When I was a young man I would always get caught up in love stories, the ones with the basic formula, boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, boy and girl breakup, boy and girl get back together the end. As a young man growing up I could never reveal a "soft side" it would not have earned points with the fellas. As I recall, it wasn't only the movies or the tv shows that opened my eyes to the pleasantries of romance, it was the music, the classic love ballard.
To say who was the young lady that I had my first slow dance of meaning with would require several tabs of Ginko Baloba to jar my memory, but what I didn't forget was how good it felt. A party in somebody's basement, the lights down low a fresh piece of juicy fruit in my mouth and of course, the toughest part of all, the stroll across the dance floor to ask the girl for the dance.
Walk with confidence and coolness, don't think about her saying no, stay in the moment she will say yes. You catch her eyes as you get closer you reach out for her hand and you say,"do you wanna dance"? If your game is good, she starts to rise and you hold her hand leading her to the dance floor. Your arms open up, she comes in to you. The arms slowly wrap around her back, you draw her close, you feel her breasts press against your proud youthful chest. The rhythmic movement of the knees gliding pass one another, her hips in twine, moving to the smooth sounds of Smokey Robinson's "Ooo Baby Baby".
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