The Story of the Yes Man

Hot.

Russian?

Power.

We had danced when I first visited Berlin. I was surprised that It Guy had wanted to dance with me. I was still operating under OSYankee.

But when I returned to Berlin I had upgraded my operating system to OSPirateQueen, so I was not surprised when he wanted to dance with me all over again.

We danced with the Herzblut.

Finally I felt like a woman and an equal, instead of some monster trying not to scare the blancmanges of the world.

He felt the same but the other way around.

Turkish.

Flirting.

“You dance with the blood,” he said.

“But can anyone actually teach that, I am trying to teach that but I don’t want to fool myself.”

He said, “yes! I do!”

Later I realized that he was wrong. You can’t teach anyone to dance with the blood. They do or they don’t.

Most don’t.

He said, “you will teach me Tango and I will teach you German.”

He messaged me about taking lessons but I was on my way to Prague. Then when I got back, he wanted to dance but I was on my way to Nürnberg.

We chatted while I was away, studying with Horacio and Cecelia. I had just realised afresh that everything has to come from the inside and the inside is all that matters.

He eagerly asked what new moves I had learned and offered to let me experiment with him.

I knew it was all over.

When I got back he wanted to dance, not study. I knew he would not ask for lessons again.

Because his dance was about knowing where he was, not about discovering where he was going.

He did not want lessons. He just wanted to touch me.

Which was a pity because I had figured out what he needed to learn as an artist and as a human being, and I knew how to “teach” it to him.

He needed to learn how to say No.

He danced so much. To so much music, always the same way. With so many women, always the same way. And the dance itself was so much “yes.”

So much going. Not much staying.

When we always go, our movement is meaningless. Going with no stillness has no power.

Yes with no No has no power.

More feeling,please. More critical choices, please.

I had wanted to want to sleep with him, but now I just couldn’t.

The story ended at Spiegelsaal.

He cut straight across the dance floor to me. It was nice to see him. But he didn’t care what the music was. I worked to make conversation and didn’t care what he said.

We danced a Biagi tanda and I hated myself for not enjoying the moment. My bitchy inside voice thought of him, “that’s not Biagi you’re dancing. Your forceful thumping is always the same. Why can’t you respond to different orchestras? Why can’t you respond to different evenings? Why can’t you respond to different women?”

And would it kill him to put on a shirt with buttons like an adult?

Maybe this was what he thought dancing with the blood was, but that’s not what dancing with the blood is. He was always on autopilot, not thinking, not feeling, not observing, not being present. He was holing up in Safety Mode, and that’s the opposite of dancing with the blood.

I tried to drag the story out, when I saw him again at el Ocaso. But the music was dry and unconsidered. All I could think was, “you just want to move around, you don’t even care what the music is. How can you live like that?”

I knew he would feel the death of my interest in my embrace, but there was nothing I could do about that.

He was the Man Who Said Yes.

And I am the Woman Who Is Learning to Say No.


Jordana del Feld MFA CMT is a story therapist who loves connecting women with their authentic voices and freeing their stories.  She happily meets clients in her gemütlich bijou studio in Kreuzkölln, and online.  She also occasionally tells stories around the Berlin storytelling circuit.  Check out (or be the next guest on) her vodcast, “So There Was This Guy: Where the Bedroom Is the Classroom,” on YouTube, follow her on Medium, and buy her books on Amazon or off her website, link listed below:  https://www.jordanadelfeld.com/books