There are many ways to dance with a woman, and it depends so much on the woman you are with. Her experience, her physical built, her trust in you, her trust in herself, her love and understanding for the dance, the music. And many other factors. But you always start with a smile. And in such informal setting, as opposed to a serious milonga, you chitchat a little even if you don't know each other. You probably have already started this while sitting down. You sort of do this to lower her natural walls with strangers, especially men. Trust is important in the dance. In Argentina you would stand up while the lady remains seated, and you'd take her hand and gently guide her to stand up.
But then after that much more than trust is in play.
She has these beautiful dark eyes, and thick, dark eyebrows of the exact, correct width to complement those eyes. She has a disarming smile. After all, your lady of these few songs is not the only one whose trust needs to be built. Do you trust her?
Her smiles, as I said, are beautiful. A little silly, but beautiful, but not so gorgeous that you think you are not good enough for her. The way she dresses also is wonderful but not intimidating. And her whole body language confidently says she wants to dance with you. And in this case, me. Now I trust her even more because we've danced before. I am familiar with her embrace. It's soft, it's genuine. Sometimes tango is just a little more than a four-minute hug with a friend, a special friend, and a friend of the opposite sex whose attraction is solely based on the music.
I offer my gentleman's left hand, and as she puts her hand carrying her trust in that hand of mine, I wrap my right arm and my whole torso around her body in a way a father would gently but confidently embrace his most beloved daughter. But she is not in anyway a weaker partner; she is a woman being embraced by a man who will be conducting an impromptu dance solely based on the music and the whims of the interaction of two human beings. I can smell her skin and am reminded that she is a woman, that a woman, a confident, beautiful, and fun woman is now in my arms and we are ready to get on the road for a brief but important ride.
Every dance is important, or should be for me. No matter how inexperienced the woman is, I asked her to dance because I wanted to enjoy the next few songs with her. And this woman I especially enjoy dancing with. Though we've only been dancing for a few weeks, she has made me feel extremely comfortable. Being a man, I am naturally more inclined to have performance anxiety than the lady I am dancing with. And it is very comforting to know that this lady enjoys dancing with me.
We are wrapped in this embrace that speaks words. We are quiet. We are muted. But our embrace says how much we already enjoy being in each others' arms even though our legs haven't started moving yet. We aren't a sculpture frozen in time. I am talking to her with little movements. I am telling her already how much I am enjoying the music with her. To be able to speak through dancing, and dancing with out mobility, this experience requires not words but, well, experience. I suddenly don't see her face, I don't imagine her face, even though I know very well what her beautiful face looks like. I suddenly see music, and feel music, but with her, as if I can see her face in music, just as I can see a painting of a person. And I move ever so slightly but noticeably with the little parts of my torso, the little movements of the rib cage, the slight shifting of one of the arms, the shoulders, but all to the music so she understands well what I am speaking of, she, too, can see me in terms of music.
Then the intention is set. She knows I am about to take a step, but she also knows, based on the agony that the violin has just started, that she will have to suffer the agony of anticipation. She is all ready to extend her well trained right leg sideways but she remains with me. Our axes haven't moved, just that I and the music are slowly, agonizingly, preparing her to prepare for the movement. She knows when I will step with her, when I will move our axes together to start the first step: the music says it, the violin will stop its torturing cry. Really, it's only a few beats, only a couple of seconds, but for us it is an eternity, almost.
And finally, the violin ends and the bandoleon erupts a beat. But I don't step to shift our axes yet. And she is about to cry out her need to break this tension that she also enjoys so much. And only when the bandoleon erupts again, I take a forceful but not abrupt step, and we both enjoy the immense relief from the tension that has prevented us from hopping into the first step. And she is so very beautiful; I can see it with my torso, I can see it with the music that suffuses us into ethereal notes. And she tells me she loves being with me, not with words, but simply by raising her left arm that had been wrapped around my upper back to just a little bit on my neck, where skin touches skin like strangers talking for the first time: trust.
