Eyes studying and a stranger’s hand touching mine, I was pulled to him just like the many men before him. Only thing holding my body up was the stiff of my arms and hand walled by a set of arms and hand but never are they my husband’s. My husband knows this makes me satisfied in my life, therefore marriage, and actually drove me to be with these other men.
There are rules, however: respect space (boundaries), be courteous (always ask), and have fun (of course). My space grows void as other couples pair off and courtesy is always, “May I?” I have never turned down an offer in five years and we begin the connection go-round once more: eyes, hands, wall. We are coupled for just a song’s play and we go our separate ways after dancing a little dance. Rounding out dance etiquette, he returns me to my place when we first locked eyes and our time is done until we meet again. Social partner dancing is a funny thing: you either hate it, love it, or kinda love it just enough for some nightclub confidence. Partner dancing without your husband is even funnier because you hate the fact you are alone or realize this dance partner wants to “partner.” (More on this later) My actual real-life partner has my back while another man’s touching mine and it works for us.
GH has found that my sole solace has nothing to do with him. He forces me to go out even after I elaborate on the dirty dishes or feign another yawning excuse. He tells me to not even ask but to just do this one thing for just me. With this full support finally in place after co-parent resentment of three years, I now find it a bit exhilarating to sneak away from domestication and responsibility for this time away from my man, my kids, my work, my home and be me. The me before I was buried in routine, unfolded laundry, and kids and this me is a lot more enjoyable to be around after these dance floor rendezvous. I get to be free and me and all these other men are just there for the ride and dance.