’ ‘Christina Carlton here,’ she said picking up the phone, ‘What can I do for you ma’am.’ It was a story she had heard before. A woman that thinks her husband is cheating on her. She had a slight British accent to her voice. Her husband was claiming that he was always at work. I had asked her for information and a time when she’d be available for an interview. ‘Yes, an interview. We need to go to a place that my husband would never think of looking for me. Do you think you can make it to the Raymond’s Bistro at 7 pm?’ ‘Why do you think your husband wouldn’t look for you there?’ Christina queried. Raymond’s was a very fancy place. She always had a hard time suggesting to Bill to have us go there because Bill didn’t like to spend money on himself to update his formalwear…to actually having formalwear. ‘Because I hate to get dressed up all fancy,’ she responded, whatever this woman was, she must not be a fancy Brit, ‘Who knows, we might actually wind up catching him in the act.’. Now, the challenge: can I get him to dance with me?I keep doing my thing, shagging my butt a little more clumsily than the seasoned funky hipsters around me. I can sense him behind me, becoming more confident, ready to touch me. And just as a new song starts, an explosion of synths and drums, he gets in close. Perfect timing! I almost turn around and tell him so, but I don't want to do anything but dance for a while. So I just smile, turning to let him see my profile, and relax into him. He puts his hands on my hips and gently guides them to sync with his own. His touch doesn't have the jaded roughness of some guys, nor the awkward hesitance of others. It's just confident enough. He brushes his lips and nose against the nape of my neck and I feel the stubble on his jaw, the luxurious sensation of skin against skin.We continue like that for what seems like a while, then we turn to face one another. I'm still too shy to make eye contact but I smile in the general direction of his face,.
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