Doug was a sight to behold. Deep brown eyes. Thick brown wavy hair. Chiseled jaw. A sparkle in his eyes spilling into his presence. Doug was a gem.
But how would I ever meet him, shy boy that I was. a many years younger.
Well, I drummed up the courage, and mosied over to his cottage. He was standing at the doorstep whistling up a tune the way singers often do.
But then there came a pause, and I knew a rest in the music..... woud only build up anticipation.-- What else is silence for in the midst of a budding romance?
So I forwarded the converation, with the style of a true Southerner: "I am fascinated by your tap class. But I simply have no shoes. Do you have an extra pair? Perhaps in your....uh....closet?"
Well indeed he was more than happy to take me to his closet, and the romance proceeded from there, at the speed of a Michigan hurricane.
More about the still waters along the dunes sometime tomorrow.
=)
=)
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3 comments:
Tap dancers are whores, every last one of them.
You should see *my* hop shuffle step flap ball change, btw. ;)
I would love to be your audience.
=)
before reading this article i thot..u r female and u talking abt ur BFe ...but...u and ur trainer are MALE. lil different kind of affection ;)
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