The Dance

I want to start this post off with how I view seduction. I view it as a Dance. I offer her my hand, I am the Invitation. She can either accept my invitation or not. Here is a screenshot of a text that I sent “Amanda” on a dating app when I very first met her:

Now there are guys out there who will argue that getting a number from a woman first is better, or that giving her your number first is good, bad or otherwise. Honestly, I don’t care. Sometimes I ask women for their numbers, sometimes they give me their number without provocation, sometimes I give them mine and then I’ll wait and see what happens. Sometimes things happen, sometimes they don’t. This post isn’t about which is better, getting or giving a number, it’s about the Dance.

“Amanda” took my number and texted me back. She took a chance and took my hand and let me lead her into the Dance. It wasn’t an easy dance. Occasionally she would try and take the lead, sometimes she was dancing to her own tune instead of dancing with me. A lot of the time she stepped on my toes and it was funny, awkward, and a little painful. But we would start again.

Initially I started wondering, “Does this woman even know how to Dance? Has she ever Danced before?” As time went on I realized that she did indeed know how to Dance. She was just out of practice, “rusty.” It had been a long time since she Danced. I’m a very patient man, a very forgiving man. I get frustrated just like anyone else, I’m not perfect by any means. There comes a time where decisions have to be made though. Do you continue to dance with the person in front of you? Or is it time to thank them for their time, kiss their hand, say goodbye, and end the Dance.

My Dance with “Amanda” is done. She’s a willing enough partner and honestly she’s just a bit rusty is all. But there are other things that showed up recently that gave me the final piece of a puzzle that I didn’t even know I was looking for. It answered a question that I hadn’t asked or even thought of.

“Amanda” and I were talking the other day and out of the blue she said, “Talked to my new neighbor. Told her about my PTSD. I felt bad and started crying. Wasn’t seeking special attention.” Bullshit lady, that’s exactly what you were doing. In that moment, everything fell into place for me. She’s “that” person. I have no idea what her PTSD is about and nor do I really care. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure it’s something and my heart goes out to her. But it’s her problem to deal with, not go and talk to the neighbor and tell them basically, “Hey I have PTSD and so I need you and your 13 year old son, who are just moving in, to keep the noise down.”

This entire time that I have been Dancing with “Amanda,” things have been off and I created a fantasy about her. That’s my fault. I wanted her to not only be the “lonely, bitter Jew” but I wanted her to be the “lonely, bitter Jew who under the surface was a sensual, sexual woman, who was just waiting to be released.” I won’t be so egotistical as to say that I am the guy for that job, but I sure as hell wanted to try. I realize now that this was my fantasy, my projection. She’s not sensual or sexual seeking release, she’s just a “lonely, bitter Jew.” She was telling me the truth right out of the starting gate.

When she mentioned the conversation with the neighbor about her PTSD, it all fell into place. I knew what was going on now. I have been here before. She’s a victim. My ex-wife did the same thing. Everything was everybody else’s fault. It was never her fault and everybody better handle her with kid gloves and walk around on eggshells when dealing with her. Instead of dealing with her issues, it was the world that was crazy and messed up, not her. Her way of dealing with her issues was to blame others and avoid the issue as much as possible. “Amanda” does pretty much the same thing. She just has a better looking body than my ex-wife.

Thank you for the Dance, “Amanda,” but it has come to an end for me. I don’t want to Dance with you anymore. You want to waltz and do the foxtrot, which are fine dances and I did them both with you for a spell. I like to salsa though and sadly that’s not your speed or style, and that’s okay. I wonder if one day you’ll look into the mirror and see the common denominator about your world. If everyone else is the problem, if the entire world is insane and messed up, maybe you need to look closer to home. Maybe it’s you.

I can’t imagine why some guy hasn’t scooped you up and either LTR’d you or “wifed” you up. /sarcasm

I like women in general, but I really love women that know and love how to Dance. I like flirty banter and innuendo. I like plausible deniability. I like the “wink and the smile.” I like the tease. I like it when it’s “on.” I like it when she takes my hand, follows my lead and “leans into it.” It’s okay if she steps on my toes occasionally. She’s not perfect and neither am I. I’m not the World’s Greatest Dancer. I just like to Dance.

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