At the Annual Easter Dinner at Sun Valley Country Club in Idaho, they regularly bring in an orchestra that mostly plays music from The Big Band Era.
Fortunately, I went to two years of Cotillion as a youth, so when they started to play, I quickly got up and asked my lovely mother, Jo, short for Josephine and we had a blast in the space there was to dance in. During the light applause, Jeff, my dad and Mo, my sister came up and tapped in.
Mo is short for Maureen, and we danced together. Except for her longer hair, she and Jo could be twins.
Let me present my family to you all:
Jeff Ernst, 46
Jo Ernst, 44
Mo Ernst, 22
Brian Ernst, 21 ME
The ladies have red hair and brown eyes, while us boys are blonds with blue eyes.
We took a break from dancing to sit back down just in time to have a young man take our orders from a short list:
Chicken Corden Bleu
I got the Filet, Mo, the Salmon, Jo the Chicken and we left Dad to get the Ribs. Whenever we all go out together we do a lot of eating off each other’s plates.
I knew we had time, so I got up, turned to my lovely sister and asked, “May I have this dance?”
Besides the common characteristics I have already listed, the two women in our family are stacked, which makes dancing with either of them a semi-erotic moment. Something they didn’t teach at Cotillion.
The song that started was ‘Sentimental Journey,’ a slower song.
Almost instantly, Mo lay her head down as we danced together.
“You dance nice, little brother,” she said to me.
“It helps when you have such a beautiful dance partner!”
“Aren’t you sweet?” She said raising her head up to look me in the eyes.
The moment was sheer chemistry between us, but before anything stupid happened, I took us back to the table.
The food came a few minutes later, with a separate bar waiter coming towards us.
Despite having recently become legally old enough to drink, I begged off getting a Coke as the rest of them got adult beverages.
I was offered a taste of something called a gin and tonic, but it didn’t suit me. Mo let me have a sip of her rum and coke, which wasn’t nearly as disjointing.
“Bri, could I get a bite of your filet, please?” My mother asked.
I cut off a piece and fed it to her, hearing a verbal guttural response.
“Sheesh, Mom That was a bit much, don’t you think?”
“Can’t a mother enjoy her son’s meat?”
Dad muttered a chuckle, finishing up his drink.
The Bandleader announced the final musical number of the evening, ‘The Very Thought of You’, as we all got up, but I picked Jo to dance with.
Mom melted in my arms, “Brian, you are such a lovely dance partner.”
“You convinced me to take dance lessons. Who knew that I would get to dance with someone as lovely as you are,”
She lay her head on me through the rest of the song.
I hoped she hadn’t felt my hardness too much.
With the music ended, we applauded, then we all sat back down for a while.
Our server came over with a pot of coffee, for those who wanted it. She poured everyone a cup leaving the pot.
I had to put an ice cube in mine to cool it down, then I could enjoy it.
After we all had a second cup, we said our goodbyes, with Mo and I promising to come by the house for dinner more often.
Mo and I left together, as we had arrived, but she asked me to drive her car. She felt too inebriated to drive herself.
The valet brought her Audi A5, I handed him a ten for the keys, as he got the door for Mo, who gave him a smile.
I saw a smile on his face as we peeled away squealing the tires.
“Where are we headed, Bri?” She asked. “Your apartment or mine?”
“My place is a mess, Mo. Maybe we could dance some more?” I suggested, getting on the crosstown freeway to her place.
I drove too fast, but I was eager to ... dance more with her.
As I pulled into her parking space, she turned to look at me, and I glanced back at her.
I got out, jogged around to her side and helped her to her feet.
With her on my arm I opened apartment 11, walked her inside helping her off with her heels.
“Did you notice the way Jo was looking at you tonight?” She questioned.
“Did you see how I was looking at you?” I said in return.
“Are we going to talk, dance, or fuck, Brian?”