Kinky Confessions

“Oh? Bargaining for sex?”

“Bargaining with sex.”

“Who’s the word expert now?” I teased.

“You are. I just know what I want. And… what I’m willing to do to get it.” Her bright blue eyes twinkled. “You’ll see.”

“Come on,” I said noncommittally. “Let’s go see about this ballroom dance team.”

“And the modern dance group?”

I sighed and surrendered to the inevitable. Then I adjusted my attitude and told myself that it was only free time. Why have it if I couldn’t spend it with someone I loved?

“And the modern dance group,” I agreed.

We spent the next two hours whirling around the basketball court with about twenty other couples, mostly students and grad students. The team had a pair of faculty advisors who’d both been professional dancers. They also had two spry emeritus coaches, husband and wife professors who’d retired about the time I’d been in kindergarten.

All the other students had been part of the team for months or years, so Christy and I had a lot of ground to make up. Terri and another graduate student named Roberto taught us the basic waltz. Christy picked up the steps and timing right away. I was a bit surprised when he asked her to dance, since I thought we’d dance together, but then Terri drew me onto the dance floor.

“You don’t have two left feet,” she said. “You’re good, especially for a beginner.” We started dancing, and she glanced over her shoulder at Christy and her partner. “You don’t mind…?”

“No. We have a pretty solid relationship. Besides, I’m not the jealous type.”

“Is she?”

I decided to flirt a little, so I grinned. “Why’re you asking?”

“No reason,” she said, but her eyes betrayed her interest. “Just curious.

So, how long’ve you been together?”

“Friends for years, but only four months as a couple. How about you? Are you and Roberto…?”

“No. He’s married and has a baby. Besides, he isn’t my type.”

He was tall and tan and sported a mustache, like a younger Tom Selleck.

In other words, nothing like yours truly.

“Ah, okay,” I said. “So, anyone special in your life? Boyfriend?” Or girlfriend? I silently added, for Christy’s benefit.

Terri pursed her lips with a grin of her own. “Why’re you asking?”

“Just being polite.” I smiled to show my own interest. “And getting to know my dance partner.”

She studied me. “No one special,” she said eventually. “I’m too busy for a relationship.”

“Translation: I haven’t found a man who can keep up with me.”

“Maybe,” she laughed. Her eyes lit up when the next song began. “Ooh, a tango. Here, I’ll teach you.” She showed me how to hold my arms and then guided me through the steps. “Ready to give it a try?”

“Sure. Let’s do it.”

She arched an eyebrow at my choice of words.

I played it cool and nodded toward the dance floor. “Walk, walk, tango close? Right?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Ready when you are,” I said, and we joined the swirl of dancers.

The basic tango was fairly simple, and Terri made it seem effortless. She felt good in my arms, too, a petite package of sex appeal. I chuckled to myself when I realized that the tango was basically foreplay if both dancers were interested, and we definitely were.

She must’ve been thinking the same thing, because she glanced up at me with a question. I took a cue from some of the other dancers and started into a cross-step dip. Terri followed my lead.

“Oh, you’re good,” she laughed when I pulled it off. “You learn quickly.”

“Thanks. You should meet my teacher. She’s amazing.”

We finished the first tango and started another. Then we danced through two waltzes. Christy was having fun with Roberto, and Terri didn’t seem inclined to switch partners either. She taught me the basic foxtrot and we danced through several songs. We kept our flirting to a minimum, but I still felt a spark of attraction between us.

At that point we had to sit out several dances, Viennese waltzes, because they were a bit beyond my level. Terri’s leg touched mine as we sat, although neither of us said anything about it. We watched the dancers instead. The steps were simple enough, she explained, but the tempo was twice the speed of a normal waltz.

Christy had changed partners to one of the other students, a guy our age who’d clearly been dancing for most of his life. She followed his lead and waltzed around the room like she’d been born to Austrian nobility.

“She’s good,” Terri said as we watched. “Why didn’t she continue ballet?”

“Other interests. She was a competitive diver, although her real talent is as an artist.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s officially a sculptor, but she’s an amazing painter too.”

“What about you?”

“An artist, but with buildings.”

Her brows knitted.

“I’m studying to be an architect.”

“Ah, okay. I’m getting my PhD in Physical Education. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it, though. Teach, I guess.”

I nodded, and we made small talk until the professor at the record player started a regular waltz. Terri and I danced through it and one more song before the evening finished with a couple of foxtrots.

“Well,” she said when the last song ended, “what do you think?”