Dancing Disaster

I am so busy to day with work, so I don't know how much time I have to write about this - but I need to, if only for a bit, then I can continue later.

I finally got up the courage to dance for my boyfriend last night. I don't have a full costume yet, but I didn't think that would be a disadvantage at all. All I wore was a tiny black string bra with tiny, touchable ruffles on the cups, black lace panties, and my turquoise, silver-coined hipscarf. I thought less would be more. I thought that after patiently waiting over 8 weeks to see something I couldn't stop talking about would be enough. I did the routine, then even improvised a bit, and always with a smile on my face.

At the end of the dance he looked like a frightened deer in the headlights. I walked over and straddled his lap. I went down to kiss him and he gave me the lightest, quickest little peck on the cheek, like a brother, his hands frozen and lifeless on my hips, and his face turning away as I try to kiss him more. And, needless to say, if I couldn't even put a spark in his eye or make his hands move on my skin, I definitely didn't spark or move anything under his boxers, either.

I felt so humiliated. To make things worse, it led to a big argument. I was blowing this way out of proportion, and he wasn't prepared for it. This is the guy who gets hard watching game show hostesses. This is the guy who is hard as a rock when one of my friends leaves my apartment, then his hands are all over me. This is the guy who just can't help looking at other women in my presence, no matter how many times I've asked him to show some composure and respect in my company. This is a guy who fantasizes about mermaids, fairies, sirens and video game cartoon chicks. He is a 17-year-old trapped in a 35 year old's body. He is man who denies reality and hides in fantasy. He is a man who desires the unattainable and is indifferent to what is in front of him.

He is a dumb-ass. I am a beautiful woman. This sounds like a bad joke. I am 5'6, c-cup, 36,26 1/2,36. Long blonde hair, blue eyes. What would the average man do if a woman of this description does a half-naked bellydance? In my situation, the man who wants to marry me, absolutely nothing.

He is not the reason I chose to dance. I have wanted to do this for myself for years. However, his non-reaction was crushing.

I told him to leave last night and go back to his own place. He angrily left insisting that I caught him off guard and I'm blowing things out of proportion. I told him that I couldn't help how I was feeling, that my female ego was bruised, and to try to understand by recalling how it feels when the male ego is crushed. I feel that I just don't do it for him. I know he loves me, but I think he is the type that has that madonna/whore complex - he can't desire the one he loves.

Ohhh - I'm just rambling now - I gotta go.