2015 · 2015/10 · Vignette

When Your Hips Brushed Mine

It wasn’t a waltz, more a Celtic little dance tune, but you twirled me around like we were both born for this.

The violin joined in the second verse, and your steps gathered speed as you moved us around the room, my body following yours for the first time, but the harmony was perfect.

You caught me practising my steps a few minutes earlier, or maybe more, I only became aware of your presence when you took my hand and waist to teach me how it is really done.

You made me into a delicate, elegant dancer, moving to your rhythm, like I never did before. The second tune started in my mind, and somehow your steps matched the change of pace, and we were moving faster, arms clutching and releasing, my long skirt floating around my body. I never felt feminine until you took to the dancefloor with me.

You turn me and I come willingly, my arm rests on your shoulder while you hold the other, and I look into your eyes for the first time. They are clear, and inviting. I could not guess the colour as your turn me around once more, but I know at that moment they only saw me.

I am becoming breathless as your take us from one corner to the next, moving so fast I would be concerned of loosing a shoe with a less talented dance partner. A turn, and we arrive in the centre of the room, the music slows and your hand on my waist pulls me closer. Brown, your eyes are, I can see now. The shades of brown I could spend endless nights trying to count in the dim candle light.

The forbidden thought comes unannounced, and I find myself transfixed, enchanted. I become aware that we are still dancing, although your steps slowed, and we float around as the piano and violin court each other.

I don’t know who you are, but it feels like my whole life gained meaning when your hands touched mine. Suddenly, there is a purpose, there is a reason to be here. To share my being with yours, to grow into someone under your expert guidance.

You may feel my awareness shifting, as your fingers spread across my lower back, and my breathing becomes shallow without the excuse of a rapid tempo. I have been waiting for this feeling without ever realising.

Your steps slow to a heartbreaking softness, and we move our upper bodies and arms more than our legs. You pull me closer and my back arches away, your body manipulating my movements until we are playing a synchronised melody. It seems the more you twist and turn me, the more eagerly I comply, and with each coming together the distance between our bodies seem to shorten.

The almost mind numbing sweetness of our swaying together is replaced by a more profound rhythm that alternates between the tiny steps we play around the room, and the larger strides that seem to take us to new heights. You pull me close for the next verse, and I lose my footing for the first time. Your hips brush against mine and I realise why I have been only allowed to practise my steps by myself. Your body feels like a mould made to fit against mine, and surely a feeling this sweet cannot be appropriate.

I get lost in your darkened eyes, with each swift turn and circle my glance returns to you, my body adapting to your expert guidance, and I know this is a dance macabre.

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