In the interest of discretion, let the reader decide whether this story is a figment of my imagination, or whether the account really happened?
Fact or Fantasy? You decide. The truth shall remain an enigma.
*****
Once upon a time, in a faraway place, there was a Dancer, a ballerina, a leading ballerina, to be precise. She was approximately 30 years old, Caucasian, tall, standing at 5'11, lean, smallish breasts, 34B, dark hair, sophisticated, with sharp looks and features, and flashing sapphire blue eyes.
As those stereotyped by her profession, she walked with poise, owning the environment wherever she went.
The Dancer, dressed classically and conservatively in the stage and playhouse environment, with her long dark hair gathered and slicked back with simple elegant style. We met at a theatre after-party, her name was Rose, introduced to me by the stage manager.
At the time I was a director of a sales & marketing company, of Italian ancestry and looks, fairly tall at 5'11, medium build, lean, Caucasian, dark hair, green eyes, receding hairline and 40 years old.
She seemed to light up the room, even more so than the sparkle of her sapphire & diamond engagement ring, and the matching blue-white flash of her eyes. Eyes that held your gaze, eyes that never looked down.
I was immediately taken by her presence. I noticed her simple classic black clothing, offset by her Cartier watch. She wore the larger male, or gentleman's version, with confidence. There was no confusion as to her femininity, however. The scent of Angel swirled in close proximity around The Dancer.
I also noticed, however, that she seemed slightly distracted, her eyes switching direction regularly, surveying the room, like an eagle, taking up her insight of the guests. The Dancer chatted freely, and warmly, soon introducing me to her husband, Edward, as he approached with a drink for her.
He seemed very down to earth and dressed like a country laird, rather tatty in comparison to her classic style. I judged Edward to be in his early fifties. He reminded me of an absent-minded author, lost in his own thoughts.
Most noticeable were his pronounced limp and the weird gait as he walked, assisted by a walking stick. We chatted about that night's performance, and nothing of real importance, save the current political situation of that time.
My conclusion was that she leant towards liberal politics, whereas I was slightly conservative, having a similar political opinion to her husbands if truth be told.
Anyway, the evening drew to a close, and I needed to be on my way, though not wanting to say goodbye to The Dancer.
They decided to leave, and on parting, she asked for my business card.
Rose was to the point, "It's been most interesting meeting you, Steven. May I have your business card?"
A few weeks passed by, slowly, a week at a time, and I often thought about The Dancer.
Then one day it happened, out of the blue on a quiet evening at home, a text arrived, from The Dancer.
It read simply, "Hi Steven, we'd like to invite you over for drinks & snacks, this Thursday evening, 7 pm. Keen? Rose."
My reply was swift and sure, accepting the invitation politely, though wondering at the dynamic. I clearly found her attractive, our chemistry undeniable, yet it's said that two are good company, and three is a crowd.
On thinking the invite through again I came to the conclusion that they were obviously inviting a bunch of people over, and that there would be no dynamic or awkward situation.
Thursday duly arrived, and soon it was time to head to their home, a chance to meet with The Dancer.
I made sure to dress well, wearing a dark pair of Levi's jeans, a neat pale blue button up shirt, my dress Rolex, and a navy blazer.
They both greeted me warmly on arrival and welcomed me in. The Dancer was dressed in a laid back fashion, wearing sheer white Capri trousers and a wispy white cheesecloth shirt, her beautiful dark hair down, a waterfall of sensual curls.
I noticed that there were no other guests. Would this be awkward?
The Dancer soon went to the kitchen, her incredible body and presence leaving the room, leaving me with her husband, the scent of Angel in the air, while he prepared the drinks.
I noticed that there were no awkward moments or silences at all. They were very relaxed. He had an inner peace. He offered me whatever I wanted to drink, so I chose what they were having, smoky Jack Daniels, on 3 ice cubes, in a heavy crystal glass.
The Dancer soon arrived with lovely snacks, on crackers and toothpicks, the delicious savoury tastes of smoked salmon, olives, cream cheese, caviar, and asparagus.
Her husband then asked, "Steven, have you been wondering about my situation, my disability, my doddery walk, my limp?" I replied that, I had, in fact, wondered about his situation, and what had caused this.
He explained, while sipping his Jack Daniels on ice, that he'd been a senior person at the telecommunications company, and had suffered a very bad fall, falling off a microwave signal tower, and had barely survived. He added that this injury had affected many parts of his life, including his sensual life.
The Dancer listened with interest, keeping eye contact with him, nodding here and there, giving affirmation. She clearly loved him and doted on him.
Her hubby then asked me, "Steven, what do you think of her as a dancer, a ballerina?"
I then gushed, "I'd seen her dance in the ballet, she was clearly beautiful, she had rave reviews, and obviously very talented in her field!"
He replied by saying, "Honey, would you treat us? Would you do that? Show us your moves? Put some music on, some Tina Turner, and dance for us as we enjoy another drink and these lovely tasty snacks?"
The Dancer never hesitated, she found a Tina Turner CD, and within seconds was treating us to her sensual dance moves, one track after the other. She took turns, giving her hubby full attention on one track, and then me on the following track.
