Arrows. Art by "Solar Sleep"

How to Dance by giovan

by giovan

IT IS THIS evening in April that I have realized that I have finally learned how to dance. I used to be so self-conscious, afraid I didn't look like I knew what I was doing. So I would mock-dance, laughing at myself before anyone else would. And now it is in this April evening with my bedroom door closed and my bedroom window open that the crickets are singing through the screen and I am naked and looking at myself in the mirror. I have been watching myself dancing.

It used to be that I would ask my little cousin for instructions how to dance. She could mimic the latest moves she saw on the tv. So I would try and she would laugh and I would give up. It just didn't feel like me.

And then I learned to close my eyes. To let go, to not think, to let the rhythm enter my body and go, strip away the self-conscious, let my arms knock everyone around me, let them know, let them see. Arch my back, let my hair touch my ass, I'm showing everyone.

Look at me! I'm dancing like a painting, my legs are all over the canvas, kick up and kick down with my hands clapping underneath. I grab a person, wrap my arms around his neck, dance in the lap of a beautiful woman, Look at me!

I am.

This is the first night I have opened my eyes.

This is me. I am naked and sweaty. I can smell my body perfume. I press my face close to the mirror and look at my dilated pores, dark skin, bushy eyebrows, that dot below my eye, the lines that will pull out of the corners one day. My body is ripe, a dark purple plum with golden spots that has fallen onto the ground. I am full of dust. Gleaming, shining dust, covered with earth.

This is me. I move my hands over my shoulders, glazing my palms with purple dust. My hands feel like god. I am god. I am making myself, hand over hand, tracing colors over my skin; I keep my eyes open. I keep my face close to the mirror and my breath becomes fog, mist over my lips.

I take my paint brush. I want dark freckled skin. I pull the brush in a pot of orange, spread the hairs so each one is coated thick like butter. Up to my face, the hot magna orange smells like clay. I paint myself with orange, orange of fire, orange of fruit, orange of freckles. I am alive. I paint myself because I am alive. I touch myself because I am alive.

I look at myself. My brush moves down my neck to my breasts, full and brown. Orange over dark skin, to my stomach, my sides. My hands grab flesh, I want my palms to feel full. The paint swirls with sweat, I have grown feathers.

Deep, deep deep in my insides, I can feel my god, rising through my pores, out of my pupils, my nostrils flare. I almost forget to look at myself, but there I am. I am in front of my mirror, tattooed like the Maori tribe, paint seeping through sweat.

My arms reach down to the floor and I lower myself and crouch in front of the mirror and look into my mouth to watch a silent roar.

And then I smile.

My hands touch my thighs and my heat rises and my cunt grows tight. I feel pleasant, I feel pleasure, this is the good.

My fingers pull on the hairs. They are long and dark and shine in my bedroom light. My cunt is expectant, she wants me inside. My finger runs up and down between the folds of skin. Gentle and gentle, I let myself relax, I breathe in deep. I feel so warm.

I have forgotten and closed my eyes. I open them up slowly expecting to see myself in the mirror. But I am surprised. Who is that? It's me, but it's not me. I look so young. Younger than young. My eyes are so big, they are so bright. I feel like I am five.

I smile. This is me. This is really me. I start to rub my cunt more firmly. My clit rises and I think of Gertrude Stein's "Tender Buttons". I pull my skin apart so I can look at it better. I am so red like, like my red pocket book.

Ha! My pocket book is red like a cunt. And everyone sees my red pocket book.

I smile at myself in the mirror. I still look young. I will always look young. We laugh.

My rubbing becomes a rhythm, I touch lightly around my clit at a steady pace, the rhythm starts to keep my breathing company. I feel it coming, my body starts to catch. I don't want to stop rubbing.

My cunt is waiting, it is impatient. I take my other hand and let it run up my leg towards my cunt. I take one finger and let it enter into me, and I am warm like I am red. I am alive.

My body breathes with me and I am starting to feel warmer and warmer, I don't want the feeling to stop, but I have to keep rubbing. My eyes have closed again and I open them, more quickly this time, and I see my face. I am orange like my cunt is red. I am young and I am orange and I am ripe and I am me.

My mouth is open and I can see my teeth and I can see my tongue. My mouth grows wider and wider as I am starting to come, my eyes squint, my whole body crunches. My hand is inside me, I am so tense, I am rubbing so fast, I can't stop, and thennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

my voice
it rips out of me
i am singing one long loud note
my body is collapsing
and my voice is rushing out


I am emptied. My body is breathing fast. I smile to myself and my orange breasts are heaving. My hair is sticking to my temples and I am sitting on my bedroom floor on this fantastic evening of April when I have finally learned how to dance. ++

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