Now, I love dancing. A lot. It’s possibly my favourite thing to do ever, and funnily enough I’ve never really danced with a guy properly, the way I want to. Anyway, the second rodeo bush dance* I went to was one of the greatest dances of my life. My mate Henry’s band played classic country and soul and rock and blues anthems. At Harts Range they had a DJ. Disappointing, but I still had a great time, event spent some time up the back learning line dancing from some old girls. I also discovered there was a bush band playing out the back and that this was where all the Aboriginal families were dancing. All day they’d had the best seats in the house by avoiding the ring (unless they were riding in it) and watching from above on the hill behind.
In between this dancing and discovering bush bands, I had various interactions with Mr Adelaide, who I want to call The Stallion but that’s way too pornographic. From memory, he first just looked me up and down and grinned. I returned the look and the grin, then kept on dancing. I was wearing my cowboy boots (second hand, with authenticity adding paint splatters) and a tight fitting bright blue stretch cotton short dress, it’s a little bit Mad Men and a little bit flattering. I felt so damn fine in this hot blue dress that I even put on red lipstick. Dayyumm!
Interaction Number Two saw me sidle up quite close next to Mr Adelaide. He put his hand on the small of my back and ushered me into the conversation he was having with his friends. Very pleasant. I kept alternating between the D-Floor and him, each time he’d initiate some kind of physical touch with confidence and respect- a hand on the back of my waist here, a touch on the shoulder there, nothing major, but just so easy, it was like we were automatically a couple at ease with each other. He was oozing coolness, calmness and confidence and it was bringing out some kind of outrageously confident flirt in me. I even whispered in his ear, “If you do one thing for me, if you come and dance with me, even for one song, I’ll take off all of my clothes for you.” Amazing. Also amazingly, it didn’t work, and similarly amazingly, I didn’t even care! I went and danced away, with this weird confidence that we’d end up together when the DJ played his last song, but I didn’t bother waiting for that to happen. After I’d had a good dance I went up and asked Mr Adelaide, ‘You ready to go?’ just like that. We held hands and walked out of the dance hall. There was a fork in the road. ‘Your swag or mine?’ I asked.
Yes, dear readers. The girl who once accidentally said no to a coffee date by saying she hated coffee, actually said this. I’m convinced it’s the blue dress more than the minimal amount of alcohol I’d consumed.
Now, Grandma, if you’ve got yourself a computer, figured out how to turn it on and use the internet, and you’ve stumbled upon this and figured out that the author is me, your granddaughter, probably skip this bit. There’s sexual references and occasional course language.
I feel weird talking about sex publically, but I’ll just say that it was lovely, sensual and all the more exciting due to the slight possibility that another camper might see us down in the grass. Afterwards we snuggled incredibly closely on the thin single swag* mattress, canvas pulled up to our necks. “At one point there,” said Mr Adelaide, “I was lying on my back and you were on top and all I could see was your naked body and a billion stars behind you, and I though ‘I AM FUCKING THE UNIVERSE.”
Now, ladies and gentlemen, is that not the greatest piece of pillow talk in the history of pillow talk? We made out a little bit more. How great is making out? I love that shit. If I could make out and dance at the same time, that would probably be my favourite thing ever. Anyway, after making out a bit, he helped me find my clothes and dress, then walked me to my swag, kissed me good night and walked back into the night. The next morning he was gone. My friends and I watched the novelty events, ate egg and bacon rolls and smiled at mini cowboys and cowgirls proudly giving their first place ribbons to their smiling proud parents. Mr Adelaide and I slept together again at my house in Alice Springs that night, then he went back to Adelaide and I’ve never seen him since.
A truly excellent fling. My other truly excellent but slightly longer lasting fling took place in a rice field in Thailand with a Laotian puppeteer, but that will have to wait for another time…
*for my Nigerian and Mexican readers, a bush dance is a dance held in the bush. Traditionally with a live band and a few set dances like ‘The Heel and Toe,’ they are usually held in a barn/shed. A swag is a waterproof canvas bag for one person to sleep in, with a thin mattress inside and zips for getting in and out of. PS: how the hell did you find this blog in Nigeria and Mexico?