The Greeks

Ahh! Cat-lin! We were just talking about you! Which do you prefer: Michelangelo or Picasso? I don’t like Picasso, I think it is too simple, too boring. I look at it in one second and I am bored. Michelangelo! Ah! That is a master! I can look at his work for hours and am not bored! 
We were standing outside the Greek restaurant waiting for the two beautiful Greek sisters to finish their cigarettes before heading in to feast on what they described as “good” Greek food. These were Women who were talking; their dark hair, heavy eye-liner, strong european accents and stiff backs reminding me that beauty truly lives in confidence. I was up for anything: when I invited myself along for the dinner with the two Sisters (my sister Caitie knew from the cafe she worked at) I was willing to let the night push me in any direction it wanted to. 
We sat down for a full dinner of wine, fish, appetizers, deserts, pepper grinders three feet long, waiters that were dressed in bow ties and, eventually, bawdy conversations about the different kinds of men we’d all slept with at one point. I’d never been out with another pair of sisters before, but I was loving it. I felt balanced as the conversations roved and roiled and rolled with each cup of wine being re-filled by our server and another delicious dish of greek food was placed on the table. By the time we stumbled out of the restaurant, the place had closed. 
Nat-A-lie? Have you been to Cafe Noir? Oh it is so good! The best! would you girls like to come? Cat-lin? Come! Yes! Let’s have a drink!
The Sisters whisked us down to SoHo where a band playing covers of famous Latin dance music was strumming away. I ordered a single malt scotch and sipped as the dark bar began to spin with drunken dancers. One of the Greek Sisters got up and began to dance: arms in the air, hips swaying, hair flapping and hands clapping. After a while, the band stopped, wishing everyone a good night and the entire bar screamed its dissent. KEEP PLAYING! I screamed with the rest, as the scotch had made its way into my own hips, pushing me onto the dance floor and moving me around to the beat of the flamenco guitar. It was a riot! The band members got back onto their instruments and played for another 20 minutes. 
I was pulled on by one of the Greek sisters. She grabbed me by the waist and held me close as she swung me around the floor in a fast samba. You dance so good! Nat-A-Lie! She praised as I felt her hips move mine. I laughed. It felt so good to dance with someone who could look me in the eye, feel my body move, and at the end of the night; not want to sleep with me. 
The four of us wound up outside the bar after the music stopped. It was midnight. I felt full and drunk. 
“I had so much fun with you guys.” I said, trying to sound poignant. 
We must do this again. Said one of the sisters. On a Saturday, we must go salsa dancing! 
I laughed: hard. I didn’t know what was funny. It wasn’t really. Maybe it was that one of the sisters wasn’t wearing a coat in the January night and was smoking a cigarette, maybe it was the comment made a few minutes earlier (When I danced with that latino… oh my god. I thought I would cum. Seriously! His knee was right in my… you know!), maybe it was the band mates offering to buy us more drinks while unzipping our coats as we tried to leave for the 4th time. All I did know was that I felt good. I felt incredibly happy to be spending a night with women only: with Sisters. 
What a change! What a chance to feel something stronger than sexual tension! I feel like I’m healing and growing more than I thought I ever could with women!
Play on, band! Play on!

January 24, 2013 at 3:08 pm by Natalie Allen