I don’t like to dance. I can’t dance, in fact. Forget the cliche two left feet, when I get going I have at least six or seven of them. I do appreciate good music, though, and so the sensual sound of salsa is soothing my shopping experience.

I like this town. There is so often something going on. Today, there is a group of people dancing. Professionals, dancing with each other. The men are in black from head to toe, their shirts open to reveal golden cinnamon skin below. The ladies costumes are bright and swirling, fringes and layering around the short skirts add movement as they sway and shake their hips. Red, yellow, white and blue dresses swirl to the sexy salsa beat.

I sit on the wall outside the hardware shop and listen. I can only catch glimpses of the dancing as the crowd shifts and people move on, but I can feel the beat of the music slipping and sliding all through my body. I slowly swig from a bottle of water and am aware of the stretch of my neck and the way I swallow. I think of sex, of being on my knees; a cock between my lips, spurting thick cream down the back of my elongated, begging throat.

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“Andre will be with you in a moment.”

The austere blonde receptionist smiles thinly as she takes my name and appointment time. Sliding the glass divider shut, she turns on her high heel and continues to look intently at a wall of filing cabinets.

I find a seat on the far side of the small waiting room. The room is painted a lovely shade of buttercup yellow and several nice prints are on the walls. An attempt to make the room feel warmer and less like a hospital waiting room, I would imagine. You can’t get rid of that smell, though. You know the one; it’s like a cross between an old woman and a musty charity shop, with a sharp hint of pine disinfectant

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Why do girlfriends insist on dragging you out to noisy clubs when you’ve just been dumped? And then, why do they desert you to go and dance with fit young men when they get fed up of your “Oh, but I loved him sooo much” whining?

Of course, you have to ask that if I knew all this, why did I let Lindsay, Christine, and Sally drag me out in the first place? I have absolutely no bleedin’ idea! I put it down to being in a weakened state. I spent the last weeks of winter sitting in a dark room, eating chocolate and watching every last episode of Friends. That could have brainwashed me into thinking that going out with my bosom buddies actually might cheer me up.

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