Perfume Behind Her Knees

Love is a good thing. Love rocks.  Love is an alive force of nature.  Chemistry, pheromones, hormones, synapsis, rapid heart rate, sweaty palms, perfume behind her knees.  How did she know?  Her bright orange fingernails raked his face.  "You fucking bastard!" A shout but more a plea than volume. "You have love oozing from every open pore on your body!  Goddam you!"  She wanted something he wasn't giving.  Too much love for one person.  Too much love for her.  Still, she wanted his love.  Not just his body but his soul, his core, his energy.  She wanted to know how to plug into it like he did.  When he was plugged in to his source, it was a dance away the day world.  Nothing mattered but what was going on in the room at the time.  The room was the center.  It was where he was and when he heard music, it was there also.  Dancing was the magic. Let yourself roll with it for I say unto you that ye shall dance your life away to the music that plays from the jukebox inside your head.

He looked at her.  Disheveled, mascara running down her red cheeks, her gold Doris Day dress wrinkled, she was crying.  No sobs, only tears.  He loved her, he knew.  She didn't know his world but he thought he knew hers.  Empty vessel looking to fill up on something, anything that made her feel alive.  She had come to him.  A nightclub, she asked him to dance.  They danced all night.  She liked him but there was a quirk about how he danced, free, flowing body movements, almost like ballet but with a heavy beat.  The band wasn't bad but they played covers and only with enough talent to pull it off.

She wasn't like this but she went to his house that night.  He put on Cheryl Crow.  They danced to every song on the album, the fast ones, the slow ones, every one of them.  The dawn came and went.  She tried to get him to bed.  He danced.  She had taken her jacket off and her shoes.  She was feeling it, the love, the energy.  Oh my God! she thought.  This doesn't happen to me.  What am I doing here?  He has so much just pouring out of him and he says nothing and twirls and twirls to the music.  He looked at her eye to running mascara eye.  "I love you," he told her from across the room.  She viewed him from a downturned face with upturned eyes.  Shit fuck!  "I...I love you," she whispered, " but I don't know what to do."  One night, not even twelve hours with this man and she knew that she, too, was in love.  He had plugged her in to the core, the juice, the power, the source.  She wanted to stay there.  It was good.  It was positive.  It gave off light.  It made her alive.

"Well, then," he said in a low voice, "let's dance."  He started across the room.  She met him halfway.  They embraced tightly, no air between their bodies.  She was slightly taller than he so her head fit on top of his shoulder.  Perfect fit.  She could feel the hardness in his pants rub against her pubic bone.  Oh God!  She quivered slightly and pushed against him.  They swayed back and forth to music only they could hear.  Nothing came out of the speakers except ambient static. He looked her straight away in the eye.  "To dance is to celebrate God," he quietly whispered in her ear.  She thought of another way they could celebrate God.  He didn't seem interested in anything but dancing.  That's when her hand went toward his face in a swipe.

Now he was standing, looking at her thoughtfully, as if determining the remedy for a particular situation.  "Are you finished dancing?  Then you must go."  It was a matter of fact statement with no discernable emotion in his voice.  Just a statement.  "And if I'm not finished dancing?" she hoarsely whispered.  "Then we shall dance until we can no longer and sleep demands to be let in. Then we shall lie together and sleep.  When awake again, we shall dance.  It is love."  He was self assured and seemed to truly believe what he was saying.  She was trying to be skeptical without much success.  It was all too real, the smells, the facial expressions, the feeling of his body, it was all here.  She was hooked.  She had to go with him.

"Come with me, love, and celebrate the goodness we take for granted.  Love me, and I you and we shall never climb down.  Be assured that I am here for you.  Now, let's dance."

She looked at him, looked away, then back at him.  Yes!  I will.  I belong.  To him.  And she knew that he belonged to her, as long as they danced.