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Description

Alexander had a love-hate feeling about dancing with tall girls. He loved their presence, the way other dancers would make room for them, how all eyes were drawn which boosted his status amongst the crowd. Their long arms made certain move easier. But these tall ones also challenged him - leading overhead turns required him to become elastic-man, and would often yield in a sore shoulder for days later.

So he was surprised to see a very tall new young woman at the annual ball, sitting near the door. No other leads had mustered courage to ask her. He approached and held out his hand; as she stood up his heart skipped a beat: his natural gaze was completely blocked by her chest, so he angled his head awkwardly up to see the her pretty face high up, looking straight down at him. Walking onto the dance floor, in peripheral vision he felt the laser eyes of sitting onlookers, assembling with interest as if with popcorn to gawk at a pending collision. As they lined up in closed position, he inadvertently palmed her gluteal muscle, quickly felt his mistake and moved his arm up to an awkward angle. His hand was engulfed by her long, smooth palm, and her long thin fingers came to a rest on his shoulder from above. At times he realized she was looking straight across over his head, and indeed over other couples, to see herself in the wall mirrors. Her legs were so long that he had difficulty accounting for her movements, and leading turns required putting his arm almost perfectly perpendicular to sweep over her blonde head. In one instance this required him to get very close to have sufficient arm to initiate the lead, he turned to look up at her while leading the turn, only to reel back as her high elbow slammed hard into the center of his face. Perhaps his nose was broken. He was stunned, in a combination of pain and odd pleasure, and tried to pretend all was well. "Are you ok?" she asked doubtfully, looking down at him like a girl in a faerytale who has lost something in a well. "I'm fine" he said glancing at her imposing figure making a note of that her knees also could be dangerous, and back up at her. "No matter what happens on the dance floor, by definition, its' always the lead's fault."

Description

Alexander had a love-hate feeling about dancing with tall girls. He loved their presence, the way other dancers would make room for them, how all eyes were drawn which boosted his status amongst the crowd. Their long arms made certain move easier. But these tall ones also challenged him - leading overhead turns required him to become elastic-man, and would often yield in a sore shoulder for days later.

So he was surprised to see a very tall new young woman at the annual ball, sitting near the door. No other leads had mustered courage to ask her. He approached and held out his hand; as she stood up his heart skipped a beat: his natural gaze was completely blocked by her chest, so he angled his head awkwardly up to see the her pretty face high up, looking straight down at him. Walking onto the dance floor, in peripheral vision he felt the laser eyes of sitting onlookers, assembling with interest as if with popcorn to gawk at a pending collision. As they lined up in closed position, he inadvertently palmed her gluteal muscle, quickly felt his mistake and moved his arm up to an awkward angle. His hand was engulfed by her long, smooth palm, and her long thin fingers came to a rest on his shoulder from above. At times he realized she was looking straight across over his head, and indeed over other couples, to see herself in the wall mirrors. Her legs were so long that he had difficulty accounting for her movements, and leading turns required putting his arm almost perfectly perpendicular to sweep over her blonde head. In one instance this required him to get very close to have sufficient arm to initiate the lead, he turned to look up at her while leading the turn, only to reel back as her high elbow slammed hard into the center of his face. Perhaps his nose was broken. He was stunned, in a combination of pain and odd pleasure, and tried to pretend all was well. "Are you ok?" she asked doubtfully, looking down at him like a girl in a faerytale who has lost something in a well. "I'm fine" he said glancing at her imposing figure making a note of that her knees also could be dangerous, and back up at her. "No matter what happens on the dance floor, by definition, its' always the lead's fault."