The Tango Workshop

I began with tango in my late 20's and have been hooked ever since. My dance background is ballet in which I'd trained to a professional standard but, for a combination of reasons, I abandoned it as a career in favour of the far more lucrative world of business. At the same time, I know my body needs and even seems to demand the discipline of exercise so I have kept myself fit with gym work and running. For me, the benefits of that regime have been immense but something it doesn't offer is the opportunity for personal expression that goes with dance. That's why tango found its way into my life.

Volumes have been written about tango and I don't intend to add more here save for a few sentences. If you have any sense of rhythmic movement you can begin to dance a basic tango after just a few lessons. If you want to express the raw sensuality for which tango is renowned, that is a different matter entirely. It involves mastering movement, which is a matter of technique and practise, and matching it to that of the partner as the music requires. It is said that tango is a silent but sensual conversation between the dancing couple. It is also a dance of improvisation determined by the leader, most usually the man, to which the follower is invited to respond and show her moves as best she can.

It was in pursuit of mastering movement and improving my "conversation" skills that saw me travelling from Rio de Janeiro, where I was living and working at the time, to Buenos Aires, the home of tango, to attend a 3-day tango workshop. Even though I was not on business, I was able to obtain a very cheap rate at the Sheraton Hotel by virtue of the company for which I worked. From there to the studio at which the tango workshop was being held, it was a short but crazy and scary taxi ride though the chaotic city traffic.

The studio was located in the Recoleta district, close to one of the many parks in that area. I was met and received a charming welcome from the workshop leaders/teachers, Martina and Roberto, and it was very apparent to me that they were dancers from that certain something in their posture and bearing. It was a pleasant day and all the windows of the studio were open, which gave it a refreshing airiness, and there was a beautiful wooden floor which I anticipated would be ideal to dance upon.

I found the small changing room and that's where I encountered Georgina. Like me, she was swapping her jeans and trainers for a skirt and tango shoes which, strangely I thought, the other female participants hadn't done. She introduced herself with a nice smile telling me her name was Georgina but her friends called her Gina. She spoke with one of those smooth English accents and my first impression was that she was perhaps around 40. She was very well groomed with thick back hair tied back into her neck and her skin tone suggested a freshly acquired suntan. She had large dark eyes, sensual full lips and was just a little taller than me. I liked her immediately, and not just because of the glimpse of a nicely rounded bottom encased in silky red panties that had caught my eye as she changed.

"It's not that I don't want to be a friend," I said, "but is it OK if I call you Georgina?"

"That would be lovely," she responded with a warm smile.

Things began with us, the twelve participants, standing in a circle in the middle of the studio, introducing ourselves. As I recall, there were three American couples who were all part of a group and seemed to cling together, Georgina and her husband who said his name was Stefan and that he was from Austria, two single women, including myself, and two single guys. The couples were asked if they wanted to work together or were prepared to switch partners. It was only Georgina and Stefan who were of the latter category so that left just four guys that I could have as partners, including Roberto the teacher. I was somewhat disappointed in the lack of opportunities to experience different leads and so improve my "conversation" skills.

That first morning was taken up by revisiting some basics such as the initial embrace and body posture mixed with some dancing which gave Martina and Roberto a chance to observe the standard of participants. I danced with one the single guys, a tall young American called Wayne, who was very tense and wooden, and I was leading him more than the other way around.

Stefan was stronger and more experienced, and I liked dancing with him because he had a sensitive feel and seemed easy in his own skin. He looked much older than Georgina with a weather-beaten face, a slightly crooked nose and floppy, greying, blond hair. Unlike the other men in the group who were wearing jeans and T-shirts, apart from Roberto who wore a suit, he wore a nice shirt, well cut trousers and proper, leather tango shoes. Altogether he had a certain presence and understated confidence that I liked.

Roberto was a dream. I'd say he was around 50 and tango had been in his blood before he was even born. It was as if he knew who I was as soon as we engaged in an embrace and before we had even taken a step. I picked-up his lead instinctively and he was always there for me in the right place at exactly the right moment so that every step flowed seamlessly from the last. At times he would test me and I responded without thinking as if on autopilot. I don't think I have ever danced tango better in my life as I did with him. We danced together for perhaps 15 minutes and I realised what people meant when they talked of tangasms.

On a couple of occasions I had noticed Georgina sitting by the side of the dance floor with a sketch pad and I later discovered that she was an artist.

"You and Martina are natural dancers," she explained, "and it's important for me to see and record the finer details of movement that make you stand out. It makes the difference between a mundane picture and a dramatic image."

At the lunch break there was a buffet with various items of finger food but I didn't want to eat much and to hang around with the others for too long; rather, I grabbed a sandwich and went out into the nearby park, feeling a little conspicuous in my tango outfit, to get a change of scene. Looking at the buildings, the people and the way they were dressed, it appeared more like a Southern European city rather than South American. It certainly wasn't Rio de Janeiro.

Reflecting on the morning, I was pleased that I felt my dancing was up to the standard of the rest of the participants but also disappointed that I didn't feel more challenged. If it hadn't been for Roberto, I thought I might well have called it quits and written off the expenditure as a sunken cost.

When I returned, I was intercepted by Martina.

"Can we talk for a moment?" she asked in her soft, slightly accented voice.

"Yes, of course," I answered.

"Well," she went on, "we, that's Roberto and I, know you are a real dancer. It's obvious that you are in a different class to everyone else. It's the way you hold yourself and move, the way you use your arms, the leg extensions. Am I right in thinking you did ballet?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Where did you train?" she asked.

"The Royal Ballet School in London for three years, but that was a long time ago," I replied.

"Oh my God, I just knew it," she responded and threw her arms around me in that very spontaneous, Latin gesture, as if I were a sister.

"Look," she continued, "we would hate for you to leave here feeling that you had wasted your time and money. If you would like to do it, we would be happy to work with you separately after class. We feel the same about Gina and Stefan so it would be just the five of us. I promise it will be good. What do you think?"

"I'd welcome it," I replied. "Thank you."

"Well," she said, "just hang back and let the others leave and we'll see how it goes."

So it was that I spent an hour later in the afternoon working with Martina on unlearning my ballet technique and replacing it with tango. We quickly found a rapport as she explained some of the subtleties I hadn't perceived before and I valued the whole engagement with her. Meanwhile, Roberto worked with Georgina and Stefan. Georgina didn't show a lot of finesse but she moved gracefully with a very sensual sway of her hips and a confidence that told of experience. I noticed her slender body and her legs that looked sturdy but nicely shaped. To my eye, it was a very attractive combination of attributes.

When our "tutorial" came to an end, Georgina and I again found ourselves in the changing room.

"Where are you staying?" she asked.

"The Sheraton, not too far from here," I replied.

"That's where we are as well," she responded. "Are you getting a taxi?"

I told her that I was and we agreed to share the ride back to the hotel. We sat together in the back of the taxi with Stefan in the front and I asked to see her sketches.

"This is you," she said, paging through a few sheets of her pad.

"That looks very sexy," was my immediate response.

"Well, that's exactly as I saw you," she said.

"I'm looking forward to a few lengths of the hotel pool, just to relax my body," I said after a pause, though my mind was on her sketches, wondering if I really did look as she had sketched me.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked.

"Of course not," I replied with a smile, wondering how I could possibly mind.

Back in my hotel room I quickly changed into a bikini, a little cover-up robe and sandals, grabbed a towel and took the lift down to the pool deck. It was a barmy evening and all I wanted was to feel the water enveloping me. There was just a young couple canoodling on loungers at the far side of the pool deck but the pool itself was empty. I dived in and swam ten or twelve lengths at a steady pace and then hitched myself up onto the pool edge to take a few deep breaths. That's when I noticed Georgina, also dripping wet, just a few meters away from me.

"Hi!" I exclaimed. "I'm sorry, I didn't notice you."

"You were too absorbed in swimming and I didn't want to distract you," she responded, "but I have to know where you got that perfect bikini."

"In a swimwear boutique in a shopping mall in Rio," I told her.

"Rio, yes, I remember this morning that you said you were from there. Are you Brazilian?" she asked.

"It's like this," I replied, "my mother was Brazilian and my father was English and I was born in South Africa, so I have dual South African and British nationality, and right now I am in the middle of a three year job assignment in Brazil."

"How intriguing," she said. "All I can tell you about me is that I had a Hungarian grandmother and the rest is very English."

We chatted easily for a while and, thank goodness, she didn't feel compelled to tell me her life story as so many people would do. We shared our disappointment about the standard of the workshop but agreed that the extra tuition was worthwhile. There was nothing pretentious about her and, whatever else, I thought we could readily become friends. But it was the undertones of that 'whatever else' that were quite clearly at play. From her side, I can't say what she saw in me but her eyes flickered with some regularity to my breasts and cleavage in that skimpy Brazilian bikini. For me, there was little of her body on display since she was wearing a black, one-piece swimsuit but I was very taken by her large dark eyes and again by her sensuous mouth. Her hands were somewhat large, with shortish nails varnished in a burgundy colour, and I wondered how they would feel against my body. And then there had been the passing glimpse of that bum at the beginning of the day.

"Do you have a partner back in Rio?" she asked.

It was one of those questions that I had often been asked and could easily be passed off as innocuous but could also have an ulterior motive. I answered her along the same lines as always, though often to get rid of unwanted male attention.

"I have a girlfriend," I told her. "Our lives and our jobs are pretty hectic so we usually only get together at weekends."

"I imagine that, like you, she must be one of those beautiful, exotic Brazilians," she responded, without batting an eyelid.

I judged it as a very cool response and I appreciated it.

"Her name is Luciana and, yes, for me, she is beautiful," I said. "But she's tall and blond and from the South of Brazil. She has German ancestry like many people down there."

"It's getting cooler," she said, bringing things to a close, "and I'd better get out of this wet swimsuit. Do you have any plans for this evening?"

"I'll swim a little longer but that's about it," I answered.

"Stefan thinks it would be best to eat here at the hotel tonight, being Monday and lots of outside restaurants closed. Would you like to join us for dinner?" she offered.

I gladly accepted the invitation and we arranged to meet in the bar at 8 o'clock. With that she reached out to squeeze my arm, wrapped a towel around herself, turned and walked away. Of course I watched her, as she probably knew, but she didn't look back.

I swam a lazy couple of lengths and pondered on how things might develop with Georgina. From experience, though, I knew that it might amount to nothing. Nevertheless, brief encounters of the sexual kind were very much suited to my way of life and I resolved to do what I could to discretely make her aware of my availability.

It didn't take me long to get ready for the evening. A quick shower and hair wash to get rid of the pool chemicals and I was more or less done. I'd grown my hair out of its previous cropped style and had it lightly permed so it was just a matter of drying it with a towel and tussling the loose curls with my fingers. A little make-up was all I needed, no bra necessary, panties, high-heeled sandals and a simple mid-thigh dress. I thought I looked like a wild native girl, especially with my Ipanema tan, but so be it. It was a long way from my business look where my hair would be pinned back from my face, I'd be wearing heavily framed spectacles and very conservative attire. I took a light shawl as protection from any aggressive air-conditioning, the inevitable handbag and I was ready to go.

I got to the bar early and waited for them, seated on a bar stool with a glass of white wine. There weren't too many people around but I felt like I was attracting attention. Back in Rio, I would just have been another girl but perhaps my skimpy outfit was out of place in the more traditional Buenos Aires. Well, too bad, but I hoped Georgina and Stefan wouldn't be much longer in arriving and at that moment they strolled through the entrance.

Georgina looked stunning with that thick black hair set free, framing her face and falling down beyond her shoulders. She was wearing black harem-style pants that clung to her hips and a very low-cut, creamy coloured top. Stefan looked just what he was: a mature man of the world.

We greeted with brief hugs, Georgina whispering in my ear that she didn't need to ask where I had got my dress, and we decided to find a table to sit. Stefan asked me what I was drinking and I told him it was a local Pinot Gris, low alcohol, very fresh but with some tropical notes. Georgina said she would have the same and Stefan said that, like a good Austrian, he would have a beer.

The evening progressed smoothly with none of us inclined to hog the conversation and it was a pleasure for me to be with them. We talked about wine and I learned that they had spent several days in Mendoza, the main wine region of Argentina, before moving on to Buenos Aires. Before that, they had spent a week in Rio in a hotel that was within easy walking distance from my apartment; so close yet so far. I asked Stefan about his career and he told me that he was a Chemical Engineer by profession and, before retiring, had been the Director of Research and Development for a large oil company. After his retirement they had settled in Vienna which Stefan said suited Georgina though he would prefer to be in the mountains. We talked in the same getting-to-know-you fashion for the rest of the evening with me giving some of my own background and opinions when asked, though strangely we didn't talk about tango.

Whilst the conversation was polite, my glances at Georgina's exposed chest might be counted as less so. She was wearing an unusual gold pendent that rested just above her cleavage and drew the eye to what was below. Those breasts looked small but her push-up bra was making the most of them. She knew only too well where my attention was going and responded with the occasional discrete smile. There was a definite sexual tension developing between us but would it go further than a flirtation, I wondered. I certainly hoped so.

*

We met next morning in the hotel foyer and Stefan went out to flag down a taxi.

"Thank you for last night," Georgina said. "We were really glad you spent the evening with us."

"It was a pleasure for me too," I said. "You looked stunning and very alluring, and I had to admire that beautiful pendent you were wearing. I've never seen anything quite so intriguing before."

"Yes," she said, with a sideways look. "They are not easy to get hold of but sometimes I like to show it. It's called an Algerian Love Knot."

Seated in the back of the taxi, I think we both enjoyed our proximity.

"I wish we'd met in Rio," she said. "You could have taken me shopping and I could probably have spent a fortune. Is there anything you can't buy there?"

"If only," I said, "but you would be out of luck if you were looking for winter clothes. Winter in Rio lasts about a week. If you are looking for something here, try Calle Florida. It's a nice shopping street with a few boutiques and it's an easy walk from the hotel."

We arrived at the studio and went to change. I stripped off my shoes and jeans before finding the skirt in my kit bag and this time I was the one with the silky red panties. I knew she was checking me out and I turned to smile to her.

"Can we talk at the lunch break?" she asked.

"Of course," I replied. "There's a nice little park just over the road. I went there yesterday. We could go there."

"I'll catch up with you then," she said.

I had decided to get over my disappointment of the previous day's workshop and make the most of things. When I danced with each of the single guys, I took it on myself to give them some coaching, especially on their posture, timing and sensitivity.

One of them, the tall, young American from Houston, told me that a girl he liked had once said to him that there was nothing more sexy than a man who could dance tango and so that is what he was aiming for. It seemed very incongruous for little me to be instructing a big young man on how to hold himself in a strong and balanced posture, but that's what I did. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roberto watching us and smiling,

"She's right," he said, intervening. "Let's get your shoulders relaxed. You dance from your core," he went on, indicating his abdomen, and at that point I quietly left them to it.

The other guy was French and somewhat older. I tried to explain that his main role was to support me and not to drag me around the floor like a rag doll but I don't think I got through to him at all. As the tango piece that was playing came to a close, I took my leave of him.

Lunchtime came around and I was glad of the break. Georgina and I each grabbed a sandwich and headed out to the park.

"I was watching you with that young, American guy," she said. "You should be a teacher. You know you are the star of the show here, don't you?"

"I have a lot to learn," I responded.

We went on to find an empty bench where we could sit and eat.

"So you are leaving tomorrow evening," I said.

"Yes, all too soon," she said with a pensive sigh.