Dancing Lesson

(Raymond and Annie in High School)

The DJ warned them. A Bob Segar song was coming up. Raymond dropped his magazine and stood up off his bed. "Let's dance!" he said.

Annie was still on the contents page of the Playgirl he'd bought for her. So many choices! And it was SO hard to get him to come over and turn the page for her, she had to pick one page to last her a while.

"You wanna dance?" she asked. He nodded, in some sort of hurry. "Alright," she shrugged. Young Master was also the one who hid her porn from Mom and Dad. She'd never, ever get it out from under the mattress without explosives.

She walked carefully off of the magazine and walked towards the Dance Instructor's Podium (the official name of the baby food jar she stood on to direct his big, Frankensteinian stomping as he studied up for the Prom).

"No, no," he said. "WITH me! Come on!"

"What do you mean with you?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

He stepped closer to the dresser and scooped her up. As he stepped back, he lifted her to his chest and held her, pinned.

The commercial ended and he had lucked out. Segar started to play 'We've Got Tonight.' It was slow enough even Raymond could dance to it.

He rocked gently back and forth.

"Not to complain, but I can't breathe!" she shouted, slightly muffled by his shirt. He adjusted the grip a couple of times.

She gave a thumbs-up when he was cupping her ass with the side of his palm. She could breathe, move, turn her head… And nuzzle into the heat of his chest. If she wanted to, that is. Not that she did.

But she was still pinned in place. Slow dancing… "I should be on your shoulder," she mused. "Slow dancing's about putting my head on your- HER head on HIS shoulder."

"Okay," he agreed. He lifted her gently up and held his hand while she threw herself forward. It was a bit better. His finger laid across the backs of her thighs and kept her from sliding off, but didn't smush her into the fabric. The heat was just as good and seemed to penetrate a tiny bit farther.

She lay over his collarbone and floated on the music. The song ended and he drifted to a stop. He stood for a moment and she sighed.

"That was nice, Raymond," she said. The next song started, Three Times A Lady by the Commodores. It was another slow one.

"Again?" he asked.

"Can I, uh…" She was NOT going to say that she really liked nuzzling a boy's neck in a slow dance. That would lead to 'with who' questions and 'did you dance with Meat?' teasing. "Hold me closer?"

"Closer?"

"Heat," she blurted. "The, uh, the hollow of your throat. Heat from your jugular."

"Okay," he nodded. He slid her closer to his throat. The t-shirt collar didn't interfere. She snuggled in against his bare skin. He'd showered since his last practical joke, or 'felony' as they called it in Florida court, and didn't smell like a wet dog. She floated into a dream-like state.

His touch had shifted, now he had two fingertips placed against her butt cheeks.

"Ah, well," she muttered. "Guys always grope you during the dance."

He didn't reply or ask her to repeat, louder. He just tucked his chin over her and kept on dancing.

The next song was Billy Joel, Always a Woman.

"Your anthem," he whispered.

"You wish," she shouted back at him, though her chest seemed to double up at his compliment. She was always a woman to the big dumb kid. He just kept forgetting to appreciate her.

"I think I can dip," he said. She instantly changed to a full panic.

The last boy to try to dip her during a dance was, in fact, Meat, a football jock big enough to wear a soda machine as a Halloween costume. And just about smart enough to carry it off.

She danced with him on a dare that she'd lost. He dropped her. If Raymond dropped her that far, it'd dash her widdle brains out on the floor.

"NO!" she screamed.

"It'll be fine!" he insisted.

"That's what you said about the chemistry set!" she wailed.

He stopped. Stopped talking, stopped dancing and turned off the radio. He lifted her off his shoulder. The wind of her passage felt like a cool breeze. Then she was on his desk, still cupped in one hand.

"If you don’t want to, I won't." He lifted the door to her birdcage and held it for her.

"We could… We could still dance?" she suggested, not standing up, though she'd clearly been dismissed.

"Not if you don't trust me," he said. Oh, he was such a BLATANT manipulator. She glanced at the cage. If she went, there was no telling when she'd have that much of her owner's attention again.

Or time with the Playgirl.

"Well, we could try it once," she said. At least she KNEW she was being manipulated, so it didn't really count, right?

"Great." He lifted her up to his throat again. "Now, from what I've seen of dips-"

"In movies _I_ made you watch," she muttered. He was going to lecture HER on romance.

"Shush," he said. Oh-oh. Had he heard what she said or did he just know she'd spoken? And assumed that it was nothing he wanted to deal with?

"From what I've seen, the important parts of a dip are that the woman trust her partner. And they make eye contact. And that he doesn't drop her."

"That being the salient detail," she insisted. "Not. Drop. The Girl."

"Well, it's not like you're too heavy for me," he pointed out. She hadn't been too heavy for Meat, though. He just hadn't cared.

Raymond's fingers pulled back and the heel of his hand rested about where her knees were. His fingers folded to hover over her, but not touching.

Then he leaned forward, slow and ponderous. She had a moment to notice that he was leaning over his bed. A fall would end in a bounce, not a kersplatty sound.

Then he'd tipped far enough that she fell. Only from the waist up and only half an inch. Then she was laying on his hand as he continued down.

It lowered further and his other hand rolled over her like a seatbelt.

Then she was under his face, looking directly into his eyes.

"Oooh, yes, Master," she cooed. Then she braced herself. It'd be in character for him to drop his hand a few inches or tip it like she was falling. Or even drop her to the mattress.

But he didn't. He just smiled down at her.

"Did I do it right?"

"Oh, perfect," she said.

"And I used the back of my hand over you, so it wouldn't seem I was copping a feel."

"So you did!" she noted. Crap. He had heard her. But then, he'd tried to obey… Should she be proud she'd manipulated HIM or sad that she couldn't snark him in private?

"Just one mistake," she said.

"What?" he asked. He sounded a little angry. Master Raymond didn't like being told he'd missed a detail. Oh, well.

"Well, you missed the beat." She stared, deadpan.

He glanced at the radio. "Ah ha." He turned it back on. Disco played. There was a lot of disco after that. They waited for another slow dance.

It ended up being a car commercial, but by then they hardly cared.









Back to the Index