She held the wooden spoon, wet with tomato sauce, away from them, trying not to drip. “Do you want to eat?” she said, and a tear slipped down her ...heek. Her throat felt thick. “No,” he said. He turned off the stove and took her hand. He led her to the bedroom. He undressed her. He kissed her neck. His fingers danced down her belly, and he kissed her nipples. She undressed him. When she uncovered the familiar scar across his ribs, an injury he’d received when he fell off a roof, she ran her. This was my time. I love music, it can move me. To be honest dancing is close to masturbating, you let your body move to the rhythm of the music while slightly brushing your hands on your body causing the men around you to drool and wish you were naked. Maybe my dancing is somewhat provocative and suggestive, but that is the only way to release tension in public and express my sexuality. And although I prefer dancing alone, for many reasons, one of which is nobody gets in the way of the rhythm,. More

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