The Okidude "gets it"

In my arms, chest to chest, her body expands, then contracts with measured breath. I feel her heart beating against mine. We're cheek to cheek; she breathes in my ear. Her eyes closed, I walk her around the line of dance.

So warm. So soft.

An interruption.

My teacher stops us mid-motion. She and I end our embrace.

The teacher says something about me doing something inefficiently, then demonstrates how he wants it done. I acknowledge that I understand, then take her again into my arms.

We take a step or two. Then the teacher once more stops us.

Looking at her, he says in his thick Argentine accent: "You know, this guy is one of the few guys in the San Francisco Bay Area that actually gets it."

He pauses a bit, probably awaiting a response. He gets nothing but an odd silence.

I'm looking at her. She's looking at him, obviously confused. Then she looks at me. I certainly don't know what to make of it, so I look at him.

He's smiling.

"This guy looks like he's dancing because he likes to feel the woman's body against his," the teacher says. "He's enjoying it."

I must've blushed, or in some other way betrayed embarrassment, because he directed his next comment to me.

"Too many men in this area, even some of the better known dancers, are like androids just going through the steps," he says. "But women can feel it when they have a man who dances like he enjoys being with them. And they like it."

He looks at her.

"Right?"

She smiles -- in agreement. Then he walks away.

When I take her into my arms again, she says to me that I have a really good feel to my lead.

Soon after we start walking and swaying on the floor again, I say aloud to her: "Damn, I love this dance."

Then silently, I think to myself: And here I was thinking I was a pervert.