A guy came to the milonga who couldn't dance, had never tried. You could see he was interested. I invited him to try and he was hooked. After that, he came to the weekly milonga and I danced with him, at first with him in the woman's role, but he wasn't a big fan. He had a lot of pride and tradition and wanted to dance in the 'proper' role for men. This is ordinarily a warning sign. But I enjoyed his company and understood his attitude was common among some men, especially one's from cultures traditionally or recently patriarchal. He listened to the music. The embrace was good. He believed in the no-teach method. I thought we would see how far we could go. Not that far, as it turned out. He needed more practice in the woman's role, he wasn't going to dance better without that and he just wasn't keen. He felt uncomfortable, as many men do. Well, OK. I think I realised, subconsciously that I was done. I liked the guy and would try to help out, nothing ostensibly changed and I still looked for new ways to help him from my 'place' in the woman's role and also within the stern constraints of a milonga environment where any 'help' has to be silent and unobservable. But I had the sense, even if I didn't acknowledge it fully at the time, that it was the end of that road. Besides, we needed a practica whereas we met in a milonga. I had learned the man's role in the milonga, and without help but I had danced in the woman's role for at least two years and I knew the music.
Around this time he told me he was going to start classes. For two or three months I didn't see him. When I next saw him - Yes, the classes were going very well.
- Right, well, good.
Shall we dance? he said. He pushed and shoved and forced me into his uncomfortable, contrived and badly executed class moves. Silently, I resisted, corporeally refused.
Why aren't you doing it? he said, angrily, after he tried to twist me into an awkward ocho. When you can do it well, I will, I replied, mildly.
This is why ochos are a terrible move for beginner guys because they are hard to execute well. It is considered a key, basic move. But I don't think I learned to do ochos in the guiding role for years and I wasn't short of good, complimentary dance partners. It takes a lot of unusual skill or years of experience for the guide to lead the partner in an ocho that is small, subtle, elegant, supported and does not make her feel like a cart horse. Most women will just do as they are told and think the problem is them.
He became angry. I might have laughed. Certainly, I was amused, but was still willing to try and find some common ground. Then, at the end, he hissed, in his language, so this is a translation: You aren't playing along! Or, perhaps, more accurately, You aren't keeping your end up. You aren't playing ball. As if, when they throw ridiculous, impossible shots, the partner is still meant to go for them - and enjoy it! And then he said, with, finally, some insight: There's no connection! No kidding. The trouble was, he plainly thought it was my fault for not following his 'lead'. He knew I knew what he wanted me to do. I just wasn't doing it. And that was true.
It is an odd thing that someone can say something true, agree with it and yet know it to be insulting. So that was definitively the end, for rme. Out of profoundly misplaced politeness, I greeted him next time, although with no intention of dancing. The message: No hard feelings! But actually, it is the person who has done the offending who is supposed to say that and even then, it's trite. Still, I knew he felt that he was the injured party, he who been so forceful. Of course I should have done what he wanted. That's what a leader is. They lead. You follow. Recall, in the tangos, the men always do think they are the ones hard done by, all that martyrdom, the inherent evilness, the treachery, of women.
In any case, he snubbed me. That's what you get for being too subservient, too polite. There is no need to feel bad. You have been polite, he has not and only revealed more of the darker side of his character. But if a man, anyone for that matter, has been rude, the best strategy, the only strategy really, is distance. Forget about his wounded ego. You do not need to appease or cajole him. Ignore him. Fine! I thought. That is what I should have done And that's what I did, thereafter.
Over the months to come I would meet women who found him rude, demanding, forceful. Not that I looked his way, in the milongas, but the stress pulsed off him, in silent waves. One woman told me, He wouldn't have meant it. He just has a bad temper when under pressure. So do men who hit their wives, I thought. I can mend things between you, she said. I didn't see her again though and I wasn't sure I wanted them mended. I doubted he was the apologising type. Too much pride. I might have been happy to chat, but not to dance, not without a major change in the dynamic, which wasn't likely.
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