Dancing with a Stranger
... my teens; there was no way I could get my body to twist into Smurfs, Cabbage Patches and Snakes. Most of my friends were white, though, and couldn't find a beat with a jeweler's loop, so my lack of skills on the dance floor didn't much matter. Pity I didn't find white boys attractive (except the Raiders' Howie Long, but it wasn't like I was ever going to meet him). By the time he walked up to me on that dance floor, spilling some lame line about my beautiful smile—which is beautiful, mind you, but still--I'd given up learning how to do anything except sway to the music a little. Contrary to my cousin's opinion, being unable to dance didn't seem to turn men off. I got by well enough on the strength of my legs, ass and, apparently, my smile. And he was triple-take attractive, the kind of guy I'd take back to my room and sling across my bed if I was a different kind of girl. I don't mean different-slutty; I've always been a first-date woman, if I like a man in that way, and I make no apol...