Yes, closing my eyes would help me focus. Maybe. I’d still be conscious of what I was touching, though.
“See how my left hip is curving, making a circular movement when—”
I was trying hard to listen, I really was. Part of me just wanted to giggle myself silly. Part of me wanted to whip him around, throw myself to the floor, and pull him down hard on top of me. And part of me wanted to kick myself for being so ridiculously immature. I was a ballet dancer. What was wrong with me? Well a lot of the men in ballet were gay so being all touchy feely was a joke, anyway. Still, I was paying a lot of money to learn how to do this right, and become a real dancer.