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“You’re a pretty good dancer,” he says.“You are too. That was fun,” I reply. It is silent for a moment. “Do you know any other dance moves?”“I might know a few.” He looks away shyly.I look around. “No one we know is here.”He double-checks then inches closer to my body. I press my lips against his and pull his shoulder closer to me. My lower lip slips between his lips. He gently sucks and pulls. I tug for him to release me so I can return the favor. My breaths get deeper as my body fills with excitement, and my chest begins to ache for attention, pushing against his to remind him what’s in front.He moves back a little and looks down my shirt. I dressed up in something revealing for clubbing, but I did not expect to have fun with him.“We’ll have to take this somewhere else if you want to see more,” I offer. He steals another kiss and runs a hand up my shirt for a quick grab before agreeing to move elsewhere.“Let’s go to my car.” His roomy SUV has more than enough room for what we’re. The department was pretty vacant, it being summer, and there was no one in my empty apartment. She was efficient, but also warm and friendly, and I saw immediately the things she did to take attention off her hands — wearing long, loose sleeves, holding her left arm a little behind her, keeping her right hand partly closed. I had written a book on stigma and the practices of people with stigmas, and I thought: Don’t mention the damned book! And don’t stare, either at her hands or away from them. We would get to them if we became friends. I thought: Look at her breasts. They’re safe. We chatted for a bit, and I knew she knew that I was trying to keep her hands from being a focus, and she was resigned to it. I can’t just ignore these things when I first encounter them any more than anyone else can. You have to get past that first meeting. But her face and her breasts helped. She had been reading a copy of ‘Snow Falling on Cedars’ when I came in, and she had put it down the wrong.
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