Page 8 of Text Me A Kiss

K_Kitten: That’s really clever!

“Think of something that describes you, but come across like you want to come across,”Mary had said when I asked her what my username should be. L’Art_of_Illusion had taken me over an hour to concoct, but the perfection of the username made it worth the time spent agonizing over it.

And she had gotten it. To wipe the wide grin off my face, I took a sip of coffee and relaxed back into my sleek, cream-colored couch. How to reply?

L’Art_of_Illusion: It is, actually. I’m impressed you got it.

I stared at my phone for a moment, but it showed an offline gray bubble for K_Kitten’s status. Besides, she had taken a couple days to respond the first time. Better not get my hopes up.

Leaving the phone on the leather-topped coffee table, I went into the kitchen to refill my cup. Drops of Frangelico splattered the floor as I dropped everything and half-jogged to the living room in response to the loud buzz from the table.

K_Kitten: Knowing some other forms of French art kind of comes with ballet.

L’Art_of_Illusion: I saw that you do ballet from your pictures. What’s your favorite ballet?

K_Kitten: You probably won’t be impressed with me anymore when I tell you. It’s Swan Lake. Not a very original favorite.

L’Art_of_Illusion: Swan Lake is ageless, tragic, beautiful, and romantic. It’s a worthy favorite.

K_Kitten: So you’ve seen it?

L’Art_of_Illusion: Several times. I try to go to a performance of the arts once a week.

From there, the conversation turned to the different shows and kinds of performances we had seen, which companies, who our favorite performers were—a plethora of fascinating topics that I had never, ever been able to bring up with a woman before. Kitten and I—the student of the arts and the patron of the arts—had hit it off immediately through our common interests.

Right now, through this dating app idea that I had so scorned when Mary had brought up and helped me implement, I was having a better conversation with a woman than I had in years. Ahealthyconversation. One that had potential to go beyond a one-night stand.

K_Kitten: I have to go, sorry. Ballet stuff. Talk to you later?

Before I could hit send on the reply I typed up, another message appeared.

I forgot how to breathe. Kitten stood in front of a full-length mirror, the cutest little half-smile tugging at her soft, pink lips as she gestured to her bun of brown hair, leotard, and tights with one hand.

In every photo I’d seen before, Kitten had never stood fully facing the camera, and now that she was…. Her leotard hugged her slim waist and accentuated her curvy hips. I could imagine the feel of the shape of her body as my hands explored the smooth, perfect skin that her chest teased me with.

Just a single gentle tug with one finger… that was what it would take to pull the shoulder straps of the black leotard down around her arms. Then, I could see what lay underneath….

“Healthy conversation”, he says. “Potential”, he says,I mocked myself. Gentlemen got to know a woman’s mind and heart before they got to know her body, and this time, I was determined to do things the gentlemanly way.

But damn. This woman wasn’t just a student of the arts. My Kittenwasart, a beautiful and original piece.

I wanted to learn everything I could about her, but I could wait. I wouldmakemyself wait, take things slowly. Impatience, desire, and unfamiliarity couldn’t control me when it came to Kitten.

L’Art_of_Illusion: Beautiful! Worthy of the greatest Swan Lake performances.

Yes, yes, I said I’d take things slow. That didn’t mean I couldn’t give a beautiful ballerina wholesome and truthful compliments.

Examining a small scratch on the leather coffee table and checking my work and personal emails killed about fifteen minutes. Kitten didn’t reply, so I assumed she had left for her “ballet stuff” and decided it was time I get busy too.

Now, I had a problem. Not a problem many people had or could even relate to whatsoever, but a problem nonetheless.

Two weeks ago, when I bought two tickets for this evening, I had intended to dress myself in a sharp suit, swing in my private car by an apartment belonging to a woman I had met once, and walk into the ballet with her on my arm. I even knew her name: Jocelyn.

Jocelyn dressed stylishly, just sexily enough to be a tease but not a distraction, and didn’t seem to want anything material from me. I’d certainly brought far more inelegant women to shows, just for sex later that night, but….

Today, I just wasn’t feeling it. Whatever kind of woman Jocelyn was, she wasn’t the one I wished I could spend my evening with.

Slow. Take things slow.

I quickly found that I could repeat that phrase as often as I wanted—out loud muttered at my reflection in the mirror or inside the privacy of my mind with a little shake of the head—all I wanted, but it wouldn’t change my thoughts.

When I greeted Jocelyn with a kiss on the back of her hand and ushered her into my car, the tone of her brown hair reminded me of Kitten’s. Together, her hand on the crook of my elbow and her heels clicking twice on the marbled floors to every stride of my dress shoes, we walked into the venue, but I knew I would make a more handsome couple with Kitten. We sat in our assigned seats, and Jocelyn talked animatedly about the show to come, but her words lacked the historical knowledge and technical language Kitten would know.

The lights dimmed, then vanished altogether. The first instruments of the live orchestra sang into existence, then a cool, blue light illuminated the stage, showing the first of the dancers as they flowed through the opening routines.

I watched every single moment at the edge of my seat, enthralled as ever by the graceful movements. The story was incredible, the execution flawless, and the star of the show….

Well, I never saw the star. I only saw Kitten, dancing across the stage with perfect timing and wonderful grace—my own star, a secret star that only I could see.