It is Saturday morning. I am taking the five-year-old to a dance class.
“Do you want me to watch or can I hang out in the café?” I ask her.
“Watch,” she demands.
The kids speed up and down the gym while the parents sit, bag-laden, grey, miserable, on the surrounding benches. I wearily take my seat next to one of them and contemplate an escape.
Then something beautiful floats through the swing doors.
She wears white leggings and a pink tank top. She is tanned, small, olive-eyed and has a voice that betrays her South American roots.
I am captivated as she tip toes around, her pony tail swinging like a rudder, as she slaloms between the children, organising them into groups. She has muscly thighs and a slim waist and soft arms. And suddenly she turns, revealing her bum to the benches.
It’s a wondrous thing; round, firm and taut. It announces itself with a dramatic protrusion beginning at the base of her spine. The way it concludes by cutting sharply back into her hamstring makes me shiver.
I am hypnotised. When I finally take my eyes off it, we are half-way through the lesson. Worrying my leering may have been noticed, I glance to the man on my left. Our eyes lock.
“Ridiculous, innit?” he says.
“That arse. Bloody ridiculous.”
He puffs out his cheeks and slowly exhales.
“Yeah”, I agree, “It’s quite something.”
He puffs out his cheeks and exhales again, this time slowly shaking his head.
“The things I’d do…” he says, dreamily.
He puffs out his cheeks and exhales and shakes his head again, this time biting his bottom lip.
“So… which one’s yours?” I ask, interrupting his fantasy.
“The kids, which one’s yours?”
“Oh, None. My daughters doing swimming next door. I’m here for the arse.”
The Male Nanny