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thank you for rating! Safe Sax: A Test Drive With 40 Guys

Dance Baby Dance

I got to test drive about 40 guys last night.

It's called "blues dancing": A studio in San Francisco holds classes followed by an open blues-style dance every Friday night. Singles are wholly welcome; in fact, you get to dance with everyone — if you want to. It's not a singles scene per se: It's more meetup than meat market.

I danced seriously for 15 years, through my 30s — ballet and jazz mostly. Circumstances and marriage kept me off the dance floor for two decades. I also haven't dated much since my husband passed away, so my confidence meter was not 100 percent. Could I learn steps quickly? Would guys want to dance with me? Could I just relax and have fun? So I went with some trepidation and a couple of new girlfriends.

We showed up at 9 p.m. for the intermediate class, and were glad we did. The two instructors choreographed the hour well, demonstrating steps we tried out with partners, switching pairings every few minutes in an organized circle. Talk about relationships: It was a short course in getting close to a lot of men in a brief time. The goal was to let them guide me, to surrender and follow their body movements, to sense their energy and just enjoy the experience.

Hey gals: This is a far more lively kind of speed dating than sitting in a dank night club pouring on the charm for 5.5 minutes per guy. These dancers were thin and they were chubby; tall and short; sweaty and cologned; older and younger; white and dark. They were charming and quiet, supportive and distant. And every one a gentleman enjoying the experience.

I can't recall the last time 80 arms held me in one evening. Moving together, being sensual without being personal: The point was not to divide and conquer; it was to connect with passion for dance and music. Safe sax.

At one switch, the teachers asked what combination of steps we hadn't yet learned. The choices were big vs. small, fast vs. slow, and something called "fuzzy kitten" vs. "Ninja." I hadn't been feeling competent with some combinations, so I looked into the eyes of my oversized, sweet, sweaty partner of the moment and said, "I can do big and fast!" Without skipping a beat, he replied, "Honey, you're every man's dream!"

That loosened me up. I saw how hard I have fought for my own identity since my husband died, how difficult it has been to trust and allow a man to lead. I listened to myself apologize for mistakes all evening but no one bought into it. It wasn't about being perfect - hello, female conditioning! - it was about letting go of fear. I wanted to let the guys lead and take care of me, yet still honor my own rhythm and strength. When I finally stopped worrying about how I was doing, I let the movements carry me and had a fabulous time.

The format here is that women can ask men to dance. So I did - with impunity. No one turned me down; many asked me to dance, too. Though we spoke little, we got to know each other through our shared energies. I enjoyed melting into the experience of feeling touched, supported, guided and nurtured by so many different men who were just enjoying being men.

At the end, it wasn't about the guys, or even the dance; it was about the flow. The dancer became the dance: no leader and no follower. The play's the thing: I think I'll go back next week.

Beth Witrogen (www.witrogen.com) a double Pulitzer Prize nominated writer, was most recently recognized for her book, "Caregiving: The Spiritual Journey of Love, Loss, and Renewal," a uniquely inspired blend of advice based on personal growth and spiritually profound wisdom. A former newspaper journalist, she has written for magazines including Good Housekeeping, Self, and Family Circle and online sites such as WebMD, Consumer Health Interactive, and ThirdAge.com. She is currently at work on a book about women's renewal and sexuality at midlife. Ms. Witrogen resides in Northern California, and pursues her other passions as a professional photographer (www.witrogenphoto.com) and rock climber. Send your questions to Beth@smartnow.com.