I can remember when I use to dance, my feet had more time back then, but between crawling at work, walking my Firstborn, and trying to run the world from every angle well, the heart of rock and roll is still beating. “The Forbidden Dance Will,” right
Thursday, October 17, 2019
Log 115 ~The Forbidden Dance Will~
WARNING, 18+, READER DISCRETION ADVISED
Come In Dirty Diana
I AM a Billionaire right now, and I will take dance lessons at some point. SIGH already, this is supposed to be a fun day, but of course, as the song goes, MEMORIES. The last time I danced at a wedding? It was my aunt’s. Yeah, I was much too young to be thinking about girls at that point. My next significant dance memory was freezing still. That’s when some girl was Twerking in my face at my grandparent’s house. My memories don’t mesh with It’s A Southern Thing but Talia Lin, cue Homer Simpson drooling.
Before I lose myself to pity, okay, I’m thinking about Indiana Gone’s wedding, of course. Dear Dirty Diana, I wanted to dance, that’s the “gospel” truth. Only my body would not let me go down that road but 1,500 miles sure. Still ten feet, hell, what about two? I’ve told you fantasies I’ve had, but what about that promise I made? I told myself I would stop the car and dance with my girl to “Drunk On You.” No, I was more inclined to only look it up on Spotify. I should focus on another type of dancing. Only what about that number from Ellie Goulding’s “Love Me Like You Do” so beautiful. What about Final Fantasy VIII, the graduation dance? All this is coming from a guy that wants to shoot porn. I can’t dance like no one’s watching. The worst thing ever, maybe?
She wasn’t exactly asking for the Lambada, Dirty Diana. I talk about how brave I was to show up, and my feet were doing all kinds of dancing. I’m a practicing dominant. I want a girl dancing to my music and nothing else. My voice should be enough for them. You know I’m not one for leather but chains, whips, and lingerie to keep a woman from running away. Now, doesn’t that sound a bit creepy or what’s that other word I almost forgot, hmm?
Dancing, to me, is somewhat like laughter. I can laugh, but more often than not, it hurts me though I LOL with the best. I find myself wanting to dance at work, but I’ll do anything to keep from crying. Still, I have nothing against strippers, asses are good, but I’m a breast man. So why couldn’t I have happiness?
It’s The Forbidden Dance Will.
I Will Have No Fear