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Sometimes I put on my dress shoes in the middle of the night and dance myself silly, twirling and spinning like an idiot. I don't even bother to keep myself quiet, thinking that I'd let the other inhabitants of the house confuse the tapping of my shoes to the hauntings of a ghost. Without needing a partner, I thought I could take on the world any moment as I hummed the rhythm to myself.Then he would appear.He is a boy around my age. He's the kind who crashes things a lot, invited or not. Much in my case, he absolutely wasn't. I didn't need a partner, and even if I did, he wasn't a girl. But he would interrupt me anyway, saying that dancing alone was just stupid and that I should be thankful for his presence. I stuck my tongue out instead.The first time he climbed up to my room, he insisted that he be the boy and I be the girl and that he would take care of me and lead me properly during the dance like a proper gentleman. I was fuming and about to give him a piece of my mind when he said that I was cute and had pretty eyes, and that I was lovelier than even his own little sister. I suspected he thought I was indeed a girl because he was blushing and he stuttered many times. So I let him think that way, but it turned out that he was aware from the start that we were both boys.This continued well past childhood and into our teenage years. By this time, my parents and all the maids already knew of my "eccentric hobby" as they called it, so they had my shoes polished everyday and had a disc player put in my room. It was funny so I let them, but that didn't make me dance more. I don't even dance that much anymore.It happened when I was in my late teens. We had spent another entire night dancing like two idiots. Occasionally, like that time, he would sleep over in my room and leave early the next day to avoid being caught by the maids. But that one time, of all things, I had my first morning boner. We slept on the same bed, and he was awake first. I don't know what he was thinking, and I don't know if I want to know, but when I woke up, his hand was wrapped around me and jerking me off. He couldn't afford to let me scream, so he kissed me to keep my mouth shut. I was in shock, but I had the wit to bite his tongue and he pulled away. Even so, he didn't stop and it was starting to feel really good. I couldn't help staring at him, and he did the same. My whole body felt hot. The places he touched burned. I let out sounds I didn't know I could make while he pumped me harder and faster. But then I was starting to get really loud, so he kissed me again. Through his thin pajamas, I felt his own hardness press against me. I resolved to touch him as well, but my entire body shook. I had no strength left in my arms, and my head was empty of anything. Something was coming, and I felt scared. But he kissed me a third time and the fear was gone, replaced with feeling of him touching me. I held on to him as I came, his hand milking out all that I had, and I passed out. When I came to, I had a fever, my parents were worried, and he was gone. I thought that maybe I was dreaming that up, that maybe I was just frustrated for not having girlfriends because of him. I wanted it to be just a dream and not him leaving for good, because after that day, he never came back. I knew where he lived and when I checked, the butler told me that he left the house and made a note to not look for him.Years passed until I could call such a time long ago. I barely remember how he looked like, but I do remember how he looked at me. I remember how carefully he touched me, the heat I felt that time. I remember his laugh the most. His sickeningly cheerful laugh that made him my most important person.I realized this yesterday when he showed up at my party as celebration for succeeding my father. He showed up cleaned up and shaved, wearing some decent clothes and, to my amusement, a gaudy pair of dress shoes, like they were asking to be danced in.I nearly laughed out loud on the spot if I wasn't so preoccupied with keeping my mouth shut and my tears in check. I can't even begin to express how much I missed him, how happy I was that he finally showed, how relieved I was that he was back in one piece, and how mad I was at him for making me wait for so long without offering an explanation first.That night, in other words, last night, he climbed up to my room in secret again and asked for a dance. He was still as much as a crasher as I remembered, but I forgave him so we could skip the drama.That night, we didn't talk much, but a lot was said as we frantically made up for the time lost physically. At the rate we were going, I knew that giving my parents the grandchildren they wanted was going to be difficult, but I would deal with that later. Surely they would allow me to have a dance or two, right? Although it's a different kind of dance.