Sweeper didn’t have to wait by his window very long that night. Marinara had saved one last dance. She started twirling, slowly, her lustrous gown flowing from her hips. Sweeper listened closely and heard music. It was flamenco style, with clapping hands and stomping feet, and it carried an emotional pitch, rising up from an unfettered spirit. He extended his hand and danced with her.
They careened around the cabin. Marinara pulled back abruptly and shook herself. Her dreamy gaze offered promise. Sweeper countered with greedy eyes and agaping mouth, watching eagerly as the gown slipped from her shoulders. She took a small step forward, paused, and then crushed her breasts against the window. Sweeper imagined she might give herself to a man that way. Hot skin met cool, smooth glass. She closed her eyes and tossed back her hair.
The music reached a crescendo and Marinara danced feverishly. The gown spun lower. Sweeper saw her remarkable waist – so small around it must have been wrapped tightly as a child, not allowed to grow with the rest of her body. When she stopped twirling the gown fell silently to the floor.
Sweeper got a sudden feeling that he shouldn’t be watching. He quickly turned away. When he glanced back the lights were off.
Scott Anderson studied fiction writing at The University of Iowa as an undergraduate, working most notably with Jayne Anne Phillips, and also took writing classes at Goddard College in Vermont. His fiction appears in Burst, Word Riot, Marco Polo Arts Mag, Otis Nebula, Cell Stories 2010, and Fuck Fiction. He has received grants from The Five Wings Arts Council and The McKnight Foundation. Scott is writing a first novel, The Carnivore of Yod. He works as a dispatcher with the Otter Tail County sheriff department, in west central Minnesota.