Friday, 10 January 2014

Three tries, two dances, one question.

It had taken her three songs, two drinks and the absolute certainty that everyone in this room was single to work up the courage to approach him. She'd been propping up the bar when he arrived, casually scanning the roughly 70% female crowd for someone who looked like her type of man. All the orange men were immediately discounted. The guy casually flexing his biceps was not her type. The tall, spiky haired David Tennant style were all too fragile looking for her. When an average build, dark haired guy with no obvious fakery or bling came to the bar and ordered a drink, she turned her head and smiled at him. When he immediately grabbed her arse, she struck him off the "potentials" list, caught the two pressure points in his wrist daintily between finger and thumb and pointedly removed his hand. As his face whitened and he bit his lip, she stared disdainfully at him and dropped his hand before wiping her fingers clean and turning away.

Returning to her previous stance and pretending her unwholesome neighbour had ceased to exist, she was gazing straight at the door when he walked in. This, she knew, was the one. He wasn't particularly distinctive - no part of him screamed "Look at me!" - his clothes were jeans, geeky t-shirt ("Time for some thrilling heroics.") and smart casual jacket. He was Oriental and slimmer than she normally looked for, but he was about 5'7" so his proportions were similar to those of the taller guys she'd dated. His hair was short, but he had a bit of a fringe which hung to the left without products holding it rigid. He was with several other men and the group moved as one to the bar. 

She took a deep breath and almost walked towards them to introduce herself before she panicked and darted onto the dance floor. One or two of his friends soon hooked up with some other girls on the floor, but he remained casually indifferent to the crowd and chatted with the remainder of his friends. The song finished and her drink was finished, so she walked over and, once again, ducked out at the last minute and slid off to the side of his group. As she returned to the dance floor she managed to peek up and smile at him as she rushed past, embarrassed. When she had finished that drink, rather more quickly than the first, she still had to build herself up to it.

Finally, she sashayed pseudo-confidently across the floor, smoothly ducking around groups of girls dancing and the occasional fast-moving pair who'd coupled up almost immediately after the event started. The music was too loud to talk easily, so she simply rested her hand on his arm and when he looked at her she nodded to the dance floor. He raised his eyebrow. She felt the weight of several gazes on her and began to flush, but wasn't going to run away this time. She mimed a few cheesy dance steps; car wash, underwater, mashed potato and paused to beckon him onto the floor. When he smiled, but shook his head, she pantomimed a sudden realisation and raised her arms before dancing a few awkward, unrecognisable steps with an invisible partner. At the end of her few steps she was facing mostly away from him but bent backwards and turned her head to finish in a perfectly replicated dip from a Viennese waltz.

Still he smiled, but he shook his head again. Showing her disappointment, she decided to bow out with a smile. To him, she was offering another style of dance, and she saw his smile dim as he thought she was continuing to pester him. When she did the chicken dance he was startled into laughter. She grandly curtseyed and as she was about to walk away he placed his drink on the bar and took to the floor with her.

She was delighted by her sudden and unexpected success, but she'd never been great at flirting and she felt a bit guilty for pressuring him so she didn't try to start a conversation. She simply let go and experienced the kind of joy she only felt when she was dancing with a partner. The two of them danced freestyle for a while, barely touching. It was almost the end of the song when he caught her wrist and gently guided her into dancing more as a pair than two individuals.

At the end of the dance she was wrapped in his arms and smiled up at him as the rhythms in the air changed to a fractionally slower, more undulating beat. He smoothly picked up the new rhythm and, holding her close, began to move around in small circles. Initially surprised - she'd expected him to cut and run, not start up a new dance - she soon picked up the beat. She stumbled early on, but his arms, apparently casually draped around her with only the lightest grip on her waist, were utterly immovable, even when her whole body weight fell onto one. Nobody saw her slip up and she felt suddenly assured that as long as he had hold of her she wouldn't be able to go wrong.

She melted into his arms. He wasn't plastering her against him, their torsos weren't touching, but their thighs constantly brushed together and she soon felt her arms tightening around his neck to pull herself towards him. When they were close together and she was relaxed, he began to guide her into a new set of steps. Relaxed and trusting, she followed his lead automatically. On turns he began to lean her one way or the other and, after some hip shuffling she felt his leg insinuate its way between hers and the back of his heel ran up her leg, then lifted hers. In response, she flicked her heel up and he placed his foot back down and, with her leg wrapped around his, he was able to start into a new set of steps. Soon she had those and began to respond more quickly. Suddenly, he picked her up entirely, pirouetted a few times and then dropped her into a dip. 

The song had ended without her even being aware and when he released her and kissed her hand, she felt a twinge of disappointment at the same time as a frisson of excitement. She watched him step back and cocked her head, unconsciously questioning.

He smiled, and made a quick hand gesture. "Drink?"