There are talcum powdered noses And perfume floating in the air. She makes a graceful exit, before she makes a triumphant return. Still they Are dancing. One step, two step, back and forth across the floor. Clumsy feet and old soda cans, clothes, an empty pack of cigarettes. Nervous glances, not at the obstacles but at each other.
She had never danced before, not really. Not like they did that evening. Sure, there had been feet on top of her father's shoes, and the faux waltz she would do with her older brother when the radio in
the kitchen hummed a note they enjoyed. Those moments were only for seconds at a time. Never like this, never because she meant it.
She didn't know how to dance, she never had before. It was so much more ****** than she thought.
In time she would come to compare the two moments. Her first dance, with her first love. Her first night with him, her first “night” at all.
Clumsy movements dominated both. Stifled laughter, serious glances mingled with nerves and ecstasy. It wasn't like that in the movies.
In the movies, there was no wet spot on the sheets. Still, they danced. Awkward, horrible, amazing.