I started taking dance classes. For about a week or so now I’ve gone to a dance studio around town every evening. Specifically salsa classes. Curiosity…how do they do it…I needed to know. That’s why I found myself attending dance classes. Now I should just pick it up as a passion. Every night I sleep like a baby. I’ve never done this much exercise in my life, never had to stretch my body in all angles, I’m getting more flexible. It’s a good thing, my sex will get better.
Ahmed has been my dance partner from the start. Guiding me step by step. He’s the head of this dance thing. He’s good. He’s a great dancer. I get awed all the time. He makes everything seem effortless. You can tell when he dances that dance is in his blood just the same way bitchy is written across my heart. He’s a good teacher. I’ve learnt a lot in the short time I’ve been attending lessons, and it’s actually fun dancing.
`Okay let’s do this again,’ he says in the now empty room. Everyone is gone. It’s been like this for a while now. We dance till everyone is out. It’s like he doesn’t tire at all, like there’s unendless energy within him. When we dance together, it’s as though I can leave behind my bitchy days, and allow myself to be normal, breathe normal, act normal…
Tonight we dance with the lights turned low. I breathe in and let myself dance with him again. He turns on a song.
`That’s my favorite,’ he says. I don’t think I’ve ever listened to it, but I smile and start to dance with him. Our movements become more intimate, my hips grind against his pelvis, his hands caress my belly as our feet move in perfect harmony.
`Stop thinking, just dance,’ he whispers in my ear. His hand falls to my breast. I arch my back. My hands circle his neck, and we move joined as one.
He undresses me and yet hardly seems to touch me at all, his clothes dropping at the same time. We coil together naked and his lips burn my breasts, my throat, my mouth, his hands traveling all over me.
The music ends the very moment he enters me. I gasp into the sudden silence, my fingers digging deep into the muscular swell of his buttocks, face buried into the curve of his throat and he continues to make small circular motions with his hips, cock buried to the hilt, and still we dance, micro movements now, soft and unhurried, swaying to our own heartbeats and I’m unprepared for the moment he pulls back, or the savage instant he thrusts beneath his weight and every thrust deeper than the one before, my fingers caressing his arms, his tongue flicking serpent-like against my swollen nipples.
I rise towards the alpha moment, kissing his eyelids, his lips, the prominence of his Adam’s apple, and his cock sinks towards the centre of my belly, awakening every nerve ending along the way, triggering the urge to hold him inside me as I grind my pelvis against his, my moans are indistinguishable from sobs, my pleasure inseparable from pain.
He climaxes. My eyes come open, he looks right into my eyes.
`Sex is the oldest dance of all…’ he says.
I think I’m in love with a dancer.
I found out I’m a great dancer, I’m a sex dancer. It’s the language I speak best…
Yours truly,
Trudie.
