whispering to each
other. It was so quiet, Sarah had caught herself audibly voicing her
internal dialogue a few times, just to break the silence. She got up from
her armchair and stretched, moving into the sunlight and startling the cat who
scampered off down the hallway. She stood on one foot and grabbed the
other ankle, pulling it up behind her and leaning forward, feeling her core
muscles stabilize. She tried not to chastise herself for slacking off on her
yoga as she heard the twinkly chime of her phone announcing a new text message.
Thanks. What’s up?
Three words. Seven
days later. From James. The message seemed as if he had just read her own
three word text, the one she’d sent a week ago. Damn, my heart is racing ,
she suddenly noticed and set her phone back down while she continued to
stretch. Must. Calm. Down. She tried to focus on the pose
again, but her concentration was busy debating her response, throwing off her
balance.
I don’t want to sound
too eager. Or desperate. Patience is a virtue , she reminded herself.
Two hours later when she
was getting ready to venture out for the night with Rachel and Mark she settled
on a simple, casual reply: Not much. Going out tonight.
This time his reply came
immediately: Oh yeah? Where does a sexy professor go for fun on a Saturday
night?
Sarah felt like playing
coy but she found her lips almost painfully spread into a huge grin to be
interacting with him, the biggest smile she’d mustered all week. Wouldn’t
you like to know? she teased him.
Actually yes. Yes I
would.
She seriously considered
inviting him to go with her for about half a second. Then she remembered the
venue. And that he hadn’t texted her back for a week. Um, in DC. Sorry,
adults only!
Haha WTF does that mean?
I thought I proved my adulthood the other night.
Sarah giggled like an
adolescent girl, her thumbs flying fast and furiously on her phone’s keyboard. True,
but you didn’t prove your ability to return texts in a timely manner LOL. She
wasn’t going to let his lack of communication slide.
Ah. Sorry. Hope you have
fun.
Sarah decided to just
leave things there. It was all a little game, right? Advancing,
retreating, a dance, a game that men and women played. Probably not just
straight people either , she considered. Hmmm...new research idea ,
she thought to herself. She pulled the same dresses out of the closet that she
had been considering prior to the house party two weeks before and after a
minimum of internal debate slipped the purple one over her head, smoothing it
down around her hips. Purple for passion , she thought, swiped her lips
with a burgundy lipstick, grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
***
The club was loud. Sarah
could feel the music pulsating in her bones, rendering it nearly impossible to
avoid swaying her hips in rhythm while Mark and Rachel checked their liquor in
at the bar. That was the way these clubs worked. Guests brought their own
alcohol and a bartender was provided to serve it. Defraying the cost of drinks
balanced the entrance fees for couples and single men, but single women were in
demand at these sorts of venues so they were admitted for a nominal fee. They earned
the nickname “unicorns;” that’s how rare and special they were. Sarah
remembered her reflection in her full length mirror before leaving the house
and how poochy and bloated she was feeling that night. Ugh, PMS , she
thought to herself. I’m feeling neither rare nor special tonight. She
felt like playing the role of observer rather than participant.
The bar area looked like
a typical night club. There was low lighting, barstools and tables with chairs.
A few black leather couches lined the walls and the parquet dance floor which
was swirling with colored lights and twinkling disco ball reflections. There
was a large dance cage at the far end featuring a few scantily clad ladies
grinding against each other while the metal casing rocked back
other. It was so quiet, Sarah had caught herself audibly voicing her
internal dialogue a few times, just to break the silence. She got up from
her armchair and stretched, moving into the sunlight and startling the cat who
scampered off down the hallway. She stood on one foot and grabbed the
other ankle, pulling it up behind her and leaning forward, feeling her core
muscles stabilize. She tried not to chastise herself for slacking off on her
yoga as she heard the twinkly chime of her phone announcing a new text message.
Thanks. What’s up?
Three words. Seven
days later. From James. The message seemed as if he had just read her own
three word text, the one she’d sent a week ago. Damn, my heart is racing ,
she suddenly noticed and set her phone back down while she continued to
stretch. Must. Calm. Down. She tried to focus on the pose
again, but her concentration was busy debating her response, throwing off her
balance.
I don’t want to sound
too eager. Or desperate. Patience is a virtue , she reminded herself.
Two hours later when she
was getting ready to venture out for the night with Rachel and Mark she settled
on a simple, casual reply: Not much. Going out tonight.
This time his reply came
immediately: Oh yeah? Where does a sexy professor go for fun on a Saturday
night?
Sarah felt like playing
coy but she found her lips almost painfully spread into a huge grin to be
interacting with him, the biggest smile she’d mustered all week. Wouldn’t
you like to know? she teased him.
Actually yes. Yes I
would.
She seriously considered
inviting him to go with her for about half a second. Then she remembered the
venue. And that he hadn’t texted her back for a week. Um, in DC. Sorry,
adults only!
Haha WTF does that mean?
I thought I proved my adulthood the other night.
Sarah giggled like an
adolescent girl, her thumbs flying fast and furiously on her phone’s keyboard. True,
but you didn’t prove your ability to return texts in a timely manner LOL. She
wasn’t going to let his lack of communication slide.
Ah. Sorry. Hope you have
fun.
Sarah decided to just
leave things there. It was all a little game, right? Advancing,
retreating, a dance, a game that men and women played. Probably not just
straight people either , she considered. Hmmm...new research idea ,
she thought to herself. She pulled the same dresses out of the closet that she
had been considering prior to the house party two weeks before and after a
minimum of internal debate slipped the purple one over her head, smoothing it
down around her hips. Purple for passion , she thought, swiped her lips
with a burgundy lipstick, grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
***
The club was loud. Sarah
could feel the music pulsating in her bones, rendering it nearly impossible to
avoid swaying her hips in rhythm while Mark and Rachel checked their liquor in
at the bar. That was the way these clubs worked. Guests brought their own
alcohol and a bartender was provided to serve it. Defraying the cost of drinks
balanced the entrance fees for couples and single men, but single women were in
demand at these sorts of venues so they were admitted for a nominal fee. They earned
the nickname “unicorns;” that’s how rare and special they were. Sarah
remembered her reflection in her full length mirror before leaving the house
and how poochy and bloated she was feeling that night. Ugh, PMS , she
thought to herself. I’m feeling neither rare nor special tonight. She
felt like playing the role of observer rather than participant.
The bar area looked like
a typical night club. There was low lighting, barstools and tables with chairs.
A few black leather couches lined the walls and the parquet dance floor which
was swirling with colored lights and twinkling disco ball reflections. There
was a large dance cage at the far end featuring a few scantily clad ladies
grinding against each other while the metal casing rocked back
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