'The Naked Dance' by Yang Wang

     We had the studio to ourselves.  Spacious.  Warm.  Our voices lightly echoed as we conversed.  Soon, he found his slender waist wrapped in my arms.  Soon, I found my hair between his fingers.  The clasp to his trousers were relieved.  My shirt slid up my torso and over my head.  Soon, we found each other nude.

     Guided only by the chords of our chemistry, we danced to silence.  Slow.  Sensual.  He felt light as a feather as I lifted him over my head.  I felt weightless as he bolstered my entire frame on his shoulders.  Improvising our movements felt so natural.  Every step was an exercise of faith, a showcase of trustworthy support.  We felt completely in sync.

     The tension in his muscular thighs made me thankful for my eyes.  The ease in which he crawls up my back and around my neck, made me thankful for my height.  The harmony between our hardness made slippery with sweat, made me thankful for this night.  In this moment, we were celebrating our love, our bodies and what happens in between.

     We had the studio to ourselves.  Spacious. Warm.  The silence sang a golden tone.  We danced on the plateau without seeking the peak.  We danced in the deepness of our instincts.  We danced without music, without a beat.  We danced because this opportunity was too sweet to waste.

'The Naked Dance' by Yang Wang