Once, they were dancing
'Hi', he said. 'Put on your high heels and let's go dancing, baby.'

He is a tall silhouette against the glowing backdrop. One hand in pocket. She couldn't see him properly, but she knew he'd sweep her off her feet.

'Sure', she said. 'We'll dance the night away. You dont have to wear a tie, do you?

She felt his eyes on her face. It would have been lit by the glow, but his shadow, black and strong, covered her. She must keep her hands behind her back. He looked down at her.

'No tie?' he asked. 'Why not? What kind of club are we going to?'

She smiled and shrugged. She wanted to see his shirt unbuttoned. She wanted to see his skin under the fabric. She wanted to pull his shirt aside and brush her lips against his collarbone, his chest. She needed to touch him.

''Cause then I'd have to change', she said.

He almost touched her shoulder, letting his hand caress the air, following the contour of her arm. 'I will wear a suit', he said. 'And a tie. You in that slinky red dress I like so much. And seamed stockings, of course.'

'Of course.' She smiled again, tilting her head and looking up at him. His eyes glittered in the dark, as if they reflected a light only he could see. She drew in the scent of him, and tasted it, savoured it.

She gets ready for the evening, and as she does she imagines the two of them together. Close. Her body against his body, skin pressing against skin; her hands on him, running down over his stomach, down. And her knee is between his knees, making him part his legs ever so slightly...

She paints her nails red, like the dress she's wearing. She puts on make up. He likes it when she wears lipstick and nailpolish. She likes it too. She likes it when he likes it. She likes the way it turns him on, makes him breathe faster and more shallow. She loves to feel the impact she has on him. She wants to make him want her. She needs to feel him want her, like she wants him.

She would meet him at the club. Flashing lights and loud, thumping music makes her blood run faster through her veins. Bodies writhing in time with the beat, faces lit stroboscopically, dancers moving like stop motion dolls. He would be there, lights flashing in his hair and in his eyes. His shirt would shine like silk, and she'd long to rip it off of him, and claim his body. Standing close to him, eyes shut, feeling his hands slide over her body, coming to rest on the small of her back she'd sigh and shiver. He pulls her to him, and she catches her breath as he kisses her, deeply, hungrily... She feels him, from her knees to her mouth, and she takes him in.

But the music stops. The lights dim and darken. Her arms are empty and cold. And he's not there. He is never there. At night, she still believes in him, but she doesn't know why anymore.

She'll still be here. Maybe he knows this. Right where he left her, eyes dry looking out of the window, hand on the telephone. At night, re running episodes they shared. But she doesn't dance anymore.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.