Bring on the Salsa rhythm, the attractive teacher and the hot, passionate, sexually frustrated and bored housewife. Such is the recipe for this fine, photographically illustrated short story from David Shaw.
I was a total fool to do what I did. The only excuse I have is that I got carried away by the temptation of the music and the dancing. I've always loved the beat of Latin American dances and I get bored when Tomas is away on one of many his business trips. So sometimes I'd go with my friends to a dancing class to practice my salsa steps. The man who runs the studio is a marvelous dancer and I loved to go around the floor with him. Only for the dancing, you understand, not for any other reason.
Yes, Pedro flirted with me, but he does that with every woman he dances with, so I didn't take it seriously.
Not until he pounced on me, that is. It was the third or fourth time I'd been to the classes and we were dancing together. He was showing me some new steps, and everything was dreamy.
EXTRACT
I was a total fool to do what I did. The only excuse I have is that I
got carried away by the temptation of the music and the dancing. I've
always loved the beat of Latin American dances and I get bored when
Tomas is away on one of many his business trips. So sometimes I'd go
with my friends to a dancing class to practice my salsa steps. The man
who runs the studio is a marvelous dancer and I loved to go around the
floor with him. Only for the dancing, you understand, not for any
other reason.
Yes, Pedro flirted with me, but he does that with every woman he
dances with, so I didn't take it seriously.
Not until he pounced on me, that is. It was the third or fourth time
I'd been to the classes and we were dancing together. He was showing
me some new steps, and everything was dreamy.
He'd kept me back for a few minutes partnering me through a loco
complicado as everybody else went to get their coats. One minute more
and I would have gone with my friends as well, but just for that
moment we were alone, facing one of the full length mirrors in the
teaching room, and Pedro was standing behind
me. His hands were on my waist and suddenly he lifted them up at the
same time as he kissed my neck. It was such a surprise that I froze
still, even when his fingers cupped my breasts and gently squeezed
them. Of course as soon as I recovered my wits I told him to stop
doing it, but he said that if I struggled the thin shirt I was wearing
might get torn, which would give my friends a lot to talk about. He
said that if I smiled at him in the mirror and counted ten slowly he'd
let me go then, after he'd had his little bit of fun. It was a
difficult situation but if that was all he wanted, I was willing to do
it, as long as I could break free before anybody else came into the
hall. There would be any amount of trouble if my husband heard about
this. So I smiled at Pedro's reflection and counted to ten while his
hands did what they wanted, by which time I freely confess my blood
was pounding as well. But then Pedro let me go as he'd promised he
would, and a good thing too, because one of my friends came back into
the instruction room only a second or two later.
It was very difficult to talk to her as though nothing had happened
and I was thankful I was already flushed from all the rapid dancing
I'd been doing.
Anyway, she didn't seem to notice that something unusual had
happened.
So, we left, and I'd already decided that I was never going back for
another lesson at Pedro Enloe's hands. There was altogether too much
temptation there for faithful wives who were getting bored with their
lives. In fact I was quite sure that one or two wives might have
fallen for his advances and it crossed my mind that perhaps the
mirrors in his dancing room could tell some
lurid tales. I'll also admit that on that very night I had a most
vivid dream in which I saw myself in the same mirror, with Pedro doing
the same thing to me again, only this time I was wearing nothing at
all!
Still, not even the most jealous of husbands can worry about his
wife's dreams, as long as you have the good sense not to tell him
about them. So, that was it. Until the next time that Tomas was away,
and I had an envelope put through my letter box -- unstamped, not
addressed, only my name on it and `Personal and Confidential` written
on the front in large firm letters.
I opened the envelope, took out the pictures I found inside it, and
nearly fainted. It seemed that mirror could tell tales after all. For
there I was, just as I'd seen myself in it, with Pedro's fingers
fondling me, and my smiling face watching them at play.
It was stunning, baffling, unbelievable. Slowly I worked out that the
only explanation must be that the mirror was made of two way glass,
and that somebody had been behind it with a camera as Pedro had held
me in position, making sure that the hidden watcher had his chance to
capture the whole scene in a series of snapshots taken through the
mirror.
