If you’ve been reading lately, you’ll know I’ve been down the rabbit hole of Quantum Consciousness and I was wondering how I could use the milonga, a place where tango dancers gather to dance, to make some observations. I proposed that there are two facets of the Quantum Tango Consciousness state, the absence of time and the absence of the need for language. Armed with this criteria, I set out for a large milonga last night and I will never be the same again.
It was a large gathering of tango dancers in the usual setup: a foyer with a couple of long tables draped with white tablecloths where you are required to pay and provide an email address, followed by a grand ballroom with a high ceiling, a group of circular tables before a large dance floor lined with cocktail tables on either side, and a stage on the far end. It was well-lit the first hour I was there, then the lights dimmed for the rest of the evening.
I didn’t know anybody so it took me a while to find a dancer I could connect with sufficiently in order to prepare for entry into Quantum Tango Consciousness. Once I had achieved the desired physical and mental condition, I hoped I could remain aware enough to carry back some information from my observations and not forget like we do with dreams.
When I began my tango journey, I had a large hill to climb. I was a babe in the woods with no idea of what I was getting into. I needed to learn how to dance if I was ever going to have a social life after my divorce or I was going to die, literally, of loneliness. I was a racist, homophobe when I started, but in the end, I became a dancer with an open mind, or at least that’s what I tell myself now. It was a hundred miles to the nearest milonga and I went with low expectations. If I could get just one dance, I told myself, I would be happy. And that’s how I approached last night’s experiment: hoping to learn just one new thing that I didn’t know before. I learned a lot more than one thing, in fact, I learned much more than I could handle.
I was a stranger in a strange land so I was cautious with my first cabeceos, the Argentine method for making a dance invitation that is done with just the eyes and brows. I chose a lady who looked anxious. Very rarely does this lead to a successful encounter but, you never can tell. It’s not a good strategy for picking a partner but I wanted to get out on the floor quickly so I could get a feel for the crowd before I made some riskier partner choices. There needs to be risk in order to increase your chances of entering an altered state. Risk and anonymity are the key ingredients for making the most successful tango encounters, the ones that send you to the moon and beyond, the dances that wake you up at five a.m. and force you to write poetry before you can slip back to slumber.
It was nearing midnight when I finally found a woman who could take me where I wanted to go. She was plain-looking and quite fit. She was obviously a trained dancer because she pivoted with mechanical precision. It feels very good when a tanguera has mastered the fundamentals of this dance. I led a side step and she stepped to the side, not away from me at a slight angle the way a lot of women with no floorcraft do, she stepped directly to her side. An unskilled dancer is constantly moving away, inadvertently, and requires more vertical support, course corrections and confidence building. It is much less taxing to dance with a skilled partner. I tried a second tanda with her. A tanda is a set of songs, usually three or four, that defines the length of a tango encounter. Usually I don’t ask for more than one but I had some serious science to conduct. I guess I was asking for too much because, even though she obliged me, she felt a lot different during the second set. I had to force myself to do a good job to the end. I’m sure she felt me losing enthusiasm. When we parted, I wanted to apologize but decided it was best to just leave that dance in the past and forget about it.
I waited a while before my next attempt. I wanted to study the crowd, trying to find the right subject who could take me there. It was getting late, nearly one a.m., before I made my decision. There was a plump woman in a white blouse and black, knee-length, business skirt, whom I had danced with earlier. She was not very skilled but my gut told me to give her a try.
She smelled of patchouli, which I like but her lack of skill turned me off. I like a woman who embellishes in a way that makes my job of leading the dance easier. She knew the basics but that was it. She had been nervous before so I toned down my offerings and she immediately calmed down. The patchouli had worn off and now she smelled of sweat and something else. I’m not sure what exactly was causing that aroma but I’ve noticed it before, especially when a woman is aroused. It kind of smells like milk, in a good way, warm and sweet but not too sweet. Its odor mixes with sweat in a good way and my body responds at a primal level. It must be musk.
I slowed down my dance and focused mostly on the connection, making sure I held her firmly so she would feel safe as I moved her backwards through the crowd. After the first song we danced a little bit closer. By the third song my penis began to get hard. Usually the third song is the end of the tanda, but sometimes, at the end of the night, the DJ will throw in a fourth. I was fully aroused by the end of the last song. I was too far gone by the time the tanda ended. I couldn’t move to separate from her without exposing myself to the crowd, so I waited for her to break contact first.
She didn’t and that’s when I knew I was in trouble. This is what makes tango so exciting. Here I was, in the arms of a beautiful woman, my dick sliding down the side of my thigh, thankfully trapped there and not erecting a full-blown boner tent for all the world to see. It is an awkward moment to say the least, but I find that, if I keep my mouth shut, she’ll pretend that she doesn’t notice and we can part ways, but we didn’t part ways. My mind was racing because I did not know what to do. The best decisions are the ones that come with high risk. My inner wolf was fighting to take control of my vocal chords, trying to get me to say what it would take to take this encounter to the mattress but I didn’t give in.
Having sex was not, and hardly ever is, my goal when I dance. That’s why I can dance, because I shut down that little man in my pants always telling me that tonight’s the night. If you listen to him, you cannot hear the music and that’s important in tango. I have to hear the music and immediately turn that into choreography. I have to pick a direction to go and convey that information to my partner. I have to navigate and always pay attention to her balance. Besides that, I’m a single guy and I like being single. I live for moments like this but I always back down because I know that sex leads to relationships which will not work because I live a hundred miles away in a small town. Tango is the only thing I have in common with these city girls. However, it’s hard to say no to the little man telling me I got a chance to relieve the nut building inside my loins. Doing so is what makes me a tango dancer. I can go to the edge and remain in control. I don’t know how it is for my partner. It never seems to make a difference what I do. All I know is, at that moment, I have a choice to make and it is imperative I choose wisely or my life will get complicated.
I remained where I was, still waiting for her to break away, yet there was still no sign that was happening. To my absolute delight, and, paradoxically, consternation, she kept her body tightly pressed to mine with no hint of moving away. The primal feelings unleashed by the sexual dynamic in tango are powerful ingredients that amplify the strength of our bond. I am not just next to her, I am being drawn into her.
Her scent is overwhelming.
The cortina, the odd musical clip usually fifteen to thirty seconds long that separates tandas, ends and tango music begins again. We wrap our arms around each other and start moving. My penis is still trapped on the side of my leg. It’s annoying and I would like nothing more than to move it into the upright position but then I would be exposed. I will have made a choice. Adjusting my boner would put me in a position where I could rub myself onto her and climax. That could be a terrible mistake for many reasons. One, she may not be feeling the same thing I’m feeling. For her, this could be nothing more than a dance and I am alone in being aroused, even though she is giving off all the signs of a woman in heat: sweaty palms, melting in my embrace and the aroma of amore. Two, rubbing against her might be illegal. Who knows nowadays post-#metoo.
While I was struggling with this dilemma I unexpectedly slipped into the zone of Quantum Tango Consciousness. I made it! Now, all I had to do was keep it together and see if I could learn anything. It was a difficult position to be in: she was so far against me that she was almost on the other side of me. She was so soft, warm and creamy that I could hardly stand it. But I could stand it because I am not a novice tanguero. I led her with confidence around the room. I let her feel my hunger without losing control. She was safe in my grasp and I could sense that she knew it. I had made it: I was in her mind…..and I was not alone.
When I’m in the Quantum Tango Consciousness state and I find myself in someone else’s mind, I can’t necessarily read their thoughts like written words, it’s more like I see images and feel intentions and that’s what I was getting here. I could feel the presence of another woman. She was angry and her anger was making my partner happy. It turned her on even more. Yes, she was in full bloom but I wasn’t the source of her arousal. She was complex, like all people are.
I was a little disappointed, as guys usually are when they are expecting pie and only get coffee. I began walking down the backside of the proverbial orgasmic cliff, instead of jumping off like my penis was telling me all along. I was not surprised that there might be another woman. I was somewhat let down that it wasn’t me, but also somewhat relieved, mentally and physically, my turgid member softening and retreating towards my nutsack. I was still in a quantum state and began to roam about the room out-of-body, with just my consciousness. Mostly, I sensed dancers in search of their next partners but there was an unusual presence in the room with us. It was feminine and it was watching us. I couldn’t get an image of who it was, only that she was looking for something. It was a purse, a Coach Purse. I saw the purse, it was the size of a bread loaf with an eye-catching floral pattern. It was sitting on a cocktail table next to a beautiful woman in a sequined dress. She was in the process of accepting an invitation to dance, rising to meet her new partner. She rose from her chair and, as she did so, a woman’s slender hand appeared out of thin air and snatched the purse, disappearing with it into the ether. I felt a wave of exhilaration move through the throng and then it was gone.
My boner receded and the blood flowed back to my brain, allowing me to think logically, bringing me all the way back from Quantum Tango Consciousness. I could see the woman in the sequined gown was still sitting, her purse still next to her on the cocktail table. I was kind of confused until I remembered that there is no time in the dimension where good tango takes us. The music had just ended and the cortina began to play when my partner finally released me from her pleasant, fleshy prison. She walked off without a word, her gaze on the floor, avoiding eye contact with me. She looked guilty; of what, I don’t know, but she had that look.
I had eyes on the woman with the purse when, ten seconds into the cortina music, I could see she was accepting a cabeceo from a man on the floor. She waited for him to come closer before extending her hand and rising from her chair. Her partner was too busy concentrating on her, setting the stage for an anonymous encounter of the sensual kind, to notice the hand appearing out of thin air, grabbing her Coach Purse and disappearing. I felt a wave of emotion flow back and forth across the room, the same feeling of exhilaration as before, when I was in a Quantum Tango Consciousness state. I must have been seeing the event in the future and reviewed it when I exited that dimension.
If I hadn’t seen it twice in less than a minute I would not have believed my eyes. I did see it; a hand appeared out of nowhere and took that woman’s purse. I remained seated, taking care not to inadvertently make eye contact, lest I find myself obligated to another dance engagement. Staring at the table cloth as intently as I could, I couldn’t stop thinking about the purse. It really happened.
I smelled milk and felt the soft crush of the plump woman’s bosom pressed into my shoulder. Turning to look up from the tablecloth, I caught the gaze of her partner, a middle-aged lady with a bob of blond hair jiggling as she nodded with a sly smile at me and then towards the door. My socks nearly came off my feet. I forgot all about the hand and the purse. This had never happened to me before and, normally, I wouldn’t be into this kind of thing but I heard somewhere that a man invited to a ménage à trois with two women is under no obligation to future commitments. I'm not sure where I heard that, probably when I was buying my fishing license. Well, last night was a night of firsts.
It was an awkward encounter to say the least. I was confused as to who I was supposed to please or what to expect. At one point, just before dawn, I woke to find myself in a pile of arms, breasts and legs. I untangled myself and made my way to the door, thinking once more about the hand and the purse. What was that all about?
That's all for now. I made a lot of progress and can't wait for the next time I can get to a milonga and explore a little further. The hand thing really has me wondering just what exactly had happened. Reality? Insanity? Who knows? The Shadow Do:)
Until next time,
Peace, Love, Tango
The Kayak Hombre
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