Touch Me!

               ‘Touch Me...I need to feel the warmth of your hand on my skin’. This is the epiphany I experienced as a result of my adventures in tango and dancing in general. Not only was this what I discovered about myself, that I needed to be touched by another person so badly that it was seriously affecting my physical health, but I also found that many others suffered from the same affliction.

               I grew up in a large family: five sisters, two brothers. When we traveled we always crammed ourselves into a station wagon, often times with a few cousins or my ailing grandmother...and a dog! After high school graduation I relished my freedom, especially inside my personal zone, the area within a six inch bubble all around me. I was a very uptight individual and didn't like anybody touching me.

               As a young boy growing up in Pennsylvania’s coal region, in a population densely packed with alcoholics, child molesters and citizens of that ilk, I believe my insularity was a self-defense mechanism and I do not apologize. In hindsight, I now see that not all people who tried to touch me were interested in selling me something, or trying to molest me, or who-knows-what; many of them were well-intentioned friends who loved me and generally needed to make contact in order to adequately express to me just exactly how they felt.

               It took at least three years of dance lessons and attending dances before my apprehension at physical contact, especially with other men, began to subside. As my social anxiety lessened, I began to notice an improvement in my overall health. I no longer found many of the events in my life the stress-factories they once were. I was once again able to field the three a.m. call calmly instead of with severe irritation. Parenting, while never easy, was not the ulcer inducing era I had expected when my children turned into teenagers and began driving.

               I enrolled at a dance studio and studied ballroom dancing intensely for two years. Soon I outgrew my partners, many of whom were married women in their 30s, 40s and 50s. Engaging them on the dance floor required me to exude three emotions: serenity, confidence and pleasure. A woman needed to feel that I was calm in order for her to be relaxed in my grip; she needed to know I was confident that I would not steer her into a wall or another couple; and finally, she needed to know that I truly enjoyed being with her and maybe, also, that I found her attractive. 

               I didn’t know it at the time but this was the beginning of my understanding of what it takes to make the tango connection.

               Slowly I became aware that something powerful was happening to many of the married ladies I danced with. When I placed my hand on their backs and began to lead a movement, a very warm feeling emanated from them, into my hand, up my arm and into my heart. The warmth was ephemeral as well as physical. Often times I found it erotic but somehow I managed to maintain ‘control’ and always treated my partners with the utmost respect towards the institution of marriage.

               Sometimes I think I stopped my  ballroom education because the frequency of this event was occurring far too often.

               A friend, who taught ballroom dancing for many years, was familiar with the phenomenon. He said these women, even though they were married hadn’t been touched in this fashion for many years, sometimes decades. With the demeanor of a clinical psychologist he mused that these women were experiencing an intense rush of emotions equal to the bursting of a dam. He advised me not to comment on it to the women, or take it as an invitation to some extracurricular bedroom activity, for it had nothing to do with me: I was merely the vehicle that precipitated the release, it could be anybody.

               A year and a half later I was no longer interested in ballroom dancing and was completely addicted to dancing tango…but I still had a lot of my homophobic anxieties when I came in contact with other men. This happens from time to time in the course of practice. I had, and have, no interest in dancing with other men; not even with my friends pictured below: Graham and Willy….well, maybe Willy but that’s understandable because he is French:-D

               Tango is a much more complete embrace than the ballroom hold. If I had to compare the two, tango would be copulation and ballroom would be holding hands. Don’t get me wrong, tango is not sex but the comparison can be made quite easily whereas ballroom dancing is more like a three-legged foot race at picnic.

               After six years of tango I believe I am very nearly cured. I look forward to holding the warm body of a strange woman in my arms. I fear not the proximity of other men and exude no animosity that may add to the general anxiety of our society as a whole. In a crowd of milongueros, tango dancers, I am at peace, medication for some and medicated by others.



Note: For an in-depth look into the mind of the Kayak Hombre, read his book, available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/River-Tango-perri-iezzoni/dp/1453865527/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369366756&sr=1-1&keywords=River+tango