Ella knew full well that having dinner at the Moroccan restaurant was going to get Jason’s blood pumping faster.
The food was sumptuous, and you ate with your fingers. The place was a sensual feast for the eyes, a colorful oasis in the gray of the city. Once you entered this oasis, the deep orange, crimson, and indigo filled your eyes like wine after you had subsisted on sips of water in your travel through the desert. Intricate designs covered the richly colored tapestries on the wall, and light glowed from golden lanterns.
Then the belly dancers. Two entertained the customers during the six-course meal that Ella and Jason ate in the restaurant. Ella knew that Jason had never seen one outside of the movies, and this was going to be another treat for his eyes.
It was. He stared, wide-eyed in wonder, as each belly dancer shimmied in her solo performance. The talented women shook their hips, jittering the multitude of tiny bells hanging from a belt. They undulated like cobras caught up in the energetic, swirling music. They added their own music with the small cymbals on their thumbs and forefingers, as they crashed these cymbals together in rapid, tinny clapping.
Most of all was the music they played for your eyes. For they captivated Jason and the other customers as the music throbbed in their ears and the luscious taste of the food lingered in their mouths.
Once home after the meal, Ella danced for Jason as he sat on the couch. She knew that she wasn’t as good as the belly dancers. And she knew that Jason didn’t mind.
Because she danced her own, unique dance. Danced just for him. No little bells were around her waist. No little cymbals were on her fingers. Unlike the belly dancers, she allowed her clothes to fall off of her like petals popped off by a warm wind.
Ella knew that Jason had enjoyed the belly dancers. But he enjoyed her dance more. Because she was her, and the belly dancers were merely strangers for a sparkling moment. And Ella’s dance was going to last much longer than that.
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