Tango had it's way with me again.

I lost my mind dancing with Burak last night. I keep replaying it over and over in my head. The Tango sizzled. Each song we sped faster and faster to as fire flew from the depths of my soul. The world disappeared and there was only my reaction -- he moved and I responded. Nothing but the music and his movements existed for me. I followed his lead, flying by the seat of my pants, feeling as if we were plunging head long down a steep mountainous incline, if we stumbled or hesitated we might go crashing out of control. He allowed me free rain to follow the music.

Passion welled up in me and I stomp my heels as I stepped. I was pushed to the edge and yet I still managed to keep up with him. The dance was impossibly fast. When the music stopped I let out this big sigh of pleasure.

He laughed and I laughed. I was a bit weak in the knees. I was completely satisfied. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and told me, “Good dance” -- I just grinned. My hair hung limp with the perspiration of my exertion and I knew I probably had smudge lines under my eyes from my mascaraed lashes. But to hell with it I was undone and absolutely blissful about the whole thing.

When the men see me dancing this way they want to be next in line, perhaps to see if they can produce some of this same passion from me.

But I turned them down as I sunk into the closest chair, throwing my head back with relaxed satisfaction. The dance is my lover and he has just had his way with me, I take a moment to savor this feeling.