It wasn’t just mastering the steps – heel, toe, shuffle, kick, pirouette.
It was the flourish of his hands, the posture of his arms. A turn of his head, a look he gave his partner, each gesture was a word in an erotic story.
He was graceful, sinuous and cat-like. His every movement a caress of foreplay.
The accident took more than his arms, it took his elegance. His words no longer flowed from his fingertips. He couldn’t guide his partner through the dance, pressing his desires into the small of her back.
His words drained from every open vein.