.”
I grinned. The song ended and the music changed into a wickedly fast, fun samba. I was going to change the music, or take the blindfold off. But then I changed my mind.
“Come on,” I said.
She didn’t have time to protest. I flung her out so we were in open position,
wrapped my right arm tightly around her waist, our hips aligned, and began moving forward in body-snaking cruzados walks. She had no choice but to feel me and go in the same direction.
Still, she protested. Or, faux protested. “Sasha, I’m scared. I don’t want to run into the window.”
I slowed, and moved diagonally behind her, my right pelvic bone touching just above the small of her back. Shadow position. I knew she liked this one. I could sense it from our practices. I reached up and held her right wrist with my hand, lining my entire arm with hers.
“Your feet are going to be a bloody mess,” she warned. “I mean, I’m wearing crazy-sharp stilettos, you know.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with ladies’ Latin dance shoes,” I said with another sly smile I’m sure she could hear by now.
Then I bent her over widely, pressing my left hand into her abdomen and circling her right arm up and around with mine. I knew she liked deep samba rolls.
My right knee darted between her legs and brushed against her thigh, followed by my left. It was both sexy and had the effect of telling her exactly where my feet were so she could control her steps and step next to, not on top of them. I felt her shift to the balls of her feet so that if she did step on me, it would be with her toe instead of stiletto. Thoughtful of her. And was also more proper, since you were supposed to be forward-weighted in all Latin dance.
Okay, enough, I decided. She got it and I didn’t want it to get out of control. Back to rumba. I changed the song to my sexy favorite, “Bésame Mucho.”
“I can’t believe you did that!” she tried to yell. But she was so out of breath she could hardly speak. “You—!” She tried to move forward so she could give me a little smack, but I held her body in close shadow position so her arm was hitting air.
“Shhh.” I continued to hold her in that same shadow position as I caught my own breath, now hot on her neck. I released her left arm and wrapped both arms tightly around her waist, rocking her side to side to the beat. She could now easily whack me if she wanted to. But apparently she no longer felt the urge. I moved slightly so that I was completely behind her. My pelvis was firm against the small of her back, and she moved in line with my hips. She swayed and her breath caught. I could tell she was as in heaven as I.
