Dance
Awakening groggy to a warm muggy morning, window open. Emie lies next to me. I notice a small gold crucifix catches the light between ample breasts, long blonde hair a tan body, which contrasts my Vampyric white.
A warm morning contrasts my thoughts; I remember a flat in Spandau overlooking the Havel freezing in January. Another woman, another time.
I remember last night the call. First about her husband. I tell her to stop telling me she loves me, and come to me; surprisingly she does. I need her for a change, and I need contact face to face; not face time.
She’s hard to miss tall, blonde and long strong legs that are the stairway to heaven her Russian accent, as she stalks through the dive towards me. She stop’s puts her hand on my face, and bends over for a kiss, that’s past “friends.” She met her husband online emails, then; he flew her from St. Petersburg to be installed as fourth wife.
“What’s a matter?” she asks sitting
“I wanted to see you, you’re well?” I answer
“No, he treat me like a maid” Emie answers in a thick Russian accent. Everything she says sounds like, “must get squirrel and moose. I remember conversation is not the point.
” You can stay for a drink?” I ask, already ordering her a vodka martini.
“Da” Emie answers, with a huge smile. She gestures at the Jukebox. I put a few dollars on the table. Emie put’s on “Do you feel like we do.” She was born a decade after it was a hit. She dances gracefully, sensually. I watch, and everything else has just fades away. I feel the dynamic of our friendship shifting as she undulates to the table; I have just gone from confidant to lover. Her walk the way her gaze is taking me in, really seeing me, perhaps for the first time. I half expected this would happen one day. She as called drunk and flat out asked me to fuck her, but I don’t pull drunken birds; especially not a friend.
We’re not friends anymore. This is uncharted territory, and there’s a palpable sense of excitement in the air. When we touch again it is electric. Conversation has been replaced by staring at each other. Touching, light caressing, and an understanding, that did not exist a few moments ago. I order another round. She tosses it back on sends several texts quickly. She leans into me says something in Russian. I don’t speak Russian, but I know what she means.
I take her by the hand lead her to the car. Inside I light up a spliff, Emie hits it hard passes to me. She finds classic rock and takes a hazy drive to get a room. I buy the room with my phone. She undulates to music even in the car.
In the room she finds a music channel, and dances out of her clothes. She must have had training, grand pile, and en pointe all while nude. Sexy, graceful.
In bed she is the Bolshoi in bed. After our dance I watch her drift off into sleep.
I watch the morning light dance across her and retreat to brush my teeth and shower. In the shower she joins me, you were going to leave before I was woke, no?”
“No” I answer and kiss her. and savour her taste, touch and feel.
“My husband? “ she asks
“This what you’re going to do its early don’t dry you're her love, don’t put on make-up go home slip into jeans, or shorts you got up early and went for a run. She smiles at my” practised ruse. As she dries her self I can’t help but watch, graceful strong yet feminine body.
“He…” Emie starts to say.
“Tell me about you, I am tired of talking about him. “I said. Cutting her off
she gives me a hug, and it feels as if we have been dancing for a long time each partner anticipating, reacting to moves fluidly choreographed yet spontaneous. The music has changed, and we will see where this dance takes us.
.
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