Dear Mr. Pupil,
Maybe I was naïve to think you actually came to the classes I was teaching because you wanted to learn to dance. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised when you told me the main reason you were there every lesson was so you could shamelessly check out my ass. Maybe I should have stayed professional and respected the teacher-pupil relationship. But I’m so glad I didn’t.
Though you had come to my class on a whim and had never taken a dance class before, you belonged there. It was instantly clear to me that your body understood motion, rhythm and connection. And as it turned out, your body understood mine too.
There’s something about working up a sweat and surrendering to music that just makes for charged energy. I feel most comfortable when able to express myself physically. And you spoke the same language. Every lesson you attended, I felt my body ask for more conversations with yours. I caught myself touching you to correct mistakes that didn’t exist. I let my fingers trace your arms to make you aware of your already perfect alignment. I placed my hands on your back to help you soften your muscles, only so I could feel how strong they were. My limbs begged for an expansion of vocabulary but I held my tongue. You were my pupil. Even though you were the same age as I was, I still felt I needed to stay professional. Well that didn’t last, did it?
Motion, rhythm and connection eventually found their way to my bedroom. The eroticism of our movement and sweat translated well in my bed. I’ll always remember how, lying naked in each other’s arms, we discussed similarities between being a dance instructor and your profession: personal trainer. We spoke of how we both need strength and how different exercises targeted specific muscle groups. As you got out of bed to demonstrate a specifically effective exercise, I joked that as a personal trainer you’d sure be able to pick up a lot of girls with that body of yours, showing them just how to thrust their hips to get the right results. Your genuine shock still amuses me: “No, I won’t be able to pick up girls as that would totally violate the professional teacher-pupil relationship!” Yes. Yes, it would. Now come back to bed and fuck me.
Wishing we could have one last dance, between the sheets or not,