Heteroflexibility by Mary Beth Daniels Page B

to rodeo dances at age twelve, standing along the periphery and watching the couples circle the floor.
    Jenna and Mary moved easily with each other. Nikki lead Bella in long dramatic steps. The Audreys pressed close together, more shifting to the music than doing a true waltz.
    “Can I interest you in a dance?”
    I stopped mid-drink, setting the glass down with a thunk. The gray-haired woman stood by my chair, seeming both nervous and happy that she’d worked up the courage to ask me.
    How could I say no? And what harm would there be in it? “Okay,” I said, standing up. The woman was a good six inches taller, and lean. I could manage.
    We climbed the steps to the dance floor and for an awkward moment tried to figure out whose hands went where. I had moved to hold her in the traditional girl on boy position, my hand on her shoulder, and so had she. We laughed for a moment.
    “It’s always hard to start,” she said.
    “It is.” Ha. Like I did this every day.
    She reached behind my back, taking the male role. I was relieved. I didn’t think I could dance with a strange girl for the first time AND lead. My palm smarted where our hands connected, from the cut. I forced the hideous speed dating scene out of my mind.
    She waltzed easily, moving forward so I could continue the familiar backward steps. After a quarter turn, I forced myself to relax. She didn’t talk, concentrating on the beat, and neither did I. We passed Nikki, who arranged her face into feigned shock, but carefully returned to an easy smile when my partner looked at her.
    She leaned next to my ear. “Friends of yours?”
    I nodded.
    “My name’s Tanner.”
    Since she was taller, I had to tilt my chin up to be heard over the music. “I’m Zest.”
    “Zest?”
    “Yes. Zest.”
    She grinned, bemused, probably thinking I was making it up.
    We faltered for a moment, and I smashed into her. “Sorry!”
    “My fault.”
    When we started up again, we had shifted around, so that I was leading. Sweat popped along my forehead as I concentrated, trying to work the steps I’d done my whole life in reverse.
    “Don’t stomp her!” Nikki shouted as she passed.
    I didn’t even bother glaring at her, too absorbed in the one-two-three, two-two-three rhythm. At last the song came to an end.
    Tanner thanked me for the dance, and we separated. I watched her walk away with mixed feelings—relief, because that had been way too tricky, and chagrin, because I obviously hadn’t impressed her.
    “How’d it go?” Mary asked as we stood around the table, gulping drinks.
    “I didn’t trample her feet,” I said.
    “You holding out on me?” Nikki asked. “Are you really bi?”
    “Oh no.” I downed the drink, now watery. “That was my first time.”
    “We popped your cherry!” Nikki said. She grabbed a cocktail waiter, a skinny man in tight black leather pants and a vest revealing a smooth hairless chest. “Bring this chick another pink girly whatever it is,” she said.
    We stood around the table, watching the bar start to fill.
    “Now, look at that,” Nikki said as a couple walked in. The girl was dressed in a stretchy black dress, too short and too tight, cheap faded cotton, with an emphasis on cleavage and way too much body bulk for the style. Her processed blond hair was frayed on the edges from damage, with black roots. She had on so much mascara that her eyes looked like spiders.
    In any other circumstance, I’d have assumed her date was a man. She stood a head taller, short hair just visible beneath a straw cowboy hat. The blue jeans were pulled high on the waist, adorned with a big belt buckle. Her stout middle gave way to a wide neck without any sort of female curve.
    “Did she strap down her boobs?” I asked Nikki. The booze was kicking in.
    “Probably. Or had the fat sucked out.”
    “You can do that?”
    She laughed. “Girl, you can do anything.”
    The DJ turned on a rare rock song and fired up the disco light. “Let’s all do this