All Bra and No Birdies

     Last night I think I danced with a man. She was very attractive. I've always thought I could easily discern the difference but this time it was difficult. Frankly, I wouldn't have suspected she was hiding her gender if it wasn't for her low hum of approval at the end of our encounter. I was just about to do the same thing and I was baffled at how much she sounded like me.
     I'm not complaining but I prefer to dance with women. Also, I think she was letting me know that I could get lucky in a subtle way, in much the same manner as a man might do, letting me know she lived nearby and saying so in such a way as to have multiple meanings. I take this as more incriminating evidence of a well-played deception.
     After our tanda, I took note of her features. Her face was pretty but the more I imagined her as a man, the more it took on that persona. She was tall but not too tall for me, and slender in the shoulders, hands and neck. I recalled feeling her bra pressing against me and being surprised at how much fabric I felt; it was thickly cushioned...and empty. Her ribcage was missing the appropriate rib and I am wondering if this is now a surgical option. She had a high waist, usually a sure sign that she was a woman, or maybe not as I would later concur after I was propositioned by an unattractive tanguera later on in the evening.
     By the time I received the aforementioned invitation, I was seeing transvestites everywhere. I accepted the dance request despite my suspicions because I've had many wonderful dances with women who do not possess the stereotypical feminine physique. It was not a satisfying encounter but she was definitely a woman. I was very apprehensive at first because it looked like she was wearing a wig, her hips were not clearly defined and her facial features were not very appealing. However, her voice was high and there were large mounds of mushy flesh where her breasts should be.
     The most telling aspect of her character was her ability to sense my intentions and my mood. I was not happy at having been asked to dance and she let me know that she didn't care. I could be pissed if I wanted but she was going to try and get a dance with me because she did not come here to sit on her ass the whole night. This is woman logic beyond a shadow of a doubt. I did a good job with my offerings, made sure I held her as respectfully as I would the most beautiful tanguera I'd ever met. I did my best to be creative and gave her every opportunity to make the dance all about her but she was not a good dancer.
     When we parted she said she was delighted and looked forward to more dances. She knew right away there wouldn't be any: she was a woman and she knew intuitively that I did not appreciate being asked to dance.
     I sat down for three tandas just to gather more data on the ladies present. I was determined to spend the rest of the evening in the embrace of women with certifiable feminine credentials and am fairly certain I did but one can never know for sure in this day and age.

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Kayak Hombre Update: I'm Home!

     After 5 years traveling around the country I was finally in a position where I could take a break from my career and enjoy a little time off. It's funny how it happened. I think learning the art of cabeceo has helped me recognize intentions long before words are spoken. Thank you, tango, once again, for adding so much value to my life.
     I was working a crappy assignment in Ohio, dancing tango in Pittsburgh, when the opportunity to escape presented itself. It was sometime in July when my boss's boss came to our facility. I was brought in as a contractor due to the sudden death of an employee. I would find out later that another had also died and that two more had cancer in a pool of ten technicians.
     I had to get out of there but how to do it without ruining my chances for future employment? It was my suspicion that this visit from management may provide me the chance to gain full-time status with this particular company and I was ambivalent about the prospect. I didn't like the people I worked with and I was certain there was some hidden factor related to the recent fatalities and illnesses as well as a horrible on-call schedule meant to destroy my circadian rhythms once and for all...but the prospect of being a regular employee, privy to all the nice things that came with it like healthcare and paid time off was very alluring.
     It was Wednesday when the regional director arrived. On Monday, two days prior, I had this incredible yet inexplicable feeling that something good was happening in my life. The supervisor visited all the techs in their cubicles and made it clear he was taking us to lunch. I hated going to lunch with these guys. They never tipped and you could tell by the looks on the wait-staff's faces that serving them was not a pleasure. I imagined what was going on in the kitchen when our food was being prepared and I'm sure it was not pretty or even sanitary.
     When I was invited to join the rest of the crew I declined. That little voice in my head told me this was a mistake but I stuck by my decision. The next month's budget did not include funds for a contractor and soon I was on the unemployment line. My boss felt bad and gave me a good letter of recommendation: now I was free to roam around the country.
     The following month I camped, hiked, fished and danced a lot of tango in Pittsburgh. The next two months I went to the Four Corners Region, NM/CO/UT/AZ, and did some more camping and danced more tango in Durango and Albuquerque. I had a great time but my funds were running low so I came back to PA to stay with my parents after the Albuquerque Tango Festival. From here I could dance more tango in Philadelphia and NYC while I looked for full-time employment.
     Surprisingly I found the tango in Philly much more rewarding than NYC. It was the other way around when I left in 2011. Also, I got back into the other dances: swing, cha-cha-cha, rumba and salsa. With one week left on my unemployment claim and my bank accounts near zero I landed a job based out of my hometown; there would be lots of travel but at least I could occupy the place I'd been struggling to keep the whole time I'd been chasing work around the country, trying to provide for my college-aged children.
     God loves me. He tells me so each time I cross the bridge over my beloved river, the Lehigh. Further proof, as part of my training, I have been sent to NYC for a 5 week assignment, all expenses paid. Since I've been back I've had the most amazing tango excursions. The women have been phenomenal. I wake up the next day remembering dreamy dances with darling tangueras.
     I have not experienced this kind of feeling to this degree of magnitude ever. I think it is because this time I know I will not have to be leaving. The last five years have been hard on my heart and I blame tango for that. I fell in love with a wonderful woman and didn't (couldn't?) hang around to nurture that relationship. I am broken in so many ways. I cheated on her and destroyed something that, in hindsight, would have been incredible. I should have done things differently but c'est la vie. My sex drive has been devastated and now I understand its purpose: it is there to get us to take chances on illogical life-paths, to prevent men like me from becoming monks when we are needed so badly by the opposite sex to end two lifetimes of loneliness simultaneously.
     At 55 years of age, I realize that I may only have enough love in my heart for one last relationship and I've got to make it count. I feel like a guppy in a fish tank of piranhas. I am so close to heaven, to living a life while working close to home, running the river, dancing tango, mowing the lawn, voting in the local elections, maybe even going to church to be a part of the community, yet I fear that I may blow it based on my previous experiences.
     There you go, readers. That is where the Kayak Hombre has ended up. There but for the grace of God go I. My path in life is on a precipice climbing the side of a mountain. The future is uncertain. I am poor in material things but rich in the ways that count. I have my kids, my house and my career as both a telecom junkie and a writer currently working on a book about witches. I've been away for the last six months but now I'm back. Stay tuned for more insight into my life, into tango and other things.

peace, love, tango
the kayak hombre

A Little Machismo Goes A Long Way

               One of the most difficult things leaders have to learn is how to put some machismo into the tango connection. The tiniest amount will do but exuding it without offense is not easy. It is the most important spice in the stew; without it there are no women and without women there is no tango.

                 I do not bring machismo to every tango embrace I enter. It happens naturally and it cannot be faked. There is no substitute for it and it must be made with original ingredients. The hardest part for me was to allow myself to let it show and risk offending my partner. Taking a risk, I learned, is part of the spice’s appeal.
                Machismo is the expression of a person’s inner warrior and it is not solely manufactured by men. It is the fighter inside of us that the follower finds so alluring. 

                I think some ladies have questions inside, subliminal and primal in nature, which they have asked so often since adolescence that they don’t realize they are asking them yet immediately recognize the ‘answer’ once it appears in the form of machismo: Does he hunger for me? What will he do to satisfy his need for me?

               Tango is an attempt at spontaneous movement with a partner but it can be about much more than that; it can be poetry in motion; a physical, spiritual and mental union that occurs because of an unbridled communication between the leader and follower that leaves both participants fulfilled. A question that has been years in the making has found the answer which it sought and, like a child, it can be asked, again and again and again.

The Tango Doctor: chapter one, page one

           Like the women I’d met dancing the tango, I came to it wounded and in it I found healing and redemption. The road to the cure, however, was a winding, unmarked highway with no speed limits through forbidden territory in the dark of night. That highway had brought me here, parked in the driveway of another man’s home, alone with his wife in my van, a situation that was setting off alarm bells and warning lights in my mind.

Ruth’s hand was halfway to the door handle when the laser light pierced the darkness. A small red dot shone like a poisoned jewel on the married woman's forehead. The spot of light jittered on her skin like a tiny monster invading the shadows of my ride.  

            I should have pushed her out, hit the gas and given up on this foolish quest forever…but I didn’t. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I couldn’t tell if this was caused by the incredibly thick air of sensuality surrounding us or the thought of a possible confrontation with her spouse.

            So far, no sins had been committed though I sensed that we were on the verge. Innocent as we both were, I’m certain we looked guilty as hell. We suffered from an affection deficit disorder and the remedy, a delicate berry protected by a very thorny bush, was near. But it was not for me to pick; it was for her. She needed to decide if she would reach for it, or for me, or do nothing and continue her life of suffering. I feared she would choose the path of pain; it was a monkey on her back but it was a familiar one that she could bear because she could not yet imagine a life without it.

            Getting mixed up with me would only have added to her burden and I would have rebuffed her even if she did succumb to temptation. Two years into my love affair with tango, I was well acquainted with sexual tension and I knew it was my responsibility to be the one who could say, “No.”

            It was 1 a.m. Her split level house was located in a well-kept subdivision of a small college town. I cut the lights and everything was quiet except for the smooth hum of the engine.  Somehow I knew this was not a real threat and resisted the notion to grab her and throw her to the floor like James Bond would have done in the movies.     

            Instead, I asked, struggling to sound cool, calm and collected, “Ruth, do you know there’s a red light shining onto your forehead?”

            “Yes,” she replied with a weary resignation, “it’s my husband. I can see him in the window. He thinks he’s being funny.” She drew a breath and continued in a wistful, far-off voice, “You’re not really the man driving me to tango…he is.”

            Braving the thorns, she had reached in and picked the tiny but succulent fruit. She needed to put words to her reality instead of living in denial that there was a problem; there was definitely a problem. That’s why she was here with me, that’s why we had just driven sixty miles and back to find a place where tango was danced on a weeknight. The monkey was gone and she breathed a heavy sigh filled with relief and trepidation.

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I've been working on this book for a year and this is what I've gotten done so far. I like it but it's going to be a long wait for the rest. If you'd like to read more of me, check out my books available on Amazon and Kindle:

The Cosmic Tango Orchestra

                Some people find it hard to believe that we live in a universe where chaos is the natural order but it is true. The universe is expanding at an ever-increasing rate, something we call entropy, and one day it’s all going to come apart at the seams.

               The world is a confusing place and there are many things we’d like to believe are true that probably aren’t, like people are not inherently good or that men and women can never be just friends. The child in us wants to believe these things but that child also believes in the Easter Bunny.

               This is not a reason for despair. Through restraint of our primal inclinations we discover real pleasure and true love. Men and women are capable of platonic relationships as long as one of them ignores the urge to merge. Unrequited love can be the saddest of stories or the noblest. Admitting to ourselves that we are part of the general cacophony increases the impact of our actions: our sins become that much more evil but our kindnesses shine as bright as stars.    

               Realizing that peace is not the absence of agitation but, rather, the organization of entropy as it proceeds towards its inevitable conclusion, gives us a purpose: we are here to establish rhythm and harmony among the hectic forces playing in the cosmic orchestra.

               Here is the final truth I’d like to impart: you are never going to be a great tango dancer. Tango is not a performance to be graded; it is a state of mind, body and synchronicity to be achieved with your partner.  Dancing tango is beautiful to watch but what is really happening is only revealed to the participants. This is not a spectator sport. It is art for artists and, until you get out on the dance floor, you are never going to know what it is.

                

For more writings by the Kayak Hombre, check out my books available on Amazon and Kindle:

Tango Think

                Once upon a time I asked a woman how she thought. I told her that I pictured words and sentences in my mind. She replied that she thought in spaces. This sounds strange but it made sense to me; she is an artist and is constantly talking about how light falls on an object or what her perspective should be.

               A big problem for me in learning how to tango was thought management during the dance. I was an absolutely formless piece of clay when I started dancing. Two years of ballroom instruction helped introduce me to the difficulties of being a leader but I was still a long way from performing that role as a tango dancer. I found the tango connection emotionally overwhelming and completely different from the sterile embrace of the ballroom routines.

               Nine years later I notice that my thinking has evolved into something I call tango-think. It used to happen only during the tango embrace but lately it has been creeping into my non-tango life, specifically at work. This week, during what should have been an intensely stressful situation, a guitarist’s rendition of the song Vieni Sul Mar began playing in my head and I felt incredibly peaceful during the entire episode.

               A great frustration of the artist Jackson Pollock was the elimination of the interference between his idea and the canvas. To dance tango leaders and followers must do the same thing: remove the barriers between the melody and the movement. When I am on the dance floor music comes into my ears and is automatically translated into choreography and navigation. It is automatic dancing and I bet Pollock would have benefitted greatly if he’d acquired a vice for tango instead of one of his other addictions.

               Tango-think is a state of mind that resembles meditation except for the fact that you are moving through a crowded room with a partner. Do you see my point? It is like meditation except that it is not. Tango-think is a paradox. I feel compelled to describe tango-think more clearly but I am going to resist that temptation. This is something you must figure out on your own. Make it your frustration. 

              Good luck with this task, young padawan, and tango on.

Sincerely, 

the Kayak Hombre

For more of the Kayak Hombre check out my books available at Amazon and Kindle:

All Good Things Come To Those Who Wait

               This post is dedicated to all you ladies out there who leave the milonga early. If this is you, then you are probably wondering what goes on when you are gone. Read on and you will know.

               There is a woman out there who is counting on your absence. I see her at most crowded milongas, the Patient Tanguera. She is almost always alone and seemingly unaffected by the amount of time she is spending idle but it is not wasted time. Watching and waiting, she tunes in to the collective emotions of the crowd like an actor standing behind the curtain before it rises.   

               The habits of men are her familiar friends: we like variety and rarely feed on the same flower for the entire night.  She is intuitive about forthcoming cabeceos. Her deportment seems too calm to me, like the eyes of a crocodile protruding the calm surface of the water. I have to wonder if she has an extra sensory gland that is capable of making innate subconscious calculations on who will ask her to dance. Her demeanor is a testament to her predation skills. My mind races for an explanation for she is an enigma; I imagine she is a seduction addict who can ‘smell’ the imbalance in a man’s opiate receptor levels.

               Patience pays off seemingly on cue. The clock strikes eleven and all the Cinderellas rush to get home before their Cadillacs turn into pumpkins and the crows stand beside their eyes. A wave of pheromones blows through the room and suddenly she is sitting in the spotlight.

               For the next hour or so she experiences a series of high-quality tango encounters with mostly skilled leaders. Satiated, she dons her shoes and disappears in the middle of a tanda. She has answered her hunger but it came with a heavy price; there will be hell to pay at work the next day, a day that has probably already begun before she even walks out the door.

For more writings from the Kayak Hombre, check out my books available on Amazon and Kindle: