Devon Lane was a school teacher. She taught Special Education at the elementary level. She was good at her job. She managed her classroom well, managed her children's behaviors well. She handed in all her paperwork on time. She was enthusiastic and emphatic when in front of her students. Her students liked being in her class. She came up with fun activities that had to do with the stories they were reading or what they were studying in math. The students came to her with their problems. One student told her about his dad's girlfriend who had a restraining order against the dad, and the girlfriend came back to visit and made her promise not to tell anyone. Another girl told Ms. Lane that her parents forgot to celebrate her birthday one day when she came in wearing a dirty shirt. At times, a brother and sister who were in the same grade because the brother was held back a grade would come in late to school and missed breakfast. Ms. Lane would always keep a stash of granola bars for them to eat outside the classroom doors so no one could see. Ms. Lane demonstrated care, empathy, and discretion when dealing with these problems, sometimes referring them to the student services office, however, if other agencies, such as the Department of Health, needed to step in. All in all, Devon Lane demonstrated superior control over her environment at work.
At home she lived alone. She worked out every day no matter what. There were days when she was feeling upset, and she biked on her stationary bike through sobbing tears, but Devon had control over her emotions and she wouldn't let them get in the way of her control over her body. Devon also exercised control over her diet, she ate a high protein, high fiber diet that was low in fat, sugar, processed foods, and generally anything bad. It was extremely restrictive. But for Devon it was easy as pie to follow. And she reaped the benefits. She had long blond hair that fell in thick curling locks down to her size zero waist. She had muscular legs and an overall athletic and lean body with the exception of her suspiciously large breasts. People occasionally asked her if they were "fake." Devon always eluded an answer. How would a school teacher, in the middle of nowhere South Dakota, afford plastic surgery anyway? For some reason she liked that people were talking about her behind her back. And although Ms. Lane was humble and didn't think much of herself, she did fantasize about the possibility of being that hot school teacher, the one high school boys fantasized about, the one other teachers whispered about, secretly hated.
Restriction and control were like second nature to Devon. Devon was a successful, strong willed woman. In every aspect of her life, Devon, Ms. Lane, was in full control. Her classroom was a tight schedule of rituals and routines. Her home life was the same. She was single. She would come home, work out for about an hour or an hour and a half, eat dinner, watch TV while grading homework and go to bed. Devon thrived in this structure but she began to wish for a little something extra with which to fill her time. And that is how she came across Argentine Tango lessons in the newspaper. Dance required discipline and step by step structure. At its more advanced levels it might be quite athletic, she imagined. It was perfect.
The lessons were being offered at the local community center and weren't expensive. They were at 7:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The ad said to bring a partner if you have one, but it wasn't required. Devon didn't have a partner and she went anyway. She put on a black dress that wrapped around her tiny body and tied across the waist and some black heels. That seemed appropriate. When she got there, there were all sorts of people there, as one might expect at a community center, but not as Devon expected from a Tango class. There were grotesquely tall people, fat people, old people. Was Devon going to have to dance with all these people? And not a single woman was in a pair of heels. They were all in bare feet, or stocking-ed feet, mingling before the instructor came in. Devon felt completely left out, in her shoes, not knowing who to talk to. She stood on the outskirts of everyone and noticed a man standing awkwardly on the outskirts as well, the other sides of the outskirts. Although Devon exercised superior control over every aspect of her life, although by every measurement Devon looked like a porn star, although Devon always presented herself well and always offered up good conversation and clever jokes, Devon was self-doubting. She was shy. It took a lot of nerve for her to walk up to someone new and strike up a conversation. Especially if she had to walk across an entire dance floor in a room full of women not wearing any shoes, in a room full of people she didn't know. But Devon took a deep breath and walked over to this other "other," this other outlier.
"So, what's with all the bare feet?" she asked him.
"Oh. They just take off their shoes because it's easier to balance that way. If they loose their balance slightly, they can always roll down to flat feet instead of falling over," the awkward man responded. Devon felt a sense of pride. She had taken ballet from pre-school all the way through high school. She knew how to balance her body, how to imagine a string being pulled up through her spine and through her skull as if she were hanging from it. It's how she learned to walk in heels. She decided she would leave her heels on.
"Devon Lane," she said, extending her hand.
"Mark Bishop." They shook hands. The man looked forward to continue waiting for the instructor, who was five minutes late at this point. He was avoiding Devon's glance. She took his look away as an invitation to look him over which undoubtedly made the poor man feel more uncomfortable. He was very tall, well over six feet. He had thick wavy blond hair that was punctuated with brown streaks. It was cut in a longish haircut. Very inviting, Devon thought. He was slender but strong seeming. Devon was sure he could lift all one hundred and fifteen pounds of her. She hoped she could get to the lifting phase of this dance class soon. The awkward man had a slender waist made more prominently evident by his contrastingly colored belt. Devon found herself very attracted to this man's features, including his awkward, shy side. Her controlling personality wanted to possess him. She was certain she wanted to dance with him but she didn't know how the class was structured. Was she going to have to dance with every guy? Was the instructor going to choose someone of a more suitable height for her? Devon realized that her looking had turned into staring and she turned her glance in the direction of Mark's. Finally the dance instructor walked in.
"Okay dancers! Are we ready?" He was about halfway between five and six feet. He wore loose fitting black slacks with a belt and a loose fitting silk blouse tucked neatly into his belted pants. He walked with his hips leading each step, as if he were fucking someone with each stride. A walk reserved only for effeminate gay men and, apparently, dance instructors. With the look he gave Devon on his way in he was most certainly not gay. He had an accent Devon couldn't place, possibly Russian but not quite. He noted her heels. "We have a brave newcomer today! What's your name?"
"Devon."
"Okay. You'll be dancing with me today. I'll teach you the basic step, and once you get the hang of it you can dance with...Mark. Mark has been with us for four years. He got off to a rocky start but now he's very well practiced. He'll take good care of you," said the instructor.
