2 comments/ 15174 views/ 5 favorites The Dance of Passion By: Cromagnonman There was a very good reason that I was in Spain. I was intrigued by the history and culture of it, in particular I was intrigued by the music and dance, the flamenco, and that is why I had avoided the more popular tourist regions of Cadiz and Malaga in favour of Cordoba. I had driven from village to village seeking the grassroots flamenco; sure I could have sat in a concert hall and watched the professional flamenco artistes strutting their stuff, but that was not what I came to find. I parked my battered Citroen in front of a small hotel and walked inside. The entrance was cool despite the late afternoon sun lighting my passage inside. Off to one side was a large room with tables and chairs set around the edges leaving a cleared area in the centre. This looked promising. There was a bell on the reception desk and a woman in her forties (or thereabouts) responded to my ring. "Senor?" "Do you speak English?" She turned her head toward the door through which she had just emerged and called, "Estralita." A young woman emerged from the back room. The older woman spoke rapidly in Spanish and I thought I heard the word 'Inglesias' or something like it, so I assumed she was being told that I spoke only English. "Can I help you Senor" She would have been in her twenties of medium height, she had a slim waist that emphasised her full hips and breasts that pushed against her low cut bodice. Her tanned complexion, black hair pulled from her face and large brown eyes confirmed her Spanishness. Her origins could have been Moorish or Gypsy, who knows, but it was definitely Spanish and Andalusian. "Yes, I would like a room for two, maybe three days, if that is possible." "Certainly Senor." She pushed a large register towards me and I filled in my details. She took a key from a drawer, "Follow me." She led me through the door and up a flight of stairs, down a short corridor to a room at the rear of building. "This is your room, the bathroom is opposite." She showed me into my room and handed me my key. "Thank you. What time does the dining room open?" "It opens for meals at seven and there is music beginning at ten." I got my bag from the car and unpacked my toiletries before having a quick shower to remove the grime of the days travel along dusty roads with the windows open to compensate for the non-existent air-conditioning, known back home in Australia as 'four by eighty air-conditioning', four windows open and eighty klicks (Kilometres per hour) down the road. I had eaten my meal and was sipping a red wine when I heard the music start. It wasn't what we have come to associate with flamenco, instead it was a single unaccompanied voice and the sound of it said it all. A single small spot light lit up the face of the older woman I had met earlier as she sang, the expression on her face enhancing the Sephardic song that told of the pain and suffering endured by her ancestors. I didn't have to understand the lyrics as the emotions carried me back to the origins of flamenco. I had found what I was searching for. The room was almost packed out by now and my table was against the far wall. The young lady, Estralita, came over and I ordered another glass of red wine. A smattering of applause followed the song and she left the cleared area to be replaced by a man with a guitar. He wore black from his boots to his hat, and he held the guitar differently to the way rock musicians back home did, they held their guitars down low with the fret-board horizontal like a huge phallic symbol, while he held his fret-board almost vertical the phallus erect and ready, and the sound box held against his chest. His fingers caressed the strings, the notes a signal for a man and a woman to emerge from the shadows and take centre stage. He too was dressed in black from his high heeled boots to his high waisted trousers, black shirt and hat. She on the other hand wore a flame-red full-skirted floor-length dress, black shoes peeping from under her skirt. Her black hair was pulled back severely and tied in a bun at the back of her head. Like the man she had a slim waist, her breasts pressed against the material of her bodice and her hips had been squeezed into the dress. The dancers faced each other, their backs arched, hips thrust forward and their hands above their heads. The guitar burst into life again and the man began to stamp his feet and clap his hands in a twelve beat rhythm while the woman accompanied this with her own feet and the castanets she held in her hands. The man made lunging movements with his feet before retreating while the woman swayed back and forth at first, her back arched thrusting her hips forward and then she swayed back so that the man, and all those seated behind him had a clear view of her magnificent breasts. The audience were rapt with this performance and many of them provided their own accompaniment, either clapping their hands or rapping the table with their knuckles. She slowly, with stamping feet turned around, her right hand lifting the skirt of her dress revealing a shapely leg, an intake of breath from the men in the crowd, she held their attention in the palm of her hand. The room was so filled with the noise that reverberated around it that it was impossible not to get caught up in the mood. I noticed Estralita standing in the doorway looking around the room. Seeing that the chair at my table was the only one not taken she came and sat next to me. "You like the music?" "Yes, very much so, it tells so much of the history of this region." "You know of our history?" "Some of it, but I just had to come here and experience it. Do you dance?" "Yes, but I am not as good as my sister is. I used to dance but my father decided that Margarita is better, so she dances, with my husband. " "That must hurt, seeing the two of them together like this." I regretted saying it as soon as the words had left my mouth, her head bowed and tears dropped onto the table. "I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me." I reached over and placed my hand on hers. Her tear wet eyes reflected the pain that she felt, and I had the feeling that there was more to her pain than just seeing her husband and sister dancing together. She made no attempt to remove her hand from beneath mine for several minutes. "She is good, your sister, but there is something almost mechanical about the way that she dances." "This is true, she is very good with her technique but she has no heart. The true flamenco feels the rhythm inside, she has no need to count the beat. My sister she counts the beat, and that is why she looks so good." "If that is so, why does your father allow her to dance instead of you?" "Because that is what the patrons want to see, perfection, and with them, that is what they get." "I wish that I had the talent to be able to dance." "How do you know that you don't?" "Believe me I don't. I have the wrong stature for a start, I am too wide and my waist is too large, I was born with two left feet, I cannot hold a tune to save myself, and I'm tone deaf and I have dyslexic fingers so I cannot play any instruments. I'm afraid that all I can do is watch, listen and enjoy." "If you feel the music, love the music, how do you know that you can't dance, have you tried it?" "No. When I was at school the mis-guided teachers thought that we should learn to dance as part of our PE lessons. I was never any good at it." "But the dances they taught, they were ballroom dances, yes?" "Yes." "That was your problem. They are so formal, the steps are planned with precision and you must keep time with the music. I have seen this style of dance and the couples don't even look at each other and the smile, the smile is so false. Even this is not true flamenco." She said, nodding towards the dancers. "If this isn't the true flamenco, what is?" I asked, and here I was thinking that I had found what I had been looking for this past month. "Tomorrow, at siesta time I will come for you, I will teach you something of the flamenco and when you are good enough I will show the real flamenco. You will dance with me." I couldn't believe this, a beautiful young woman who I had only just met, not only telling that she would teach me the flamenco, but inviting me to dance with her. Maybe dreams do come true after all. We sat and watched her sister and husband dip and swirl, clap and stamp their way through another fifteen minutes of dance and I couldn't help but notice that, whenever they faced each other, the expression on their faces told of something more than a professional relationship. I glanced at Estralita and saw that she too had noticed this and I understood her pain, I felt her pain. "She is a whore, my sister. She knows what the man wants and gives it to him, but, like the whore, her heart is not in this. The whore performs a sex act for money, my sister performs a dance for fame and recognition and, like the whore, she has no love." She got up from her chair and hurried off. I rose late in the morning and spent some time walking around the village, hiding my eyes from the sun and hoping that the throbbing in my head from the few too many red wines last night would eventually go away. The jumble of buildings were all of similar construction, their whitewashed walls reflecting the sun and all had terra cotta tiled roofs. They were set close to the narrow streets and there was little room for cars and pedestrians at the same time. Half way down the street a small café had two tables set up along the narrow footpath so I sat at one and ordered a sangria. As I waited for it to arrive I took several pictures with my little digital camera, I had wanted one that looked like a real camera, not a pregnant credit card, but space restrictions in my luggage forced the compromise. I had a notebook open writing my observations of what I saw when my drink arrived, the waiter giving me a curious look as if I was from another planet. After a light meal I retired to my room to change out my sweaty clothes. I had just pulled on fresh shorts when there was a knock on the door and Estralita slipped inside. She looked beautiful in her long skirt and tight fitting blouse, and as yesterday, her hair pulled back and tied behind her neck. I caught her glance at my shorts and I hoped that he, my cock, was tucked away out of sight. On second thoughts I hoped that he was hanging out. I looked down and saw that he was well hidden, damn! I finished dressing and she took my hand and led me out of the hotel and down the road to a large house. Inside were several girls of varying ages, all looking like miniature flamenco dancers. They ran to Estralita and hugged her before standing back expectantly, all with curious expressions on their small faces. Estralita spoke to them for several minutes, explaining to them in Spanish, what else, that I was Senor Andrew Cameron, who had come all the way from Australia to learn more about flamenco dance and maybe even learn how to dance flamenco. She also explained that I would have problems because I had two left feet. This brought an astonished look on the girls' faces until they glanced down and saw that my feet were quite normal in the left and right configuration. She clapped her hands to gain their attention and then began to dance. The girls looked on with rapt expressions on their faces as she moved, her eyes closed and her feet tapping out the twelve beat cycle; tap, tap, stomp, tap, tap, stomp, tap, stomp, tap, stomp, tap, stomp, tap, tap, stomp, tap, tap, stomp, tap, stomp, tap, stomp, tap, stomp. As this cycle was repeated I noticed that there were subtle changes in her dance and I understood what she was talking about, she wasn't counting the beat, instead she was being driven by the beat. After about five minutes she stopped and asked the girls to dance for her. She watched each of them as they tapped and stomped and swirled around the floor. "Maria, from the heart, not the head." The girl looked at her as if she was offended at being told that her dance was somehow less than perfect. "She is like Margarita, she is counting the beat and because of that she will never be a true flamenco dancer, she will however find fame as a concert performer, just like Margarita wants." The lesson continued for an hour during which time Estralita would take each girl and show her how to move in a fluid motion, how to hold her body, her hands and most importantly, her head, when looking at her partner the head was held back and the girl looked down her nose at him, when she turned, her head was tilted in the direction of the turn and she looked over her shoulder. The girls dispersed leaving us alone in the room. "Come, let me see you dance." "No, I'm embarrassed." "Don't be, come." She stood in front of me and raised my hands above my head, I could smell her body and was tempted to kiss her. One hand was placed on my chest while the other hand pulled my waist toward her. "Now, I will clap the beat and you will stamp your foot to it." She began to clap her hands while I attempted to stomp my feet in time. I was stuffing it up big time. "No, no, no. You are watching my hands. Close your eyes and hear the beat." I closed my eyes and I thought that I was getting the hang of it, but she didn't. "Stop." She stood close to me and began to tap the beat on my chest with the palms of her hands. "You must feel the beat here, in your heart." My feet began to move once more and after a few minutes I began to allow my heart to drive my feet. "Good, you feel the beat now, never let your head get in the way of your heart." I danced, my eyes closed, to her beat for several minutes until I felt her join my dance. We seemed to merge as one in that instant. I opened my eyes and looked straight into her beautiful, big, brown and smiling eyes. I understood. Estralita and I walked back to the hotel. "You say that Margarita wants to be a concert performer, will she want Hernando to go with her?" "Yes." "How do you feel about that? Surely you don't want him to leave with her." "If it is what he wants I will not stop him." "Do you want him to go?" "At first I fought it, but now, I think it best if he goes, that way he can be with the woman that he loves. He will be hurt but does not know that, she will leave him when she finds someone who can better serve her career. This he must find out for himself." "What does your heart tell you?" "My heart tells me to let them go, but my head wants to guide me otherwise." "You allow your heart to guide your dance, allow it on this." I wasn't about to tell her that I had a vested interest in seeing her sister and husband leave. "Andrew, I must tell you this. When I came to sit with you last evening I thought that it was my head that led me to you. I was wanting Hernando to see us together, to see me with someone who was not Spanish, not a dancer, to get jealous. But when we talked I came to realise that it wasn't my head that led me to you, and when we danced just now I am truly sure that it is my heart that is with you and not with Hernando. Now I understand why he and I will never be able to dance together. He dances with his head while I dance with my heart. Today you and I danced with one heart, and tomorrow I will take you to witness the true flamenco." That night I sat once more and watched her sister and husband dance, admiring the movements that brought back memories of the first time that I saw a flamenco troupe. My parents had taken me to see Paco Pena in concert and I was immediately under the thrall of the sound, the colour and the movement of the dance. I made myself a promise that when I grew up I would find out more about the flamenco. This began with my study of Spanish History from the early pre-Christian, pre-Islamic times to the present. I knew that the flamenco began with the song or canté. This was a solo voice that told of the trials and tribulations that the peoples of Andalusia experienced throughout their individual and separate history. Of the influences that came from the Carthaginians and Moors of North Africa, the Jews and Greeks of the Eastern Mediterranean and Eastern Europe, in particular the Gypsy influence. The canté had a tonality that reflected this pain and these origins. Some time later the toque or flamenco guitar was introduced followed by the palmas or clapping, the zapateado, foot stomping, and the baile, the dance. There was a lot of history on the dance floor, what I was seeing was the culmination of centuries of tradition and development. But, if Estralita was to be believed, and this was not the true flamenco, what was? Estralita came and sat next to me again. "Do you feel the rhythm?" "Yes I do. I thought that I understood this dance but it seems that I do not." The night ended and I said goodnight to Estralita and started up the stairs to my room. "Senor, a moment of your time, please." It was the guitar player. "What is it?" "I must tell you to stay away from my daughter, from Estralita, she is married and you have no right to talk to her unchaperoned." "I must apologise for my lack of knowledge of your customs, but please, does that rule also apply to Margarita and Hernando, do they have a chaperone when they are alone?" "That is different, they are dance partners." "And they are not lovers?" "That is not your business Senor." "What does Estralita say about this?" "That is also not your business." "I think that it is, I have made it my business." "Be warned that no good can come of this." I turned my back on him and walked up the stairs to my room. I was almost asleep when I heard my door open and the key turned to lock it from the inside. I hadn't thought it necessary to lock my door, now I'm not so sure. In fear I waited for what would happen next, I couldn't turn a light on because the only light source in the room was an unlit candle on the nightstand. I felt the bed move as someone climbed onto it, a finger was placed over my lips, "Shh, Andrew, it is me, Estralita" "What are you doing here?" "My father warned me about talking to you and he told me that he has also spoken to you about the same thing." "Yes, he told me not to meddle in your family affairs because it is none of my business, so I told him that I was making it my business." "I do not want you hurt." "I also do not want you hurt." I took her face in my hands and kissed her gently on the lips. Eventually she pulled away from me, "We should not be doing this, what if my father finds out." I pulled her to me, there was only a thin sheet covering me and I could feel her warmth and her heart beating against my chest. Her lips found mine and she kissed me with a passion that I, up until this moment, had only dreamed of. We lay there for several minutes and I was certain that she could feel my hard cock pressing against her, I sure as hell could feel her nipples against my chest, she was as aroused as I was. "Please my darling, I want so much to make love to you but we must wait. I will leave you now and tomorrow, at sunset, I will meet you at the café down the road and I will take you to see the true dance." She slipped off the bed and I heard her open the door and a second later I heard the bathroom door open and close. Another second later there came a knock on my door. "Senor, have you seen Estralita?" I could honestly say that I hadn't seen her, felt her yes, kissed her, most definitely, but seen her, "No Senor." "Allow me to enter." "Come in." my door opened and he walked in, shining a torch around the room, even under the bed until he was satisfied that his daughter was not in the room. What he didn't hear was the bathroom door opening and the soft tread of her feet as she scurried back to her room. The Dance of Passion "Are you leaving us today, Senor?" Estralita's father was behind the desk the next morning, and what he was really saying was, 'You are leaving today, Senor.' "Actually no, I'm enjoying my stay here so I thought that I would stay for another couple of days." "Do you think that wise?" "Yes I do, there is so much more for me to see here, I haven't even scratched the surface." "I do not understand." "I am doing Post-graduate studies in Spanish History at University and I am particularly interested in the history of flamenco. I have learnt so much about it in the last two days and I feel that there is so much more to learn." "But I think that it is not here that you should learn these things." The threat was now obvious, I was being told to move on. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Estralita watching me. "Will you allow me to stay one more night, there is something that I must check out and tonight is the only night that I can do it. I will leave in the morning." "Very well, be certain that you do." There was a definite menace in his voice. He left me and walked into the back room. I walked out the door into the sunlight, what was I to do? As a plan formed in my mind I was aware that I was being followed. As I rounded a corner I looked quickly behind me and saw Estralita. I waited for her to catch up to me. "I suppose that you heard what happened back there?" "Yes, I heard it all. What are we to do?" "I want you to come with me when I leave, will you?" "Yes, yes, I will come with you, but how, how are we going to do this?" "This afternoon you will come to my room to tidy it up, when you come you will bring some clothes with you, enough for a couple of days. I will pack them in my luggage and I will check out this evening, telling your parents that I will be making an early start in the morning so will be leaving before breakfast. We will leave tonight and be well away before they realise what has happened." That night Estralita guided me to a clearing outside a small village nearby, in which was a group of caravans forming an encampment where about fifty people sat in a circle that was lit by small fires. The still air was broken by the sound of a lone flamenco guitar. The guitarist walked into the circle followed by two dancers. The dance began and there the similarity between what I had watched over the past two nights disappeared. While the posture of the dancers was the same there was nothing mechanical about their movements, while they followed the same twelve beat time signature, they were not chained to it. Soon other musicians and other dancers joined them in a free form dance. "This is the true flamenco, the music and the dance is from the heart and it expresses what each person feels inside. Come, dance with me." I closed my eyes and began to dance, at first hesitatingly, then as my confidence grew and I began to feel the music, the rhythm, with more confidence. I opened my eyes and saw Estralita watching me, tears of joy catching the flames from the fires, a smile crossing her lips. I was doing it, I was dancing the flamenco! "Estralita!" The voice cut through the air like a rifle shot. "Come with me, now!" "No Papa. I will stay here." Her father lunged at her but I caught his arm and pulled him away from her. "She doesn't want to go with you." "You will stay out of this, you have been warned!" He swung towards me, a knife in his hand. His lunge just caught the front of my shirt as I jumped back. "No!" Estralita tried to pin her father's arms to his side but he shrugged her off and came at me again. "Stop!" This voice carried authority. He was a large man, the one behind this voice, and he commanded attention. "Let us talk this through, there will be no blood shed in this place." "This man is stealing my daughter, who is married, from her family." Estralita's father shouted. "Is this true?" The leader asked. "No, it is not true." I answered in as calm a voice as I could muster. "To begin with, while she is married, it is in name only. This man has encouraged her husband to take her sister as not only his dancing partner, but as his lover. How then can he claim that she is still bound in marriage? Secondly, I am not stealing her from her family, she is coming willingly. We are in love." The last four words were delivered in a soft but firm tone. I was stating an indisputable fact. Estralita looked at me and her smile told me and all those gathered around us that these words were true. "How can you say that you are in love with my daughter when you have only known her for two days?" "Loves comes from the heart, and time has little relevance in matters of the heart." "This is true Senor. Maria and I knew in an instant that we were in love and were meant to be together. Twenty years have not changed that." Her father at last realised the truth of those words, he stormed off. "You are no longer my daughter! I will not welcome you into my home, ever again!" He shouted as he left. I put my arms around her and held her to me. "There will be no more dance tonight." The leader told everyone. "Come with me." He said to us. He led us to a caravan parked just out of range of the firelight. "You will stay here tonight, I do not trust your father." There was a single bunk along the side of the caravan and we sat on it kissing. My hand began to caress her breasts and she let go of my face long enough to pull down the top of her dress and expose them to my gaze. With this simple act she gave herself to me. Even in the pale light I had to admire their perfection. My hand was replaced by my mouth and one of her hands held me to her while the other sought entrance to my trousers and my cock. It wasn't until I pressed my cock into her moist and waiting pussy that I came to realise just how glad I was that I had learnt the flamenco, it had taught me to listen to my heart and it was the rhythm that I heard from my heart that guided my lovemaking, the speed and force of my thrusts into her body were guided by my heart and her movements were guided by her heart that was perfectly synchronised with mine. Our hearts were one, our bodies were one and our souls were one. Daybreak brought with it the sounds of movement and the smells of cooking. "Wake up my love." "Must I? I was in the middle of a dream. You were making love to me in the middle of a clearing and we were surrounded by dozens of people who were all clapping in time to our lovemaking. I was just about to climax and you woke me." "I'm sorry, but the will be many more times and many more dreams." The daylight revealed to me just how beautiful she really was. Her olive complexion showing no tan lines, her breasts were full and round, not showing any signs of sagging. I certainly couldn't say the same thing about my cock, he was standing tall and hard, ready for more lovemaking, a point that was not lost on Estralita. She took him in her hands and began to stroke him until she could sense that I was about to explode. Dropping to her knees she engulfed him and sucked him dry. "I can taste us on him from last night. It is nice. Now we can have breakfast." A table had been set up in the clearing with benches on either side of it. On the table were plates of food and a large pot of coffee. It all looked so inviting. "Ah, the lovebirds have woken up. We didn't expect you for at least another hour. I am Pedro by the way, and this is my wife Maria. Did you enjoy what little sleep you had?" Had he been listening outside the caravan or was he just guessing? "Yes, very much so." "That is good, now eat." We ate and during that meal our future became clear to us. "What are your plans?" "We are going somewhere far away from here where we can dance and make love." "You will stay here with us for the next week, tonight you dance for us." "You must be joking! I can't dance well enough for this." "That is not so, I watched the two of you last night and it was very plain to my eyes that you two dance from the heart. It was also very clear to me that you are very much in love because, unlike most couples that dance together, while they may dance from the heart, their hearts are not as one as yours are. I have long looked for a couple who could dance with the same passion as Maria and I, and last night I found what I have searched so long for." Who would have thought that I would be dancing in front of people? I for one wouldn't have, but here I was, with Estralita, dancing with the eyes of a couple of dozen people on us. It took a few minutes before I was able to forget that we were being watched and allow my heart to take over my movements and as soon as it took over I saw Estralita smile and we began, as we had the night before, to dance as one, and as we danced I experienced something new, a passion for my woman, and she for me, that was expressed in our dance. I caught a glimpse of Pedro and it was obvious from the way that he smiled at me that he had sensed our passion as well. As we finished our dance and I held her to me, Estralita looked me in the eyes and whispered, "You see my love, my dream did come true, we have made love watched by a circle of people." The next morning Pedro dropped a bombshell on us. "Next month there is a Flamenco dance competition, dancers from all over Cordoba will be there. You two will also be there and, if I am any judge, you will win." Estralita looked at me, "That is the competition that Margarita and Hernando have been practising for. Father will kill us if we win." "Your father will kill no-one, and you will win." We travelled around with Pedro and Maria, entering regional flamenco competitions. All the while Pedro and Maria would talk to us, give us advice and encouragement along with some fine tuning of our technique, but they never attempted to change the way that we danced together because, as Pedro told us one day just before a competition, no amount of professional advice could improve on the joining of our hearts and our expression, through our dance, of our love and passion for each other. At first we attracted small crowds but Pedro was astute, he had us stay in each village for at least three days and with each successive day the crowds grew and the word of our talent spread to surrounding villages, so that when we arrived at the next destination the crowds were bigger from the start and continued to grow. At the end of the month we found ourselves in Cordoba and the main competition. It was colour, it was music and noise. There were heats to dance, and even for the heats we had a large following of fans that had travelled to be there just to watch us dance. Then came a series of finals leading up to the big one, the grand final. We were up against the best flamenco dancers in the state, against dancers who had danced together for years and here we were, virtual novice partners, in the final. We drew the last position, we were to be the last couple and it wasn't the best position because we had to be demonstrably better than those that had gone before us to win. Margarita and Hernando were the third couple to dance and they scored well, better than the two couples who danced before them. They were technically perfect, not one mistake in their routine and when it came to our turn they were the couple to beat. Estralita looked amazing, Maria had dragged one of her best dresses out and, with a few minor adjustments, it fitted perfectly. My trousers and shirt were cleaned and pressed to a standard that would have satisfied the most fastidious Guards Drill Sergeant, I also looked the part, at least that was what I thought until Pedro emerged carrying a gold beaded vest. It matched the colour of Estralita's dress and our clothes were obviously what Pedro and Maria had worn when they danced together. Pedro stood in his position as our accompanist and strummed his guitar. "Remember my love, from the heart, think of our love when you dance." Estralita whispered to me. We walked onto the dance floor to be greeted by a huge round of applause from our fans who seemed to make up at least half of the audience. I smiled briefly as we took our position on the floor. An expectant hush settled over the crowd, those that didn't know us could barely believe that half of the couple on the floor was not Spanish, she was, but as I was so obviously of Celtic origin and the wrong shape for this dance, they wondered how it was that we had gotten this far. From the very first instant of our dance they realised that we were something special. Everything that we did was perfect, we even did moves that we had barely practiced before, they just seemed right at the time and our timing was perfect, our movements were fluent, our feet moved in unison, our bodies complemented each other, my clapping enhanced the tap, stomp of my feet and Estralita kept time perfectly with her castanets and her feet. This was flamenco in its purest form, where the dance is improvised along the palo or rhythm. By the time we were close to the completion of our dance the crowd was on its feet, stamping and clapping along with us. They could sense that this was not a routine that had been rehearsed to death, but one that had the spontaneity of a couple that was so in tune with each other than every move just happened, and was so right. Our final movement was yet another that we hadn't really practiced; I held one hand over her, my fingers just touching hers as she spun around, feet stamping out a staccato beat, her other hand holding her skirt up revealing her shapely leg. As she came full circle and faced me she dropped her hand and let the skirt fall, looking me in the eyes. Our dance stopped suddenly as I stood on my toes and raised both hands above my head, the index fingers pointing down and towards her, it was like the matador about to deliver the coup de Gras to the spent and submissive bull. Estralita knew immediately what to do, she dropped to her knees in front of me, her arms around my legs, telling me and everyone else that she was submitting to me, I was her lover and she was mine totally. Pedro was in tune with us, the music stopped abruptly at that point but the crowd kept up their clapping as I bent down and lifted my Estralita to her feet and kissed her, our embrace telling the people that she was no longer in submission but that we were one together. We took our bows, first to the judges, then to the crowd on all sides, their response telling us that we were definitely the crowd favourites. The judges were unanimous in their decision, we, while we weren't technically the best, were the winners because our dance had embodied the spirit and passion of the real flamenco. Margarita and Hernando glared at us from the dancers' entrance, their disappointment overshadowed by their anger. His because he had come to realise that he had chosen the wrong sister and hers because she still couldn't believe that we had beaten them, after all wasn't she perfect? What happened after that was pure chaos, there were interviews, people came up to us offering dancing engagements, these were referred to Pedro who had become our manager, there was a quick congratulatory word from Estralita's mother before she was dragged away by her husband, there was a short angry exchange between Estralita and Margarita, but at last it was all over and we were alone in our hotel room, the 'do not disturb' sign hanging from the door knob. "My darling, do you realise what has just happened? We are famous!" I said. "I know and I'm afraid. I don't think that I want this fame. We shouldn't have allowed Pedro to talk us into this competition because we will not have any privacy, we will be expected to dance whenever we are asked and that wasn't what I was looking for, what I wanted, when I taught you the real flamenco. I was teaching you a dance of passion, a dance of love, a personal dance of love. I know that I sound selfish but I never wanted to share you with anyone, and now I have to share you with everyone." "I know, and I think I have a solution. I haven't wanted to face the fact that sooner or later I was going to have to return home. My visa expires soon and I won't be able to stay, as well as that my study grant is just about all gone and I have little time left to submit my thesis." I could sense the feeling of impending doom in her. "But I think we can use this for us." "What do you mean?" "I want you to come with me when I return home. All that you need to do is to apply for a tourist visa and as soon as we get home we can apply for a resident's permit for you. When we get married you will be able to stay permanently. We can come back here to visit your family and Pedro and to perform on a limited basis, and you can continue to teach the girls, but you and I will still have our personal dance and we will be together, forever." "But how can I marry you, Hernando will never agree to a divorce." "In Australia all that is required is that you are separated from your husband for twelve months, then we file for divorce and as soon as it is granted we will get married." Estralita looked at me for a few seconds and then launched herself at me forcing me back onto the bed, her kisses taking my breath away, her hands reaching for me, ripping my shirt open and then hastily undoing my trousers. This was the first time that our passion had overcome our hearts. I rolled her over so that I was on top. I didn't bother to take her dress off her, I pulled down the top and rained kiss after kiss on her nipples while I pulled her skirts up to her waist. Pulling her panties aside I thrust my cock into her waiting pussy. "Yes, yes oh yes I want all of you now." Her legs were around me, pulling me deeper inside her. I thrust him deeper and deeper into her until I could get no more of him into her sopping wet pussy, and with a final lunge I came, and came, and came. We lay panting in the puddle that we had left on the bed. "I Love you." We said in unison and then collapsed in laughter, our hearts had regained control. I would like to tell you that everything has gone as planned but that isn't the case, but I'm not complaining. By the time that Estralita and I married we had a child, a gorgeous little flamenco dancer (we hope) called Maria. I mean, what would expect when your love making is guided by the heart and not by practicality. We had completely forgotten in the heat of passion that Estralita, being the good Catholic girl that she is, was not practising birth control, you can guess the rest. My family have welcomed first Estralita and then Maria into their lives. At first they couldn't believe that I was in love with a real flamenco dancer, and a beautiful one at that, but you should have seen the look of amazement on their faces when the saw us dance together, me dance, who'd have thought that? As they watched us it became abundantly clear that we were very much in love. When we went back to Spain we found that so much had happened. Margarita and Hernando had split up straight after the competition, partly because they had not won and partly because Margarita was offered a position in a professional troupe that didn't include Hernando. He was pissed to say the least and was last heard of trying out for a small troupe that had no real potential. The sight of Maria softened Estralita's parents' hearts and her father actually welcomed me into the family. Estralita told me that her mother had realised the truth of the situation as soon as she had seen us dance, that we were in love and meant to be together. She had told this to her husband who was angry at first that she was taking our side in this but he eventually accepted it. We danced for them that night to a crowded room and the response from the crowd was overwhelming, they didn't want us to stop, but a combination of fatigue and jet-lag forced an end to the dance. The next several days were spent dancing at night and teaching the young girls, and a few boys, the flamenco during the day, talk about hectic. The Dance of Passion There was one more thing that we had to do and that was to find Pedro and Maria, and because they still travelled around the countryside this was going to take time, or so we thought, but as soon as news that we were looking for them spread, they heard of it and came to us. Pedro just about hugged us to death when we eventually found him and he spread the word that we were back, so we had a very busy time dancing for him. He and Maria, she loved it that we called little Maria after her, have become such loving and devoted de facto grand parents that it was a real struggle to drag ourselves away from them to return to Australia. We now share our time equally between our families in both Spain and Australia, I have my studies that allow us to travel to Spain on a regular basis, and get paid for it, and I also lecture in Spanish History at University, where I have used Estralita and the flamenco as a teaching resource to enhance the lecture experience. Estralita now has dance schools in both countries and we employ teachers that we have trained, just as Pedro and Maria trained us, in the real flamenco. They look after our Spanish operations when we aren't there. In all of this we have never once lost our passion for the flamenco which we dance together as often as possible, and we have never lost, and will never lose our passion for each other.