Dirty dancing: it’s like sex without the shame or embarrassment…unless you’re me, then it’s just more of the same.
Despite being a major dance sensation at weddings when I was five, I lost my confidence to dance when puberty hit. I would freeze and clam up anytime I was put in a situation where I should dance. As I watched my peers around me enjoy themselves, my inner dialogue would jump in, building up a wrecking ball of anxiety that would crash down upon the feeble structure of my self-confidence:
“ What’s the big deal, James? Just dance; everyone else is dancing; just act normal; at least move your feet and smile a little; why are you such a stupid piece of shit? Stop sweating; are you going to let everyone see how pathetic you are, or are you going to flee into the little boy’s room again so you can pretend to poop for the next twenty minutes? ”
This and other helpful internal coaching rhetoric kept me on the bench through most of my twenties.
I was particularly impacted1 my Junior year. My friends and I went to an all-city dance with students from three different high schools. Back that Azz Up2 by Juvenile was rocking, my friends were all being fine motherfuckers, and I was awkwardly standing in no man’s land3. I was in the deep end and it was either sink or swim. I spotted the friend of the girl my buddy was grinding on, and with a “My family gave your family a goat and two oxen” level of passion and a “We’re the last two people left on earth” sense of obligation, we danced.
I was surprised when it didn’t go terribly awry. She nestled her butt into my crotch and we bent our knees and swayed from side to side. In between the simultaneous terror and thrill that was brought about by my erection, I almost relaxed enough to enjoy myself. I was like a kid who was riding his bike for the first time, “Look mom: no hands!…Wait, what am I supposed to be doing with my hands?” Looking around I remembered that I should place them on her thighs and caress gently clockwise. The dance concluded and I tucked my boner into my belt and promptly retreated toward the safety of my friends with the relief of knowing that I completed my societal contract without humiliation or public scrutiny.
I hardly had time to smile at my friends before I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to meet the glaring gaze of short, angry brunette. Her arms were crossed and she was not happy with me. The memory kind of fades out here as I went into shock. Time stopped; there was a ringing in my ears, and she may or may not have turned into a fire breathing dragon. I do remember my friend Javier stepping in and defending me, and piecing together that, apparently, my thigh rubbing was a bit too sexual and had offended the innocent4 belle I had danced with. I felt awful. With this shame stoking the fire of my neuroses, I retreated to the boy’s room. I didn’t really dance for the next ten years of my life, especially not with strangers5.
But fear not: this is also a tale of redemption! After years of hard work and heavy drinking, I’ve been able to rebuild my confidence and enjoy dancing. I still dance alone, however, but I’ve heard rumors that you can meet girls by dancing with them; that dancing is some sort of a modern day mating ritual; that girls actually like to dance with cute strangers sometimes; and that if you play your cards just right, their friends won’t spit fire at you when you’re done.
Sam(aka, Her) has challenged me to not only go out dancing this weekend, but to actually dance with at least one girl. The results will be up next Tuesday.
1 Scarred. The word is scarred.
2 I’m sure it was the radio edit “Back that Thang Up”, but I’ve since re-mastered the memory with studio version.
3 No man’s land is defined as the area too far from the wall, the refreshments, or friends for maintaining the appearance of social normalcy.
4 She didn’t seem so innocent when she was pressing herself into my bulge.
5 The exception being the time I was black out drunk at a Death Cab for Cutie show and tried to freak dance with a girl all night. My friends tell me she wasn’t really into it. I later got a hand job in an ally that was so rough it left scabs. It was an all-ages show. I was 25. I’m still crossing my fingers that she was of age.
Sex with Dinner 