Freeto touch myself inappropriately on the dancefloor.
I drag my leg from the table and spring out of my seat, stepping towards Jackson. He is nothing short of spellbound as I gyrate sexily in front of him. He pretends to pull an imaginary rope, drawing me closer until I’m at his side. It feels a logical step to climb onto his lap, my knees either side of his thighs. I roll my head around and around, swinging my hair like a big swishing curtain as he holds my waist with both hands.
It’s complete sensory overload and Iloveit! When I come to a stop, Jackson is staring intensely at me and it’s as though we both know it is time. My breathing is coming in short bursts as he pulls my head towards his. Our mouths collide in a frenzy of passion. My soft lips slide over his firmer ones. The slight scrape of his stubble feels manly against my chin.
We kiss for thousands of years before we become conscious of the music blaring out around us. It is ‘Two Princes’ by Spin Doctors and it is as though Jackson is hearing his all-time favourite record to dance to. He leaps to his feet, with me still attached like a tree frog clinging to bark as he races me towards the dancefloor.
I slide to the floor as he begins an exuberant dance routine. His head is jerking from side to side while he looks as though he’s sparring with an imaginary punchbag. I’ve had to duck several times. Luckily, ducking is a huge part of my new dance sequence that I just made up. I’m taking huge side steps and lunging down in what could be the lowest squat anyone’s ever achieved on a dancefloor. Not easy but I’m being so impressively athletic that it’s hard to stop. My nipples almost graze the floor.
Then the tempo changes dramatically. Jackson and I are drawn together to slow dance to ‘Senza Una Donna’by that singer. The one who sang about putting his hat down somewhere a few years ago. Anyway, until this very moment I had no idea I was fluent in Italian. The words are pouring out of me like a native. And pitch perfect, which is amazing to us both. Jackson joins in with me and I intuit that the singer and Jackson have a lot in common. Hats aside. They’ve both been hurt by past relationships and are struggling to move on. I trail the back of my hand down his face and loop my arms around his neck to let him know that everything will be okay. He seems like a very sensitive soul. He’s deep. A deep well of kindness and respect. He pulls me to him, grateful for the comfort. His hands slide sensually down my waist, gliding smoothly over my hips to my buttocks as he yanks me to him, pressing me into his groin. He begins to gyrate against me like a coffee grinder.
Grind. Grind. Grind.
‘How long have you been a professional dancer?’ I ask huskily. His hands remain splayed over each of my bum cheeks. He has such a firm grip.
He gives me an intense look as though that’s exactly the compliment he was looking for. ‘You get me. You see me. The real me.’
I do. I do see the real him. He’s more than just a pretty face. ‘You’re so talented. So good at everything. And so kind, helping me before.’
He dips me backwards, and his lips brush my ear. ‘So are you.’ As we come upright, he looks deeply into my eyes. ‘You are perfect, do you know that?’
I swallow hard.
‘I love you. I fucking love you.’ He pulls me in for a kiss. It’s the best, longest kiss in the world. We are eating each other’s faces off and it is amazing. When we come up for air we are entirely alone on the dancefloor. Alone in the universe. We’ve transcended to a higher place. Even though the music is still thumping out.
‘Where did everybody go? Is this a dream? Where am I?’ I stare longingly into his big, round, drug-addled eyes. I will find all of life’s answers in these magnificent whirlpools of his. He stumbles slightly and recovers himself.
‘I’ve found them.’
‘Who?’
‘The people.’ He points downwards. The whole nightclub is sitting down on the floor in lines. Everyone has their legs slotted behind the person in front like neat rows of herringbone tiles. They are patting the ground to the left then leaning over to pat the floor on the right. They are singing for everyone to sit down. To, oh, sit down. Sit down, down, dow-ow-own next to me.
‘What a great song,’ Jackson says, tugging me with him. ‘Let’s sit down. Let’s sit down next to me.’
‘We should do all the dancing sitting down. Makes complete sense,’ I say when I spread my legs wide and shuffle up behind him. I find myself thrusting my nether regions into his back as we lean forward, shimmying back and forth. He has his hands on my calves, rowing them like oars as I pat the floor on either side.
The row of people in front of us goes on like a hall of mirrors, never ending. It’s a spectacle to behold. Jackson and I are still patting the floor as the song ends when everyone leaps up, almost standing on our hands, because another song has come on and they must, must dance to it.
‘I might stay down here.’ I’m not sure I can stand up again anyway.
Jackson turns swiftly to me, getting on all fours before heaving himself up onto one knee with considerable effort. It’s very impressive. ‘I have a ripper idea. What if we…’ He stops talking, staring into space as though contemplating life, the cosmos, or perhaps why the billabong is he wearing someone else’s Nike trainers? He reaches for my hand, his gaze burning right through to my soul. He can see me. The real me. All the good and all the ridiculous. My whole life up to this point.
Everything happens in slow motion as he kisses the back of my hand and declares loudly, ‘I think we should run away together.’
As I gaze up at him, I think back to my odds of finding Mr Right (0.3 per cent) and even though there’s a 46 per cent likelihood of divorcing before the age of fifty-five, I can’t think of any better way to convert this brief four-and-a-half-hour affair into a longer-term commitment.
‘Yes, okay then.’
We stumble out of the club and across the road to a glorious beach. It’s deserted and lit up by the biggest moon and starriest night I’ve ever seen. It’s simply breathtaking.
We stroll hand in hand along the sand in comfortable silence for a while, sobering up. ‘It’s so pretty,’ I say, pointing to the stars, ‘and mindboggling.’ Trillions of stars and planets and suns stretching out into infinite space. No beginning. No end.
Jackson is looking at me with a loved-up expression. ‘So are you.’
My heart soars at the compliment and I suddenly feel shy. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You’re funny. You’re clever. You’re unbelievably flexible and you’re a lot of fun.’ A glow of pride flushes my cheeks under his adoring gaze as he points to my coconuts.
