Sensual Bachata NYC

Bobbing in the darkness of the cove with the others, they waited for Isandro and Aurora to arrive in single kayaks, moving ten times as fast as the novices. While they waited, they heard about the ferries, five stories tall, and container ships, carrying millions of tons of goods, that could run you over on the trip. Five whistle blows, the signal for imminent disaster, would likely be the last sounds one heard before being crushed by the mass, pulled underwater, and shredded by the man-sized propellers. The mood grew more tense, especially as they could palpate the darkness, unpiercable by the eyes, the black of water and rocks being indistinguishable.

"Hug the shoreline, just outside the light cones of the promenade," was the sign to start paddling. "There are big boats out there that can't see you at all!"

Aurora zoomed ahead as the leader. Isandro collected the tail end. Lionel and Gaston quickly ended up in the back of the armada because they kept banging their paddles against each other. Both were angered and ready to shove the other out of the kayak, but the mutual mission of making it to the fabled Island Fever drove them to keep their pact. Always careful to keep the glittering wavy surface to the left and to stay on the pitch-black water that sent them unexpected waves, which, in their panic, they overreacted to and made the kayak shake more than it needed to. "You live only once," remarked Gaston.

At the end of Battery Park was a big maintenance depot building that allowed them to gather up out of view. Isandro warned them the current was pulling out to see strongly. If they paddled towards their target, the current would pull them out. They needed to paddle towards a target upstream. The combination with the current would make them end up in the right place. He pointed out a tall, lit-up-white smokestack on the Brooklyn side. "Shoot for that," he told the group. Then he told them to wait for a big enough gap in between the big boat traffic.

"Go! Go! Go!" called Aurora, spun her kayak around, and effortlessly shot into the dark until only the two yellow chem lights on her back were visible. The experienced paddlers quickly disappeared into the dark, but Gaston and Lionel fell behind. Then they hit the point where the East River and Hudson River meet. Rolling waves hit them from multiple directions. The kayak was spinning left and right. "Dear god, I don't think we'll survive," cried Gaston, but Lionel was ever motivated to follow Aurora. There was something about her spirit that drew him in, made him forget about the worth of his life, and throw himself after her. His mind recalled memories of her personality at Little Paradise. Those visions kept him moving on. With determination, he fell into a rhythm of left and right rowing pulls while Gaston faltered, entirely afraid.

"Keep going like that," Isandro told them. You guys are making more progress with only one paddling than the constant paddle fights you had before. Gaston pulled his paddle lengthwise out of the way. Lionel doubled down on his paddling rhythm. He figured out that turning his body gave him more power than using his arms alone. Holding onto the vision of Aurora loving and dancing in front of him, he battered through the dark night and shoulder-high waves.

The smokestack kept drifting to their left. The tip of Manhattan kept drifting to their left. They almost washed up on Governor's Island. But then they saw the dark silhouettes of buildings on the Brooklyn side. The waves eased closer to shore. Isandro pointed at a bonfire at the bottom of a giant cliff. "I'll take over," said Gaston. Lionel was glad because the wet paddle surface had started rubbing through the skin of his hands. He listened to the bachata music growing louder.

"Hard! Hard now!" called Isandro out to Gaston. Gaston gave his all. The kayak shot up onto the sand from the excess power, but unlike the other kayaks that were entirely on the sand, half of their kayak was still in the water. A helpful hand appeared and pulled on the pull cord of their kayak until they were on the sand as well.

The cove of sand was about the size of a big ballroom. The sand was dry and soft but not powdery. Behind the cove was a fifty-foot cliff and on top of that, a seven-story factory. The windows appeared to be blown out. At the bottom of the cliff were big boulders. A simple table had a DJ setup. Coolers offered drinks and refreshments. Wet shoes and pieces of clothing were near the coolers. People danced bachata barefoot. Obviously, there were fewer turns in the sand than on a smooth dancefloor.

Daring to beat his shyness, Lionel reached his hand out to the first woman and asked her to dance. She said yes. He was overjoyed. He tried to do his best. He led her a basic step and then an inside turn. By then, the woman had realized that he was a beginner and turned bored. Lifeless, she limped to the song, even though Lionel really loved that song with the drawn-out "porque"s since his first night in NYC. He tried to spice up the dance with a comb, but the woman assumed that he'd only do the basic and turns, ignoring his signal. Feeling devastated and thinking that perhaps not asking for dances to avoid ruining the night of women with his poor skills had been the better choice. With sadness and jealousy, he watched the smiles of the other dancers and how they delighted each other. He wished to be one of them.

Lionel stood on the sidelines watching and learning ideas for moves from the other dancers. He noticed couples pulling away from the dance circle to walk into the pile of boulders. Curious what might be there, he followed a couple slowly. At first, he thought that perhaps, there would be a chill area. Then the thought hastened that this dark spot with the ten-foot-high boulders might be the restroom area and that he might step into poo. Yet cautiously, he proceeded to satisfy his curiosity. Then he heard a female moan, quickly building up to a rhythm. He was partially into the maze of boulders. He could tell there were crossing paths and dead-ends to hide away in. Curious, he had ventured a bit forward, making sure not to surprise the couple that he heard - simply wanting to see if there was more. Then, he heard more quietly to his other side the slurping of a tongue on a clit. He froze. With the body still, he heard more. Another woman was whispering from another place, "fuck me with that cock!" He was in the middle of a sex maze. He saw a used condom on the ground. There was a rolled-up, black thong, half-rotted. Carefully, he worked his way back to avoid surprising any couples.

Back at the dance circle, he was a woman sitting on the ground. After she hadn't been asked to the dance for a second song change, he figured that perhaps he could improve her night because dancing at all might, even with him might be better than dancing not at all. So he reached out his hand and asked her to dance. She said "no" and that she was resting. That rejection harpooned his barely existent confidence.

He was emotionally so frozen that when Doris stood next to him, he only replied to her "hello." He didn't ask her to dance. So she kept standing next to him. He thought that she might want him to dance, but he couldn't take another rejection. He felt like he'd split into pieces if he heard another no. Growing impatient, she leaned over to his ear and told him, "I'm off my meds!" She sounded excited. He only felt more scared by the promise of sex. He didn't know what to do. He froze. Another man, seeing that Lionel didn't ask her to dance, took Doris' hand and pulled her into the dance circle. They smiled. She seemed to have forgotten him. When the song ended, he pulled her by the hand away from the dance circle and into the boulder maze. Lionel thought that he had been offered first dips but had frozen up. He was mad at himself.

When the moon came up and made the sand visible as well that he was the only one consistently standing, he talked to himself and pushed himself to take action. In a burst of determination, he wandered into the dance circle without a plan at the change of the song. And lo and behold, a woman randomly wandered in front of him. He held his hand out. She grabbed it. He felt very proud of himself. He was going to lead the most advanced pattern that he had learned. Only she screamed at him, "What are we doing?" He quickly lowered his pride to try to stick to safe things that he had done a million times, like the basic and an inside turn. The woman yelled at him again, "What the heck are we doing?" Was he leading too difficult or too easy? He couldn't tell. Then she grabbed his hand like a lead and started yanking him around to tell him how she wanted to be led. Every teacher had warned him about the rough handling of bad leads. He felt scared to do what she asked. Both ended up frustrated, impatiently waiting for the song to end.

Lionel drew himself to the water's edge. He thought about ending his life. None of his bachata training had gotten him anywhere. He could simply walk out into the water and disappear. All the misery that he represented and felt would be gone. Just utterly depressed, he stood alone while everyone else was having grand fun, but he never fit in. Nobody ever wanted him. As he pondered how death by drowning in the black water would feel like, a hand grabbed his.

"Wanna come skinny dipping with us?" asked Aurora. Suddenly, he was in a group with four other people. All of them were bent forward to pull their clothes off their bodies. Lionel got a glimmer of Aurora's bare backside. The will to live was back in Lionel. He ripped the clothes of his body and stormed after them into waves softly lapping up at the beach. He was stark naked. He was excited. The stormed into the water just deep enough so that everyone had to tread water. The midsummer water was comfortably warm. The light reflected from the moon and the buildings towards them. He enjoyed the group feeling of being part of a cabal, everyone naked underneath the surface.

After quiet contemplation of the liberty, one of the guys called out, "Let's play that childhood kissing game. We are five people. I'll count to five. On five, you have to kiss the person that you want to kiss the most. If you hold back, you lose." The excitement in the voice overwrote any resistance. So the group started counting, "un, dos, tres, quarter, CINQO!"

Aurora spun around kissed Lionel on the mouth. He paddled hard forward to push back against her mouth. Her tongue slipped into his. With the paddling and waves, the kiss became very messy. Her boobs brushed against him. Their arms and bodies bumped into each other. Her tongue curled around his mouth with passion. He was so happy. His reaction shot up like a rocket. "DONE!" yelled the guy who had started it.

Aurora spun around again. The tip of his hard cock bumped into her butt cheek. She looked back at him. She looked him straight in the eyes. He was scared and embarrassed about her feeling his truth, but she smiled, accepting and swam away. He felt like she was telling him that she was committed to Isandro but appreciated the affection.

They bobbed around a bit more. The women were the first to call that they were cold. Lionel stayed back until he was shivering hard because that was needed to tame his monster. Then he came out and put the clothes on his wet body. He saw Linnea eating something out of a cooler. He walked over because he thought she'd be friendly. But when she saw him coming, she put down her food, left for the dance circle and asked a guy for a dance. Lionel felt the sting of her avoiding him. He was back in the deep blues, standing by himself. Lionel always seemed to be the outcast.

Lionel found another guy not dancing and dared to confide, "My confidence is shot. Everyone seems so advanced."

Surprisingly, the guy agreed, "Yeah, I've been taking classes for a year. I see girls walking into a social. The good leads will teach them. They get good within a couple of weeks. But I still can't get a woman to dance with me more than once. After the first dance, they remember and never again."

After a while of silent camaraderie, Lionel looked at the writing from Hiroto and offered the guy, "Hey, do you want to practice by leading me?" "Sure," said the guy and took his hands. Quickly, Lionel felt how forceful the guy was and, at the same time, the lead was so imprecise that it was hard to figure out what to do. Lionel wondered if his lead felt equally as terrible. Lionel thought back to when Isandro had led him once to demonstrate a point. Isandro's hands had felt so good. The intention of how to move transferred so effortlessly. He felt pity for the women that the two men had danced with. But he didn't dare tell the man about it and complimented him.

The music stopped. Isandro called for people to pack up and get to the kayaks. Sadly, the night was over. Lionel didn't have a single good dance, but he still remembered the imprint of Aurora's butt on his penis head. Overall, that was a win compared to watching YouTube at home. Gaston took the first shift paddling because he felt exuberant having witnessed Island Fever for the first time.

When the line of kayaks had stretched out a little bit, Gaston started talking quietly enough for Lionel to hear only, "Did you check out the sex maze in the boulders? There was this chick who got tag teamed by two guys. She let a whole bunch of us watch her. She loved the attention. We were in this narrow boulder space that caused us to be real close to the action. I could smell her. We were so close. She was going off like a freak. When one guy came, she made the other fuck her while she sucked the first guy hard again. That way, she kept herself getting continuously pounded even with the guys coming much faster than her. I've never seen anything like that. The guys didn't mind at all sharing the holes of her body where the other had come inside. I mean, I would have pounded for my life as well, given a chance."

Lionel told Gaston about the skinny dipping but not the incident. Gaston was out of himself, saying how he wished he had been there. The paddle back was much more manageable. The waves were lower. The current was easier. The pair had figured out how to paddle more straight. The boat traffic had died down. Isandro was confident that the chance to be caught by a police boat was lower. They had to clean the kayaks with spray and sponge them dry before storing them, but the pier was devoid of people.

Over the following weeks, Lionel learned that his steady presence helped him make progress. Dancers recognized him. They responded with attention when he spoke to them because they knew who he was. A couple words said one day would become a couple words exchanged every time they met until those grew into small conversations. A handful of good female dancers recognized him standing at socials often a whole hour until someone danced with him. They gave him pity dances of support. He could also spot beginner women on the dancefloor and offer them a couple dances before their learning curve exceeded his, and they lost interest in him.

One day, a strange occurrence appeared at the social. A woman had a skimpy brand and shorts on, but underneath it, she wore a burqa. It was like she wore the sexual clothing but her body was still covered. Her hair was wrapped up entirely in a piece of clothing that also covered her neck. Only her hands and face were bare. At first, he disregarded her as a lost Islam chick, but then he saw her move. She moved fast and fluidly. Any moves the leads threw at her, she swiftly executed them and threw a couple styling flares with her arms and legs out like the stuff was beneath her grade. How could a sheltered woman like her develop so much skill? He noticed that she only let herself be led by other women. The women had so much fun. Their faces clearly said that the Arab woman was one of the in-people. Circles of admirers drew around her when she danced.

In a moment of chance, she stood alone by herself. Lionel was nearby. Having worked on overcoming his shyness, his hand reached out to offer her a dance before he could think or speak. She didn't move, but a heavy guy in a suit with a ceremonial gold sword slapped Lionel's hand away.

"Only women," the bodyguard said.

That encounter made Lionel wonder about the depth of the scene. If someone could have spent so much time to build her skill without him ever noticing her, there must be a lot more circles and people. She moved like a gazelle. His world view of what Islamist people are like became re-ordered. He was but a small speckle. Didn't he have an obligation to reveal more of himself to the world because he could live in his own diversity? The woman became a role model for him to be courageously himself.

He also learned that time heals wounds. One day, Linnea had a merciful mood and asked him for a dance to patch up the rift between them. It was easy, actually. She was in a different mood. They danced. They could both forgive each other. The dance felt good. She had an excellent foundation of movement from the sessions and the personal attention of the Inquisitor.

His time building up the courage to ask for a dance or to wait for the mercy of a woman to ask him used to be spent standing by himself in the wall of men. Little by little, he talked to the men around him. They slowly opened up to him. He found community. In particular, Phoenix responded to him. When one saw the other standing, that one would walk over to stand next to each other in emotional support of braving the icy winter storm of emotions of being shut out from the joyful, sensual dancing. Phoenix had a soft and, at the same time, strong facial expression. He could afford such dichotomy because his shoulders, chest, abs, and butt were built with opulent muscles from weight training. He could look soft like a puppy and still have an overpowering presence. The clothes were elegant in a dapper way, like he had raided the best of Banana Republic. Overall, he was a handsome, black man.

Being a techie, he could afford nice things and mentioned weekend trips to Miami and Whistler casually. One day, noticing Lionel's muted reaction, because Lionel thought an MTA ticket for $2.75 was expensive, let alone a flight across the country, Phoenix suggested that Lionel take a coding class because tech companies were hiring like crazy. Lionel resisted at first because he didn't think of himself as smart enough, but Phoenix kept prodding Lionel, saying that demand was so great that talent was barely needed to get a simple tech job that still paid shovel loads of gold.

Ceding to the idea, they started working on Lionel's college application right there on the spot at the edge of the dancefloor with the music pumping and people dancing in front of them. Phoenix asked Lionel questions and then drafted an application essay on his phone. At first, Lionel thought he had nothing to tell but a few helpful questions from Phoenix, and Lionel told the story of how he pulled his father's badly injured body out of the car wreck after an accident.

Lionel in the backseat had been more shielded from the impact on the truck, but the front of the car was almost entirely flattened. Lionel witnessed the aftermath of guilt from his father for months because his father had run the red light in a moment of inattention. The daily, painful physical therapy reminded his father each time of his failing. The failing tormented the old man, and he gave up mentally. The local priest who had visited the family told Lionel at the door, only for Lionel to hear, "When a man has mentally resigned, there is nothing that can be done anymore." Phoenix helped weave that quote into a common thread of Lionel's life story of being faced with the impetus to give up at critical moments in Lionel's life.