Mandy went dancing this past weekend. It was the first time she'd been out dancing in years. She wrote: "It was a gay bar, so reminding men to keep their junk to themselves was not that much of an issue for me."
It reminded me of an adventure I had when I was in Portland a few weeks back. My girlfriend and I went out to see an 80s cover band (which was fabulous). When it was done, we went to another bar. It was a gay bar filled with a colorful crowd of men and women of all shapes, sizes, and persuasions.
We laughed. We danced alone. We danced together. We danced with some of the people in that colorful crowd.
There was one guy in particular who wanted to dance with me. I figured it was for the same reason that I wanted to dance with him--he was a good dancer and being a gay bar, it was the pure pleasure of dancing with another person that brought us together. There were no sexual undertones. And he was not grinding me with his junk.
When I'm dancing, I prefer that my dance companion not touch me unless he knows how to put his hand at the small of my back for spinning and dipping purposes. Otherwise I enjoy my personal space so that I can perform my moves without someone else's moves encroaching on my fun. Eventually, my friend decided it was time to head home for sleep (her son would be up in the morning wanting attention and food, as those needy, puny humans usually do).
I thanked my dance companion and told him that I was going to head out. He then offered to drive me wherever I needed to go when the club closed. Since I don't go in cars with strangers, I declined. Then he asked if he could get my number. I was a bit confused. I then told him that I live in San Francisco and was only visiting for the weekend. Then he told me he had a job offer in San Francisco. Then I told him I am married and have two kids.
He was crushed, and then I realized he wasn't gay. I guess my gaydar is broken.