Teaching Your Demon Lover to Cha Cha
by Marcy Arlin
***Editor's Note: Adult story, situations, and language***
We never went out. We usually stayed in all weekend and fornicated until we were bleeding and our eyes almost popping out of our heads. Fun, but after a while, every orifice stuffed with a genital or tentacle just gets repetitious.
So I suggested to Boralielmo that we take cha-cha lessons. How hard could it be? We both had two legs and two feet, even if his were cloven. I signed us up at Señorita Malagueña's Latino/Latina Dance Studio a few blocks over on 5th. My mother is from Cuba, so I figured I could teach him a thing or two. And I didn't mind showing off a little. He was always bragging about how many places he had been, how many souls he had stolen, and so forth, ad nauseum.
I wore one of my tight black dresses that showed a lot of boob, silver heels, big hoop earrings, and, what the hell, no underwear. Boral wore the formal purple tunic that came to his knees, and let his big hairy thing flop around underneath.
The music was perfect. Señorita M. had Xavier Cugat on the turntable, a real classic. The dance hall was on the second floor over the Korean fruit and vegetable stand where I get my avocados.
Boralielmo has two left hooves. He stomped on my foot. Twice. But he was making an effort to get the rhythm. I gave a little scream when he snuck a tentacle up my dress.
