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

Women Are Emotion Addicts

               A man’s emotions are like crack cocaine to a woman. I come to this conclusion after six years of education in the dance of tango and a recent conversation I had with a lady friend of mine. We had a discussion the other day and I wrote her a letter trying to clarify the various topics we discussed. At one point I had become angry but then quickly switched gears to work on a resolution to a problem we both encountered. Her response was very scholarly until the last paragraph where she says, “you were quite pissed about how strongly I voiced my opinion…” It was at this point that I was reminded once again of the difference between boys and girls.

               Thinking back on all my past relationships with the opposite sex I do seem to notice that anger management was always an issue. In fact, anger management is a frequent topic when I talk to my male friends who are open enough to discuss marital problems. This leads me to believe that anger is not the problem, it is what fascinates women.

               As I apply this to tango, I realize now what women find so addicting about this dance. Let me see if I can clearly relate to you what it is that I have discovered.

               Women are always talking to each other about their feelings. After a lifetime of this, they no longer find their own feelings so intriguing so they get their rocks off by eliciting emotions from the men in their lives.

               Men grow up learning that emotional displays will provoke unwanted attention from their male peers. By the time we are adults we have learned how to be stones. Much to our consternation, the female gender seems to be a constant source of provocation which we are compelled to respond to with emotional outbursts. Foolishly, we ascribe these provocations to the intellectual inferiority of the opposite sex and never really understand the true cause.

               Here is the crux of my thesis: women feed on men’s emotional displays like a crack addict sucking on the end of a hot pipe: it is killing him yet he still holds the flame to the bowl and his mouth to the pipe until his death.

               For a man to function in society, he must learn to control his anger and his lust and any other emotions he finds rising to the surface. If he doesn’t, he will be thrown in jail. For a woman to function in society she must learn to restrain herself when toying with the emotion faculties of the men that cross her path. Unfortunately, there is no penalty for her if she is incapable of control: wars are started, planes crash, people get hurt, etc; I’m certain even the weather is affected by their fiddling.

               And now you should be able to see why women find tango so addicting. A man who can lead this dance is proficient at establishing a connection to her: that is the loaded crackpipe. Tango music is the lighter that provides the flame. Now all she has to do is inhale.

 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

Women Want To Be Led

               Not all women, silly, just some of them.

               Whilst sitting at my table at the Wild Horse Saloon on a Saturday night, waiting to dance some tango to country music with my favorite tanguera, a young man whisked past my table, hastily towing a young lady by the hand and her extended arm. As the pair wove a path through the crowded saloon, I had a chance to observe her expression which denoted neither joy nor pain, her eyes scanning ahead for a clue as to where they might be headed.

               I chanced to observe another young lady drag a young, unwilling partner onto the floor with her. I watched in amusement what seemed to me to be a person dancing with a mannequin, a person who was obviously perplexed at her inability to derive any satisfaction from such a fine form on which to hang some clothes.

               Later in the night I spied the same young lady being swung around the dance floor with an older gentleman who liked to dance his women ‘zydeco’ style, with her crotch coming to rest frequently on his thigh. I’m not sure that moniker is correct but that is the best way for me to explain what was happening. She would leap off his thigh with a look of exasperation and the energy of a squirrel trying to get to a bird-feeder. He would then spin her around, a big smile on his face. And while she had her back to him, I frequently noticed that she smiled too.

               In this day and age of psychological explanations for everything we do, I think it is time we put down the textbooks and start looking at what really works. I think we need to see for ourselves what is going on in the world and begin to make our own decisions about how a man and a woman should engage in the dance of life.


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

Why I am a Democrat

               I began working with my grandfather, Yanno, a Slovakian ‘breaker boy’ from the coal fields of northeastern PA, before I was ten. I didn't work with him every day but whenever you worked with Yanno, you worked hard. He knew the meaning of the word ‘work’ and, by the end of the day, you did too. At the age of 14 I worked as a roofer’s assistant which is not easily distinquished from the chores that a mule does: carrying heavy things, like stacks of shingles, up to high places. I worked throughout my high school years as a paperboy for the early edition of the Morning Call. I also worked on a milk truck for a year, back in the day when people still had milk delivered to their front porch.

               I didn’t really need the money but I soon found a place to spend it in the gambling rooms of a small town in rural Pennsylvania. I didn’t know it at the time but I had a gambling problem which I was able to quit as soon as I got arrested in my living room after robbing a small general store when I was 16 years old. My father wasn’t around much while I was growing up because he was in the U.S. Army fighting the Vietnam War and working in New York City when he retired. That day he came into my life roaring like a lion as I was remanded to the custody of my parents.

               He beat me every day for two months, once in the morning and once at night. He even took off work for a month just to beat me. My gambling problem was cured. If you don’t know what fathers are for, now you do: they are here to keep teenage boys from going to jail.

               That’s life in Appalachia, that boom/bust area of the Appalachian Mountains where America grew up before it went off to fight World War II.

               After high school I worked in the service industry, working for tips, waiting tables and other jobs at resort hotels in the Poconos. It was not a good living but it was still a living.

               In my early twenties I lived in the town of White Haven, PA, and almost everyone I knew worked at one of the many resorts in the area. There weren’t a lot of single moms back then but I knew a few and they were able to provide for their children in spite of a dead-beat father who had skipped out on his kids.

               Sometimes the women had fled their husbands and were living in hiding out of fear of being found…and for good reason. Women had fewer rights back then and a husband who beat his wife was not the pariah he is now.

                The Poconos, short for Pocono Mountains, which in fact are part of a big plateau, was a great place in the late seventies and early eighties for all sorts of people to hide out, not just single moms from Philadelphia and New York City. The CIA had a safe house just outside of White Haven where it kept high-level defectors from the U.S.S.R. The ‘good felllas’ from the Mafia owned many homes in the woods where they would ‘hole up’ until things quieted down back in the city.

               Then came Ronald Reagan. I hear he has a reputation as a tax cutter but that is not how he affected my life. I had my first kid in 1989 and was working in the mountains of western North Carolina waiting tables at three different restaurants. It was no longer possible to make a living, even a bad one, working as a waiter or waitress. Each of the places I worked took out 20% of my tips to pay for taxes. Legally they only had to declare 8% but I’m 99.999% certain that money never made its way to the IRS but I had to pay it nonetheless.

               My wife was going to school at Appalachian University at the time and I was supporting her. After three months working in the South we had to go on welfare just to make ends meet. After a year we had to go back to PA and moved in with my parents because we had another child on the way. I found work in New York City, thanks to my cousin, pulling long cables of telephone wires from one floor to the next inside the giant high-rise buildings of The Big Apple.

               George H.W. Bush was president at the time and Wall Street was busy fleecing American corporations through down-sizing and out-sourcing. During this time I saw CEO wages grow sinfully large while the working man’s pay shrank. It seemed to me that the more money a company saved the more it paid its executives in bonuses. Everywhere I looked people were being laid off unless their workplace was unionized. The unions kept an eye on executive pay and fought tooth and nail against layoffs.

               Until the tech boom hit, it seemed the only jobs, the only good jobs, left in America were union jobs. The Republicans roared into Congress in 1992 and with their ascension they set about empowering America.

               When they cut welfare, strip clubs proliferated. When I saw a young man wearing a t-shirt that read, “I Support Single Moms” above the silhouette of a woman’s figure swinging around a pole, I realized that Reagan’s America was now my reality.

               I was surprised that the Republicans allowed this to happen because they were always professing their faith and morality. They constantly extolled their faith and aversion to promiscuity while they cut taxes and shrank government.

               I didn’t realize how dangerous that was until George W. Bush took us to war and cut taxes at the same time. Then I knew there was no fiscal responsibility behind the Republican mantras because they had no problem increasing spending while decreasing revenue, like paying bills with credit cards. This should have been anathema to the party reps who were so vocal at the time. Most of the people I heard speaking this week at the Republican Convention in Tampa, like Paul Ryan, who hopes to be vice president, supported these actions 100%.

               Until then, I had been on the verge of becoming a Republican. After the Republicans cut taxes in the face of two on-going wars, I realized we were going to be in for a rude awakening. I tried to navigate the financial waters on my own but got wiped out in the stock market along with the rest of the country and the rest of the world.

               With two kids in college, now divorced, I put my home up for rent when I, too, finally got laid off and had to travel to find work. I was a hair’s breadth from going to Afghanistan to work in telecom when I finally got a temporary position in San Antonio, Texas. After that I found another gig in New Mexico which is where I am now.

               I understand why people become Republicans. I don’t mean rich people, it is obvious why rich people become Republicans. I mean people like me, working class people. They see the bad effects of welfare: fat, poor people addicted to government handouts, feeding off the federal tit like a fat baby. But not all welfare recipients are like that. Most are like me, someone who needed it as life changed and had to learn how to change with it, then weaned himself from it.

               I see the appeal the Republican message has to the common man but I’ve also witnessed the effects of their policies in the real world: women turning to prostitution as a way to provide for their child in the absence of a father; corporations being robbed by their management teams, banks and other financial institutions, like Bain Capital, to the point where there is nothing left but foreclosure papers; a government that has been stripped bare of its abilities to protect its own citizens from Mother Nature and to incubate innovation like the Internet or to attempt grand challenges like Space Travel.

               For the last twenty years I have heard the Republicans whine about the pain of taxes and how many jobs they would create if only they could pay less. They’ve been getting tax breaks for the last twenty years and I’ve only seen jobs disappear during that time. Since Reagan, I’ve only seen my taxes go up. George W. Bush sent me a couple of checks for $300.00 in 2002 and 2003 but he cut funding to the states which got passed down to the counties who raised my property taxes by…..$300.00 per year…every year! Thanks a lot!

               And guess how we paid for those $300 giveaways? Thanks, China! Yes, we’ll pay you back…with interest, too, because our leaders are idiots.

               As much as the Republicans profess to be for small businesses, I can only see how they stifle those fledgling companies with their objections to a national healthcare plan.

               I’m sick and tired of hearing about how they’re against abortion when they controlled the House of Representatives, the Senate, the Supreme Court and the Presidency and did nothing about it.

               The same goes for smaller government. In Reagan’s America jails are everywhere. If you’re not in jail then you’re probably working at one, either way you’re working for the government. And George W. Bush created a whole other branch of government while he was in office: the Bureau of Homeland Security. Amazing!

               Mitt Romney has already told us how he intends to bring America back: by declaring war on the Soviet Union. He doesn’t even care that it’s no longer called that anymore. In Romney’s America, women will be thrown in jail in large numbers for prostitution because he’s going to remove the safety net. He’s going to build a lot more jails, too, it’s what Republicans do best.

               I can remember sitting in church one January sunday, in 2003, listening to the priest raising a call to arms for the annual bus trip to Washington, D.C., to protest in front of the White House for the end of abortion. Then I recalled hearing Rush Limbaugh a few years back, asking his listeners to imagine a time when Republicans controlled all three branches of government: executive, judicial and legislative, and how they’d overturn Roe v. Wade. I realized that now we were there and nothing had changed. It was bizarre. I felt like the little boy who could see the king had no clothes and couldn’t understand why everyone was pretending he wasn’t naked.

               At 52 I see things differently. To me, ‘trickle-down economics’ now joins the list of great lies along with ‘the check is in the mail’ and ‘I love you’. I believe that if you truly believed in less government and more individual freedom then you shouldn’t bother voting: that’s the least amount of government possible. By participating in the process, you become part of the problem you believe exists. If you think abortion is wrong, don’t get one and do everything you can to help people realize that bringing a baby into the world is the right thing to do.

               I am a Democrat because I believe Jesus was one of the greatest philosophers that ever lived. When he said we should render up to Caesar that which is Caesar’s and to God, that which is God’s, I found that inspiring. To me that statement says, how we deal with the government and how we relate to God, are two separate things. It says we should try and create the best government possible but that government is not the rule by which we measure our lives. From what I’ve learned in my lifetime, it is the ideas of the Democrats that sound like the best solution for today’s problems that give me all the leeway I need to concentrate on my relationship with God.

             Amen.

                (For a more in-depth looking into the mind of the Kayak Hombre and his thoughts on tango, buy his book: River Tango, now available on Amazon.com at http://www.amazon.com/River-Tango-perri-iezzoni/dp/1453865527 )

The American Woman’s Trouble with Tango

               I know I’m going to get burned worse than a pair of soles on hot coals at a Tony Robbins seminar on the power of positive thinking, but I’m going to speak my mind anyway. American women have a difficult time with tango because they are unable to harness the full extent of their feminine powers. This is not their fault but it is their problem nonetheless. Like Plato’s man in a cave who must find his way out, so too are today’s American women blinded by the light of feminism from which they must turn away in order to see who they really are.

               I’m not done with the analogies.

               There was an old lady who swallowed a fly, most people profess not to know why she swallowed a fly and guessed she’d die but not me: she swallowed the fly because technology had freed her from the shackles of motherhood and housekeeping and now she was ready to enter a workforce that she soon found was tilted in favor of men. Feminism was a necessary pill to consume yet it failed to accommodate a female’s biological need to exercise her powers of seduction; powers which do not come with a guide book like those that are issued to Women of Wicca when they get their broomsticks.

               In an environment where young ladies are schooled in the fine arts of Title Nine then thrown out into a world full of men and other competitors, American women are at a disadvantage when they have to vie for the attention of men against ladies from the S&S (sexist and socialist) countries of the world. Many times have I watched a darling girl from the heartland outgunned by a sweet-talking, eyelash-fluttering cutie from the Ukraine.

               What, you may ask, gives them such a proverbial ‘leg up’ on their U.S. counterparts? I’ll tell you. In a society where you need permission just to travel from one city to another and the person enforcing these rules is a man, a young girl learns quickly how to exploit the ‘gifts’ that her momma gave her and even the playing field.

               Again you may ask, what are these skills? Once again, as I’ve stated many times before, it is not up to me to try and cipher just exactly what is going on in a woman’s mind when she exerts her feminine wiles. I’m sure it is different for every lady and the only thing I can say for certain is that whatever they are doing, it works.

               I’m not saying all American gals are lacking in this particular form of feminine etiquette. What I am saying is that it is extremely obvious in the multi-ethnic population of today’s tango communities. The home-grown female that realized the power within is easy to spot: she’s the one surrounded by a crowd of men and she’s not necessarily a beauty, she’s just shooting fish in a barrel. She also feels no remorse for it is not her fault that so many of her counterparts have digested the apologetics of victimhood without even questioning the voice inside telling them men are not the problem, that it is the laws that are wrong.

               Now that we’ve identified the problem you’re probably expecting me to offer a solution: not going to happen. If American women can’t compete then I say we follow the lead of the ancient Israelis in their battle against Samaria and shack up with the women of the vanquished: the Germans, Japanese, Russians, Iraqis, Koreans and Afghanis. The American woman needs to adapt or she will fail to pass on her genes to the next generation. ‘Nuf said.

Ruminations on Arousal in Tango

               I’m not sure why so many people are interested in this topic but at least twenty different people weekly read my previous post ‘Four Rules Concerning Arousal in Tango’. It's been nearly four months since it was originally released and it's still going strong. Far be it from me not to produce more words on the same topic, so here they are!

               Contrary to the ‘clergy’ who profess not to be affected by this condition, the circumstance of becoming aroused while dancing tango, I have talked to several tangueras who’ve related to me that their boyfriends experienced this also. True to an old saying among men about masturbation, “never deny having ever done it and never admit to having done it lately,” I have to say this hasn’t happened to me in a long time but it was quite a problem when I first started dancing.

               Since this will probably be read all over the world, I must state that I’m American. Differing from our global reputation as decadent, sex-starved extroverts, we have deep-seated inhibitions toward discussion of what happens between boys and girls after puberty. We owe this to our Puritan ancestors who believed any visible indications of sexual stirrings were the signs of a weak and evil individual who must be punished publicly.

               It is entirely possible for a man to arrive at 40 years of age, after fathering two children, to feel uncomfortable discussing the topic of arousal. In fact, any attempt to do so will get you labeled as a pervert and you’ll find yourself on the same watchlist as your local Catholic priest. After 50 years of life that man realizes it is necessary for somebody to speak up on this subject and he begins to offer suggestions on how to handle such situations(no pun intended).

               First, I must say to all my male readers that if you find yourself growing some wood in your trousers while engaged in the embrace of a seductive tanguera, this is a perfectly natural phenomenon. Once this begins to happen, the ball is in your court and it is imperative that you let it fly past you and roll to a stop somewhere in the corner; whatever you do, do not take a swing at it and try to hit it back to the other side for that is surely an invitation to disaster!

               The problem is not you, it is women. Yes, I said, women, plural, not the particular woman you are dancing with at the time the fuse was lit to send your rocket to the moon. This dance has its roots in the bordellos of Buenos Aires and Montevideo, where young, affluent men would go to amuse themselves with the ‘local talent’.

               Using my very active imagination I envision a world where women engaged in the occupation of separating fools from their money. If only one woman was involved in this game tango might never have come into being, since one man is never a match for one woman in a mano-y-femano race to the finish line which would be somewhere near the bottom of the man’s wallet. What the girls of this time were selling was, and still is, precious, and any woman so much as offering the slightest hint that she was diminishing the ‘product’ would suffer severe, sometimes deadly, recriminations from her sisters.

               And so tango was born: the art of seducing a man without appearing to seduce a man; a dance that is seemingly innocent to the observer and totally intoxicating to one of the participants.

                With the resurgence of conservatism in American politics and society, it is no wonder that tango found fertile ground in which to grow in the United States.  Paralleling the rebirth of modern-day American conservatism was the revival of ‘strip clubs’ across the fruited plain. It seems that the more Americans found ‘God’, the more we also found a reason to issue permits for special places for women to disrobe and engage the general male population. 

                A rose by any other name is still a rose but if Rose is taking her clothes off and giving ‘lap dances’ then it’s not a rose, it’s a brothel!

               Suddenly, financially disadvantaged women all across the United States found instant access to wealthy male patrons. Their spouses, and potential spouses, needed to find a way to maintain control of their men; tango was the perfect training ground for them to sharpen their skills and keep their bread-winners under wraps. It’s sort of like a geisha school for aged debutantes.

               Now here you are, dancing tango because it was imperative you find a way to meet unattached women your age or consider taking vocations at the local monastery even though you’re not a homosexual. In fact your heterosexuality is the very root of the problem. A divorced man in America, who’s already procreated and taught his kids to fly, is in serious danger of becoming a hermit if he doesn’t take drastic steps to locate prospective females. Tango, once again is the answer.

               If you’re at a milonga, by this time you’ve already discovered that ballroom dancing is only for hen-pecked husbands whose wives are infatuated with the TV show ‘Dancing with the Stars’. If you’re a ‘gringo’ you’ve also learned that salsa dancing is fun until someone has too much to drink and is blaming you for all his problems; you’re life has probably been spared several times at this point by those heavy men at the door running the ‘wand’ around your crotch too many times to check for weapons. Thanks to salsa security, you’ve lived long enough to attend your first tango lesson and now there is no turning back….except for one tiny little problem: Woody:-D

               Yep, Woody. He’s always been there as the back seat, er, front seat(?) driver, telling you where to go. So far you’ve been able to maintain your respectability but you can see from the embrace the young Serbian instructor is throwing on the gorgeous tanguera that it’s is going to be hard, literally, to continue to be in control!

               Calm down, it’s okay to be affected. To not be affected would be an insult to your partner so make it a point to remember these moments so you can effectively reproduce your reactions later when you are no longer so easily seduced. It is absolutely necessary that you retain your composure. You must realize that your instability is the exact state your partner wishes to put you in. Like a shark, she can smell blood in the water so it is crucial that you move in a manner that does not seem to be unnatural. If she senses you are at the edge she might push you over it on a whim, for she is in an equally perilous condition, like a vampire that must feed on a victim whose blood is toxic, she is also walking a thin line between reason and instinct.

               I know this situation is difficult enough without having to employ AAT (anti-arousal techniques). You’ve got to navigate the crowd while listening to the music and spontaneously choreograph movements that are interesting and within your ability to convey to your partner. As the blood rushes from the head on your shoulders to parts south, you’ll notice the lights are getting dim but this is not the hostess adjusting the quantity of lumens in the room, you’re simply coming close to passing out, that’s all. This is nothing to worry about because, much to the displeasure of the female population, most guys aren’t equipped with a container large enough to allow them to achieve a total loss of consciousness….and yet there are stories….

               Once again, remain calm, stay focused and keep moving. In every room there is always one person whom you’d never consider dancing with. She has a purpose in life and this is it. She possesses a special pheromone that is from a class of chemical mood inducers called ‘anti-erotigens’, you’ve probably never heard of them but that is my purpose in life: to keep you informed;-) DO NOT focus on another guy! If your arousal continues it could cause serious complications in your life and you’ll have to narrow your search for tango partners to the San Francisco Bay area.

               Have you found her yet? Good! Now imagine licking her armpit. Taste that? Yes, that’s what ugly tastes like: eight layers of women’s antiperspirant. You should be good now but if you’re not then you’ve got more problems than a team of doctors could handle and it’s probably a good idea that you should pursue your hermitical tendencies; go out into the woods and crawl into your yurt.



For more sex and tango check out this great book:

Note: Check out my new book on Amazon: Fear of Intimacy and the Tango Cure.

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

              

               

Observations on Dancing with Successful Women

               As a tango dancer in America, I have had the opportunity to lead many women in the dance who are very successful in their field of professional endeavor. How do I know? They tell me. I know this sounds vain on their part but I think it is a therapeutic statement they must make before they can free themselves to our connection; tango is all about connection.

               Of these women there are two types: those who’ve earned their position through hard work and those who haven’t. Tango is a very difficult grace to acquire and if you haven’t learned how to toil efficiently then you aren’t going to be very good at it. As you may guess, I find my dances with the women who’ve earned their accolades through dedication and persistence, the most rewarding.

               The most vivid one I can recollect is a woman I’ll call Baba Ganoush. From what I can tell she leads a department for a large medical facility. It took her weeks to give up trying to get me to comprehend how rare it was for her to have to take ‘orders’ from a man.

               “I’m not issuing commands,” I would say, “I’m leading. This is not work.”

               I could tell she was very frustrated at my lack of comprehension of her professional clout but she was also delighted that from me she would receive no flowery flirtatious compliments unless she did well and that she would receive them in the form of my approval which would be discerned through body language and maybe a little smile…or a big smile and an exclamation if she was an extremely good girl! LOL!

               Never is there any sexual energy in these unions. Always there is a thirst for true sensuality. She needs to know that I feel the music and that I appreciate her skills. She is very aware of her boundaries and she wants me to take her there and past them just a little ways.

               It is there, outside the place with which she is familiar, that I perceive a sense of relief just before she pulls down the blinds on the window I have opened into her soul. In writing this I think I know now what it is that she doesn’t want me to see: her vulnerability.

               The successful woman who has arrived at her position through ‘other’ means, means that I’ll not ponder but I am sure you will, this woman is rarely a delight to encounter. Frequently, out of pity, I’ll risk a second attempt at a tanda and sometimes I am rewarded with the feeling that we could dance well together if we worked hard at it. She makes me aware of ‘how lucky’ I am usually in the first few moments of our embrace and then it’s an eternity to the cortina; an eternity filled with headlocks and frequent gasps for air and struggles for balance.

               I find tango very therapeutic. I am sure the aforementioned ladies are seeking the same therapy and it makes me wonder if they’re not just as wounded as I am.  As I think about this situation it gives me a sense of self-worth, that what these women need in life is me. My lack of education and my pretension to attempt to lead such a complex dance gives me all the tools I need to break through to them and in return, also satisfy something within myself. Just exactly what it is within me that they satisfy is a thought for another day.