right now." A sigh expressing a feeling of neverending. "But, I learned how." The man said of ballroom dancing. "My ankle doesn't believe you anymore." They both looked down at it. "Let me see," the woman lifted the hem of the long skirt. The man, buff from working and working, lifted the woman and placed her on a small stage. Ran his hand against the back of her stocking'd calf to firmly bring the skirt up to her knee. Her hand bulldozed his to a STOP. He bumped his eyebrows up and down and put her foot into both his hands. Removed a shoe, placed the sole of her foot on his chest. She feigned fainting. He started to unwrap the bulky bandage around her ankle. "Toldya."
"Doesn't prove anything about ballroom dancing."
"What did you learn while we were apart?"
"I uh," she plied getting drowsy suddenly as he rubbed the bottom of her foot with fingers stiff and muscle-y from repairing plaster on a Conservation project. "We uh, see, that's why I can't ballroom dance with you right now."
"'Cuz you're woozy?"
She gently laugh-sighed, but winced as he pushed where the pins had been put in. Her hands grabbed for the stage floor. Let me balance. He rubbed the bottom of the foot and barely squeezed the area around the actual scar area.
"What's going on here?" A dandy-uniformed young person came from the wings of backstage.
No comments:
Post a Comment