But I do wanna dance....

I remember my first mini-skirt. It was a  blue mini-dress, several palms were dotted around the front and it came in two convenient heights, one to get me through the door past dad and the other for the party. I was around fourteen and had never slow danced in my life before, a dance floor virgin so to speak. Reggae was the vibe at the time. His name was John, and he was tanned and gorgeous, curly hair and a cute smile. I didn't expect a dance, my female allure was yet untested and I had no clue as to how the opposite sex would view me. It was awkward enough bunched together with the other girls hoping someone would pick me to dance with. Each time a male advanced something in me stiffened and I held my breathe. John walked up to the huddle, confident and assured and asked me for a dance.I whispered a "yes," as he led me to the dance floor, the cement floor of someone's garage. I was shy and could hardly bear to look his way, we swayed to the beat of Eddy Grant's : "I don't wanna dance..." all the time I was thinking, but I do wanna dance, dance with me baby all night... I had my first slow dance with him that night, I was acutely aware of every particle of my body pressed against his, and I moved like a cardboard cut out, stiff and unsure of myself, but never the same again because he had asked me to dance. I drove  home in the dark tonight, girl's sleeping in the van, on the radio, the same old song was playing, the music transported me back to that old garage party and I still wanna dance, love may have given me a sore beating, my romantic spirit, is so resilient, and after all the hurt and pain I still wanna dance, I really do.