Two left feet. No, that would be kind. I was clearly just a man who, in spite of a few years of playing guitar, had no sense of timing or rhythm. What was so damned difficult about learning to two step? It certainly looked simple enough.
My impromptu "tutor", a 50ish man who had no doubt taken pity on the petite woman struggling with my hulking 6 foot 2 form, shrugged his shoulders and went back to dancing gracefully with his partner. I thanked him for his help, and marveled at the way they glided away. They had a certain elegant communication between them, undoubtedly the result of many years spent dancing together.
I had determination and persistence. That must be worth something. Two or three songs of pure chaos later, we were given a reprieve in the form of a slow song. Slow songs were made for rubbing bodies together, not fancy footwork. I quickly settled into a position that gave me the most contact with my date's body. A few delightful minutes later she was leading me off of the dance floor and back to our table.
I wanted to learn to dance for two reasons. The first was that it looked like genuine fun for everyone involved. The second reason was firmly based in some hormonal abstract logic. Dancing always seemed to kindle a romantic fire in women. Most of the ladies that I had seen dancing in the clubs were always smiling and flirting with their partners. It seemed logical that this sort of romantic play would most certainly lead to more romantic play at the end of a date. Selfish, I know, but it's the truth.
Some dates drag mercilessly on through the night. You can just feel that somehow you're not connecting. This was one of those dates. My date was gorgeous and had a body that gave me a fever. I knew that tonight wasn't going to end between her sheets, which made the cleavage showing beneath her black sweater even more tantalizing. We sat quietly nursing our drinks for a while, watching other people move across the floor, complete with fancy turns. I watched feet mostly. There must have been something obvious in the steps that I was missing. My date was polite, and didn't look at her watch even once as the night crawled on. We made small talk, pointing out which couples looked like they had been together for ages.
After a few drinks I was feeling pretty mellow, and started stealing glances at the way my date's legs disappeared into her skirt. The barstool was too high for her. Her dangling legs had pushed her skirt up enough to tease me with a captivating view of her thighs. The beige of her panty hose contrasted nicely with the denim of her skirt. The V where her legs came together in the shadow of her skirt was dark and enticing.
A hand blurred across my vision. Her gesture broke a gaze that had been lost in the mysterious shadow between her legs, and she knew it. I was embarrassed and made a lame apology. She smiled and asked me if I would like to dance again before taking her home. A slow song was playing. I knew before we stood up that there was no way she could miss the lump in my pants if we danced the way we had earlier. A thought brushed the edge of my alcohol induced groove that this might be a problem, but it was quickly pushed aside by the thought of how her body had felt during our previous slow dance.
I was a little buzzed, but far from too drunk to notice the unsteady way that she moved into my arms. She giggled as she pressed against me. She played with the buttons on my shirt as she swayed against my erection. The way that her tits drew the rough material of her sweater across my shirt was electric. The song ended much too soon. She giggled and winked as she told me that it was time to 'take her to bed'. She finished the last swallow of her drink before we left for her place.
A few drinks ago I was certain that I would be sleeping alone tonight, and now she had warmed up considerably. The slur in her voice and the alcohol on her breath as I kissed her at her door told me that she might regret this in the morning. Don't get me wrong; Deep down I'm just as much of an asshole as the next guy. One or two drinks more would have silenced my conscience. As it was, I liked this woman. It took a serious effort on my part to end the evening with the ubiquitous "I had a good time" and a nice kiss, but nothing more.
My reward was a lovely phone call the next day thanking me for not taking advantage of her, along with a polite declining at the suggestion of another date.
A few days later I was invited to a birthday party at a country and western bar. I knew most of the people who would be there, and figured someone would teach me how to dance. It was a week night and the club was almost empty. Most of the people there were either married or otherwise attached, but my luck held and a friend's wife was happy to teach me how to dance. I had some success, and at one point mentioned that it would be great if there was some way to get practice without subjecting a date to bruised feet.
"The bar gives free two step lessons on Tuesday nights. You don't need a partner. There's usually some older ladies there who need a partner", my good Samaritan said as we walked back to the table.
What a great idea! I didn't care how old my dancing partner was, as long as she put up with my klutzyness. The very next Tuesday, I was at the bar with great expectations. The instructor called all of the couples onto the floor, and then asked for the single people in the group. I was paired up with Sandy, an older woman who seemed a little timid at first. Older is, of course, a relative term. She was a mere 37 to my 25, but that was older than any woman I had previously had the pleasure of being intimate with.
"I hope you don't mind, but I don't know how to dance", Sandy said in a mousy voice.
"That's why this is beginners night". I had hoped that I would find someone who was a little less of a beginner than I was, but Sandy was nicely shaped and very pretty. I could think of worse ways to spend a Tuesday night.
"The first thing that you ladies need to know," the instructor announced, "is that it's nearly impossible to do this if your arms are like wet dishrags. Keep them stiff, and you'll automatically go where your partner goes." This drew a chuckle from the crowd. Well, maybe my last date was a little to blame for my ineptitude after all. As it turned out, the instructor gave great directions and went through very exaggerated steps with his partner. Suddenly the two step didn't seem nearly so difficult.
Sandy must have been in space for this "first instruction" because her arms were like noodles as we began to move around the floor in our first practice song. "Ow!" Her eyes lit up in startled amazement as I turned her arm behind her back and pulled it gently up in the 'uncle' position.
"If your arms weren't like wet dishrags, your whole body would've turned and I wouldn't have you where I want you," I teased, and after a brief pause corrected myself, "Umm you'd move where I want you to."
Sandy giggled uncontrollably for a minute. We had broken the ice.
At the end of the evening we agreed that we danced pretty well together, and decided to meet again next week.
3.
The next Tuesday when I arrived at the bar, Sandy and her group of her friends were already there. I went to say hi.
"Get a room, you two." The sharp laughter from across the table momentarily drew everyone's attention. Fran was sitting on Dave's lap, kissing him with undisguised passion. His hands were roaming over her ass, hers holding his face. "I swear, Dave, you two always look like you're joined at the lips. Your hands are going to wear a hole in her jeans. You could at least wait until after the lesson."
Dave broke from Fran's kisses momentarily. "You're just jealous because you don't have a man to get you all wet before lessons."
Paula took his rude remark in stride. "Well, yeah, there is that."
Sandy met me with an embarrassed smile. We made smalltalk and went to the floor with the couples. The instructor began with his 'wet dishrag' speech. It didn't seem as funny the second time around.
The first two weeks some of Sandy's friends from work came for lessons. She liked the easy social atmosphere. We clustered together in a group during breaks and after lessons. Once we got beyond the standard pleasantries and chitchat of the first couple of weeks we developed a genuine friendship. I learned that she was divorced and had two boys, 17 and 20 years old. She had spent 20 years putting them first and now they were old enough to be on their own. She was ready to spend her time and energy on herself.
Sandy's friends had other commitments and one week we found that were a group of two. The instructor's witty 'dishrag speech' had grown old, but both our skill and our friendship seemed to grow a little bit more each week. Dance lessons would end reasonably early, but they were at the end of a work day. After Sandy's friends stopped coming, I would walk her to her car and then go get something to eat before heading home. It was late December, and where we live that means some nights are bearable but most are too cold to stand outside long.
On a night that was just too cold to be tolerable we weren't finished talking when we reached Sandy's car, and she suggested talking in her car. We were sitting and talking when she leaned over and gave me a nice kiss.
"I had an impulse and went with it," Sandy said with a shy smile.
I was a taken off guard. I knew that Sandy was attractive, but I hadn't really considered anything happening romantically between us. "I like your impulses."
Sandy smiled. It wasn't a wicked smile or a sexy smile, it was just a happy smile. Her smile made me feel like that I would enjoy getting to know her better.
We talked for a little while longer and during the first 'uncomfortable silence' I returned her kiss. We couldn't get close enough for an embrace. In a little Datsun with bucket seats, a six foot man doesn't have much room to cuddle up. We just awkwardly leaned towards each other. Our kisses weren't hot and passionate, they were very light, playful, and exciting. Things were simply different with a woman that I wasn't trying to seduce.
"You're fun to kiss." I thought the little compliment filled the momentary silence nicely. Kissing this woman was a sensual experience. She was enticing. Exciting. Sandy had a wonderful way of moving her whole body when she kissed. She never turned her head without accentuating the movement with the rest of her body. She combined that with a smile between kisses. It was delightful to kiss a woman who was enjoying the moment.
