Not the fruit…

About dancing… Years ago I worked for a Papa Murphy’s Pizza joint. Too many stories but amongst robberies, first kisses, underwear-less sluts sitting on the prep tables and jealous family of owners I had my first taste of something wonderful. There was a girl named Amanda that I worked with (ironic) that had a desire to learn some swing. She was actually quite a bitch. Cute little blonde haired bible thumping hypocrite she was. Anyways, I was smitten with her interest in dancing so I weasels my way into taking a few lessons with her. Our introductory lesson was the lindy hop. All I could think was ‘what the hell is this?’ Two hours of me walking a straight line and her gracefully covering my tracks with an elongated turn. Not only was I with some girl who was probably on some rag-time of her own, I was sorely disappointed in the lack of passion that was being taught. Meh…

Years later is when I decided to take actual ballroom lessons in North Carolina. Lets not pay too much attention at the thousands of dollars I spent, but more so the introduction to what dancing is all about. My teacher was a nice lady… Middle school teacher that was probably quite the hottie in her earlier days. Even for a sixty-something cougar she was quite a sight for sore eyes. Everything was gravy until my thigh touched her vagina.

The particular version of the foxtrot (if you can really call them versions) called for a closed position. None of this arms length shit. It was becoming a full contact sport. As much of a horn-dog military guy as I was, learning to actually dance was my only priority when I was at the studio. I had been hesitant to lead not because of a lack of confidence, but because of a lack of knowledge of the basic steps. One night it clicked. I was put with a new girl who had never danced before. It was robotic. My instructor saw the predicament I was in and decided to demonstrate how she was supposed to dance with me. As I took up the posture I held her close in. Left foot, right foot, left foot then BLAM… The trouble with the situation was quite a paradox of dancing conundrums. A guys solution to being turned on while dancing is commonly discussed, but how do you address the situation when roles are reversed?

I think that’s the day that dancing died for me… Until recently. It’s been so long I couldn’t tell you the difference between a promenade and an underhand turn… Part of the excitement of life is finding ways into the depths of other’s souls. Having sex is one way I know how… Can’t really have sex with every girl I meet right? So dancing is my alternative. Problem is, none seem to understand the purpose.

In a world of overly insecure guys hawking over every available girl and women with no understanding of self worth, there is something missing. Passion. In everything. You want to be good at something? Try… Trying… at least. You feel like making something? Put your soul into it and see what comes out. Maybe you want to accomplish a goal? How about learning how to make love to the notion that what you do with this life is completely in your hands. If someone comes along and wants to dance with you, fucking dance already. Say yes to experiencing something with no excuses. Nothing is permanent unless you choose it to be. When you find a fire inside yourself don’t let anyone extinguish it. That’s what I did and it sucks. I have some hope though. I’m seeing people for what they’re really worth to me and I feel better about going on this journey I’m about to embark on.


2 comments on “Not the fruit…

  1. I honestly read every one of your blogs & this one made me laugh out loud. The situation with your dance instructor was simply too much! I’m glad you seem to have found a path leading you toward your heart’s passion. Best of luck to you in your future endeavors…spread those wings & FLY!

    PS- Stop looking at that yearbook, those HS pics are horrible & should be burned!!!

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