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Dancing With Him? Me? Yeah, Right.

I danced until my high-heeled shoe broke.

Who was he to push me back and fro? To hold me responsible for every twirl and spin and jump, and toss, until nothing but my heart gave forth breath? And yet his frame, his hold…his spell on me, did nothing but pull me closer, drag me deeper, enticing me, seducing me, throttling me, arousing me,

No stop!!

I woke up. It was all a dream. I wasn’t wearing a a red dress. I sighed. I found myself awake in bed, only to find myself in the kitchen in my cotton-blue robe and black tank top. Rubbing my forehead, I put some coffee on. Folgers. I needed it.

It was ever since I started taking these Salsa Meringue classes two weeks ago. The horror. And only because my friend said, “try something new.” Bull sh**. Why didn’t she do it?

Anyways, there was this instructor. I couldn’t believe he was an instructor because I saw him working out in the gym every Saturday. He had a nice chest. As a matter of fact, he had nice abs, he had good hair, fair skin, need I go on?

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