Speed and Impact
I like to walk through the city like I’m at war. I like to fight through crowds and stretch my legs to go farther, faster. I like to catch the eyes of beautiful men and handsome women and dare them with a glance as I stalk past.
Movement, to me, is sexy. Speed makes me feel powerful and strong. I have always enjoyed the battle that is walking through the streets of midtown Manhattan. I like taking out my aggression on the tourists and dawdlers. “On your left” I say, or “Excuse me,” and thread my way through close spaces. I like the challenge.
Today, striding purposefully from place to place, I had headphones in my ears and a swing in my step. I sang to myself and let the music add a twitch to my hips. I flirted with invisible characters on an invisible stage and caught the eyes of tall men and scowling women as I danced through their space. I was in my own world in a world of millions. And yet… I kept bumping into people.
Figuratively today. People I knew kept stepping out of elevators in front of me, crossing streets as I passed, or standing in hallways that I needed to traverse. Their impact was metaphorical, instead of literal. Not always. Sometimes I misjudge my timing, or someone moves in an unexpected manner, and I am knocked breathless from impact.
I love that feeling. I seek it out. I dare people with my eyes. In crowds, I play chicken with purposeful men to see who moves aside, secretly hoping to be spun on my axis and turned to follow. In private, I push. I taunt. I tease. I try and goad a passionate, unreasoned response.
If I could, I’d drive them to think, not at all. To act on instinct. To throw me up against a wall so hard the air is driven from me by force.
Listening to the music in my head today, pacing through the streets, feeling the sweat on my skin, thinking of hands on my arms, in my hair, I kept swinging between two fantasies. The first led inexorably to the second. An Argentine tango. Moving across the floor, legs flashing, bodies pressed together, feeling the rhythm in our bones and the passion in each stretch, twist, and release. Then later, in the alley outside the dance hall, rough brick against my back, red dress bunched around my waist, pale legs in garters and seamed stockings wrapped around a body clad in pinstripes and quiet strength. In my mind’s eye, I saw it from outside even as I felt it from within - the dance and what it led to. Heat and music. Speed and impact.
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