Tangle of Temptations
She was a vision of fiery vibrance. Her bobbed hair accentuated the sharp lines of her cheeks. Her curves, carefully sculpted from an obviously rigorous amount of exercise, were strategically flaunted in a red satin, halter-top, backless dress. The bodice was a second skin, hugging her with each twist and turn, as the skirt flared out forming a bell, teasing the smooth, athletic, caramel legs.
The artistry of Elena’s appearance was lost on none when she entered the club. Men immediately flocked to her, stumbling over one another to vie for her attention. The disdain the other women held for her was palpable, heavy enough to suffocate anyone caught in its wake.
But Elena feigned interest in neither the peacocking of the men nor the scorn of the women, her focus was entirely devoted to the dance floor calling to her with the dulcet tones of the guitar and accordion.
As she swayed to the music, a feeling of despair overcame me. Each movement was a cry in remorse, a plea for an authentic feeling beyond the emptiness that threatened to consume her. One dance flowed into the next and the next, and soon all sense of beginning and end ceased to exist.
The band too lost its sense of professional dispassion from the music and began taking its cues from Elena, slowing as she tired and quickening as her fire returned.
Several men tried to step into her world. Some danced up to her with such swagger, it was a wonder how they kept themselves afloat. Others tried to capitalize on her weaker moments, offering their hand as she slowed down.
Each time, the result was the same — Elena brushed away their attempts at connection and flung herself across the floor as if to say This is my domain! I am neither a prize to be won nor a damsel to be rescued!
After nearly an hour of watching her dance, I too was enthralled to the hypnotic sway of her passion. Every gesture and move that she made seemed an extension of some unquenchable thirst of some unspoken desire. To dance was not nearly enough to satisfy this craving.
It was beyond physical, it was spiritual. But how to demonstrate this to her? Possessed by the same spirit driving Elena, I found myself singing to her from my table,
Los amigos ya no vienen
Ni siquiera visitarme
Nadie quiere consolarme en mi aflicción.
Elena never slowed, never faltered in her step. She simply looked at me with a spark of recognition. Though we had never met before, there was something about the way she danced that called to me more profoundly than any prayer or hymn ever could.
And in my response to her, Elena saw the same in me. So I continued to sing,
Si supieras que aún dentro de mi alma
Conservo aquel cariño que tuve para ti
Quién sabe si supieras que nunca te he olvidado?
Volviendo a tu pasado te acordarás de mí.
The melody reached its natural end and I was left discontent with my lot, longing for more. More time to embrace this newfound connection with the embodiment of Aphrodite herself.
As my moment to capture Elena’s attention faded, I stepped to the dance floor and took her hand. This time, she did not shun the gesture.
The melody changed, no longer robust with the strings of the violin and rhythm-centric focus. The guitar now carried the melody into a delicate memory of a missed opportunity, while the accordion whined in longing for a love now lost, never to return.
It was a song of desperation and desire.
When Elena took my hand, she stepped close into me, so close I could smell the lavender perfume sweetening the faint aroma of her sweat. I slowly took her waist, my arm wrapping around her as both a safety belt and a blanket, offering security and comfort.
She accepted my offer in kind, draping her arm over my shoulder and down my back, simultaneously grounding me to this moment and causing my heart to soar. Our free hands intertwined as we began to sway to the music.
The tango, unlike other dances, is more of an exercise in balance and communication than it is timing and spacing. Like all dances, tango is born from the melody and rhythm of a song, but as the dance proceeds, it becomes less dependent upon that song, like a child growing up and leaving the home of its parents to explore what the world has to offer.
And while the waltz, foxtrot, or salsa dance maintains a rigid core slaved to that initial song, the tango takes on a life of its own, as organic an unpredictable as the souls embodying the dance.
Our organic dance started small as Elena traced delicate arcs with the toe of her shoe. She was anticipating our first steps together. I stepped forward and she responded in kind, acquiescing to my lead and stepping back. But Elena’s submission to my direction yielded nothing of her spirit. As she stepped back, she crossed over her other foot, took a beat, then sent her other leg gliding back and out in a wide, slow arc behind her.
As I continued to move forward, that leg swept back in at the end of her arc to crawl up my extended leg. This brief touch sent a chill down my spine as a deep and passionate as a kiss though our lips never touched.
We sashayed around the floor. Elena’s momentum grew so strong, I balanced myself on one foot and she was able to spin me in a circle in place. As I came out of the spin, Elena came into me as, turning as if to see the room from my perspective, but my eyes were fixed on her. I stepped over her to untangle our legs, but she turned again and stepped over my legs.
We were momentarily caught crawling over one another, her extended, wrapping around me as if in an embrace. We turned, stepping to and fro when Elena sat on my knee. I hoisted her up onto my hip and she gently kicked out, as though to walk on the air, now heavy, weighed down by the tension between us.
We danced for what felt like a blink of an eye. In an instant, the music slowed and the guitar trembled as the sole voice in what had become a silent room. The loneliness of that voice squeezed my heart and I feared the moment was slipping away. Elena’s steps slowed, her hands freed themselves to touch my arms, then my shoulder, and finally to wander to my chest as though to push me away.
But I was unwilling to let go just yet. I tightened my hold on her back almost imperceptibly and spun around. This time it was my turn to find the arc, to raise my foot up and gently kiss the side of her leg.
I am not sure whether it was the natural course of the music, or if my longing to stay a few more moments in the arms of this angel, but the dance continued. The accordion returned to wail in harmony with longing in my chest, and Elena began to step ever more fervently.
I like to think that she longed for the dance to continue as well, and that the combined power of our desire willed the moment to stretch further than it would have on its own.
Our dance changed in that moment. It ceased to be a performance of delicate, hesitant, almost stolen touches and became a performance of competing steps.
Knowing our song would come to a close at any moment, the levy broke and the reservoir of emotion and desire possessed use. Elena threw herself into the moment.
Each step, every twist, pivot, and spin was accompanied by a kick of the heel or a lean so intense she would have fallen if not connected to me. For my part, I cannot recall ever being more present.
The focus bordered on the obsession. With Elena’s continuous repositioning, my hands moved to guide and support her, allowing me to fulfill my heart’s deepest desire, to touch every part of her.
The music intensified. Was it the accordion’s whine, or someone crying out in a lyrical wail? The strum of the guitar lost all distinction from the beating of my heart. Our hearts, Elena’s and mine.
They beat as one, indistinguishable and inseparable person for a mere instant and she spun, kicked out, then laid herself into the crook of my arm.
My legs supported us both as I stepped and spun on the floor, Elena’s legs flaring out. The toes of her shoes glided across the floor, like an ice skater flows across a freshly cleaned rink.
Regaining her balance, Elena and I sensed the inevitable end of our time together approaching. Expelling the last of our inhibitions, we started to spin. First Elena, then me, then us together, then Elena again, and so on. Quick shuffles of the feet, kicks of the heels, and extensions of the legs led to an entanglement so impassioned, we had no choice but to cleave to one another to keep from spiraling apart to certain ruin.
Yet, as the final note rang out into the echoing silence of the room, the force of our dancing subsided, leaving only the unspoken passion behind.
Our movements slowed. The steps once again becoming small and hesitant. For each one we took forward, there were two hesitant attempts to follow. Our form began to tense. Elena’s chest pulled away from mine, leaving me breathless and a feeling of emptiness. We posed into a final lunge as the music stopped. Her offering of such poise was welcomed by the crowd of on-lookers I only then remembered were present.
But I loathed to give them my attention. It was the last moment of my time with Elena and I was determined to savor the touch of her hand on my neck. The sweet smell of her breath was intoxicating, so much so that it took every ounce of self-control not to press my lips to hers, leaning into what could have been the greatest kiss of our lives.
I stood up, carrying Elena to her full height by the strength of my arm still wrapped snug around her back. Parting, I could see the sweat glisten on her breasts. Each breath causing them to rise and fall in an alluring fashion. I looked in her eyes, Elena’s dark brown eyes, and tried to speak.
I wanted to say something clever and witty, something that would entice her to stay with me beyond our dance and into the night. But there were no words, there never were any. Nothing I, or anyone else, could have said in that moment would have compared to the unity we had just experienced.
It was a perfect moment.
She knew it. I knew it. And to potentially ruin something so pure and rare would have been insult to the sanctity of what we had just created. So, I leaned in, kissed her on the cheek, and without a word, released her from my grasp, and walked out into the night.
