Pas de Deux

And so it begins: idle chitchat, casual touches, glances through lowered lashes. Excuses are made, pretexts are found, giving us a reason to visit one another. Small details of our lives are exchanged, words becoming codes within our growing intimacy. Rules are sidelined, restraint is abandoned, and judgment becomes a casualty in a momentary lapse.

To the depths of my soul, I feel the shameful thrill of it. Unexpected, yet accepted, I revel in his attention. His hand in my hair and his lips on mine anchor me as my consciousness soars, expanding with each indrawn breath and soft whisper. Emboldened, my hands roam and they are rewarded when his do the same. Learning the planes of his body, as he learns mine, I discover the sensitivity of his nape, the strength of his shoulders, and the give of his earlobe between my teeth.

I feel powerful and vulnerable, generous and greedy, wanting and wanted - the balance of emotions keeps me from exploding in sweet frantic joy. Were circumstances different, committments unmade, the outcome would maybe have been sweeter. But unrequited and unfulfilled, we separate.

In the bright light of day, there is guilt, but no recrimination. There is no fault or blame assigned, no accusations hurled. There is acceptance, fleeting regret, and mutual agreement that our indiscretion was a mistake. There is still yearning, but we scruple to squelch it.

Now, we dance. We waltz in tandem, tiptoeing delicately around our attraction. We move toward one another, sidestepping and shuffling around the pull we feel, still eager for even the fleeting contact of the dance, yet wary of where it may lead. Unwilling to give up this small pas-de-deux, we still live the pretexts and invented reasons, soldiering on with our work, squashing our feelings. We fight to hide it, even from ourselves, yet still, we dance.