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Another Thursday, another tango practice with the Siberian Siren. This time, though, she did not steer a refrigerator (i.e. me) around the dance floor. Instead, she left that to her pal the tall, slender, and oh-so-gay instructor Davis, for whose time we split a quite reasonable fee. He's a he. He has a beard, even.
And he's quite the instructor, with several excellent exercises and insights. I'm getting better. The SS has made noises about the two of us getting with Davis at her brother's place. That sounds way dirtier than it is: the SS's brother has hardwood floors and is seldom home.
I danced with two other men, both strangers, and no women. I'll confess to feeling a little weird about that, but one of them taught me a thing or two as well.
Speaking of women, there was another dancer with amazing moves and red shoes who gave the Siren a run for her money in the prettiest-woman-in-the-room competition. Femme, of course. The SS didn't even know who I was talking about. This isn't the first time I've encountered a woman who's so into butches that she's nearly blind to all others.
And he's quite the instructor, with several excellent exercises and insights. I'm getting better. The SS has made noises about the two of us getting with Davis at her brother's place. That sounds way dirtier than it is: the SS's brother has hardwood floors and is seldom home.
I danced with two other men, both strangers, and no women. I'll confess to feeling a little weird about that, but one of them taught me a thing or two as well.
Speaking of women, there was another dancer with amazing moves and red shoes who gave the Siren a run for her money in the prettiest-woman-in-the-room competition. Femme, of course. The SS didn't even know who I was talking about. This isn't the first time I've encountered a woman who's so into butches that she's nearly blind to all others.
