It had been decades since I went out dancing. While I visited family that lives in Chicago, I did not expect to go out dancing. My three nieces invited me out to a special night at a posh club near downtown. I anticipated a marvelous time.
Everyone was dressed to the nines. I felt a little porky—but still kinda cute. We arrived at the club, and to my surprise my nieces had reserved a roomy booth not far from the dance floor. The music was bumping and I felt the beat of the drums of my ancestors—I moved according. The DJ was the bomb, the music was continuous, and the dance floor was crowded with beautiful people. The atmosphere was electric. The lighting was ambient, enough to see faces, but not too bright to be distracting. It was perfect.
After we ordered drinks, two of my nieces got invited to the dance floor. Niece number three was on her cellphone. I sat, moving to the music, very comfortable in my surroundings (totally unlike my usual continence). I felt eyes on me—I ignored the feeling.
As I glance around, I noticed him sitting at a table with two other guys. He was yaking with his companions while looking directly at me. Maybe he thought that he knew me. I certainly did not know him; he was a white guy. I didn’t know any white guys in Chicago. The drinks came, the server sat the drinks down on the table and just walked away. There was not an exchange of currency or credit card; my sitting niece continued on her cellphone. The other two were still on the dance floor.
My Long Island Ice Tea was two-thirds empty, and I was feeling it. One of my nieces returned to our booth with a nice-looking guy in tow. No introductions were made (RUDE). She asked to me “Auntie, why aren’t you dancing?” I hunched my shoulders, took a big sip of my drink and continued moving to the music. I was having a great time.
While partying with myself, the white guy came over and stuck out his hand. I’m not so old that I didn’t know what that meant. I took his hand and off to the dance floor we went. The music that we danced to was “Dance Machine,” by the Jackson 5. The way that he moved had me question his heritage. I hadn’t been dancing in decades so I did not know the culture. Maybe there was no dancing divide between the races. Did everyone have rhythm? I only focused on my partner’s moves—and I like those moves. We left the dance floor at the start of another song.
White guy had his hand on the small of my back directing me off the dance floor. Somehow, I felt comfortable with his presence and his hand on my back. I’m in the winter of my life, and I can’t remember allowing a man to touch me that way. (Hell…I can’t remember the last time that I danced with a man.) I’ve danced around my house with my dog but not with anyone on two legs.
We went back to the booth; there was no one there. There was a fresh drink in front of my station. Dude sat next to me. He started to introduce himself. I said “No Names.” He nodded. I think that he didn’t know what to say, next. I took a deep sip of my drink. He just looked at me and smiled. He said “you are beautiful.” I sat there moving to the music.
The DJ played “You Make Me Feel Brand New” by Boyz to Men. Dude stood and stuck out his hand. Back to the dance floor we went. It was a slow dance—I was not nervous (alcohol). The song was appropriate because while in this stranger’s arms. I didn’t feel like my old self.
Dude was about six feet tall—great for my 5’6” stature with heels. He glanced down. We started kissing. Oh My Black Jesus! It was a deep, passionate, excellent kiss. We continued kissing through the song. When the song was over, we back to the booth. My three nieces were all sitting there. I think they saw us kissing because they were looking at us with raised eyebrows—all three of them. My new kissing love said “hey” to them. In unison they said “hello” (with smiles).
I finished my second “Long Island Ice Tea.” The server magically appeared. Everything about that night was magical. Dude ordered another round for all of us. He ordered a double cognac with lemon…warm. I admired his choice. My niece “Jackie”, my favorite from the day that she was born, left her seat and came over and sat next to Dude. She engaged him in conversation. I don’t know what they said to one another, and I didn’t care.
Drinks came. I took a long, long sip from my drink. I don’t know what everyone else did. Jackie went back to her seat.
I don’t what the song was, but Dude stood up and offered his hand. I took it. It was a fast song. We boogied (I don’t know if people still said that anymore). I liked the way we moved together. The DJ announced that he was going to slow things down. I don’t know what the song was. Again, Dude took me in his arms. I felt the motion in his pants. Again, I questioned his heritage. We kissed. It was the best kiss that I had ever experienced. He whispered in my ear, “tell me your name.” I shook my head—No.
After the song was over, I left him standing on the dance floor with the motion in his pants.