When My Sugar Daddy Inspired Me to Try Competitive Ballroom Dancing

My friends and I didn’t really dance growing up. We were more of the emo kids, standing in a corner at the school dance, being too cool for pop music, and all that. In reality, we were all actually terrified of being considered uncool, and we secretly envied the girls who could dance freely.

Eventually, I left my emo phase behind. Once I got to college, I joined a sorority and learned how to apply natural-looking makeup and embrace my more traditional feminine side. To be sure, you can still find me with a heavy eyeliner rocking out hard at a metal concert. But most of the time, you would think that I was one of the popular girls in high school.

Even as I changed my personality, that fear of dancing never totally left me. I would avoid going out to the clubs with friends, saying that I had to study or write a term paper. I graduated without ever having to reveal that I danced like a 2-by-4 wooden plank.

After college, I went through my yoga teacher training and became a full-time instructor. So, it’s not like I couldn’t move my body. I just didn’t have rhythm. And that was okay with me. Or so I thought.

Well, I had an idea in my mind that I wanted to open my own yoga studio eventually, and I couldn’t do that on my current salary. I tried taking on a second job, but the pay still wasn’t what I was hoping for. That’s when a friend of mine joked that I should find a rich boyfriend to help me work towards my goal. I laughed at the time, but I took the advice seriously. I decided to find a sugar daddy.

Bert was the first man on the dating website I had signed up for who seemed like a kind, totally normal guy. It’s not that I had any horror stories or anything like that; I just found that a lot of the guys I chatted with felt arrogant or didn’t get my sense of humor.

Bert had tried a little bit of yoga over the years, so we connected over that on our first date. I asked him what had prompted him to try yoga in the first place.

“Actually, my dance instructor recommended it,” he told me. I was shocked and instantly asked follow-up questions. It turns out that Bert danced tango semi-professionally all throughout his thirties and forties. His mom was originally from Argentina and had taught him in their living room growing up. Yoga, he said, helped give him the core strength and flexibility he needed to do the more complicated lifts during his routines.

I asked him if he had any videos or photos during his time as a dancer, and he said, “I’ll do you one better. I’ll take you dancing.”

I was mortified. There was no way I was going to be comfortable enough to dance with Bert. But could I give up the chance for free lessons? Plus, I really wanted things to go well with him. Maybe this would be a way for us to build intimacy.

I told him a tentative yes, hoping that maybe he would forget by the time we saw each other next.

Forget, he did not. Bert’s first gift to me on our second date was a pair of training tango shoes. Even though I had spent most of my life in Doc Martens, I had always found dancing shoes to be so beautiful. And because these ones were for training instead of competition, I loved them even more for their simplicity.

“Welp,” I told Bert, “I guess we’re really doing this.”

We didn’t end up dancing that night. Bert told me it would be a good idea for me to get comfortable in the shoes before we hit the dance floor.

“Next time, though,” he warned. “We’re going to dance.”

I’m not embarrassed to say that the whole week before the next date, I watched videos on YouTube to learn the basic steps of tango. I thought maybe it would help me, but all it did was make me feel even more incompetent.

In the end, I shouldn’t have been so worried. Bert took me to a place that he knew would be perfect for a beginner. It wasn’t so crowded that we would have to worry about bumping into other dancers. But it wasn’t so empty that I would feel like everyone who wasn't dancing was staring at me.

Looking back now, I completely blush thinking about how difficult and awkward that first lesson was. The thing about being a professional dancer is that it doesn’t mean that you’re a great teacher. And although Bert was patient and encouraging and wonderful, he wasn’t really able to explain the steps to me in any way that made sense. Still, I gave it a good effort, and we only walked off the dance floor after I had tried for a good four or five songs in a row.

“Okay,” I told him as we clinked our wine glasses. “New plan. I’m going to learn the basics of tango first, from an instructor. And then, sir, we are going to come back here, and you’re going to teach me how to add some flair.”

Bert was so excited that he offered to pay for the lessons, which I gladly accepted.

And that was how I started to fall in love…with tango. As it turns out, I had a dancer within me the whole time. I had just never given myself the permission to be vulnerable. And let me tell you, the beginning was extremely vulnerable. The number of times I accidentally stepped on my instructor’s or another classmate’s foot was embarrassing. A few times, my heel slipped, and I thought I was going to rip my dress.

Once I had taken classes for about a month, I ventured back onto the dance floor with Bert. I was far from being a good tango dancer, but I was at least ready to practice with a former professional and not feel like I wanted to melt into the floorboards. And the funny thing is, once I had the basics, Bert was able to become the instructor that he wanted to be from the beginning. I improved so quickly that if Bert left me alone too long at a tango bar, other men were stopping at our table to ask for the next dance. Maybe if Bert and I were dating romantically, I would have said yes, but I’m a loyal sugar baby, so Bert was the only one I ever danced with.

Before long, Bert had convinced me to start signing up for competitions. He assured me that there was no reason to delay and that the local competitions were open to all levels. Saying no just because I was a beginner was akin to not signing up for a 5k race just because I couldn't run a full marathon yet.

Once again, I’m glad I took Bert up on the offer. We lost many, many competitions that first year, but I found them so fun.

For our one-year anniversary, Bert took me to our favorite tango club and slid an envelope across the table. Inside was an itinerary for a week-long trip to Buenos Aires.

“You’re ready for the big leagues,” he said with a wink.

Everything about that vacation was a wonderful blur. Apparently, the tango scene there doesn’t even start until 1 in the morning, and the party doesn’t end until sunrise. I couldn’t believe that someone almost 20 years my senior was able to stay out all night dancing, but seeing Bert in his element was something special.

So, okay. At the beginning of this thing, I told you that eventually my goal was to open a yoga studio, and that was something that Bert and I talked about a lot. He knew that I was diligently saving up to put down a deposit on a studio that had been sitting empty for years, and he contributed as much as he could every month.

I was able to raise the money after about two years since I had first started saving, and I sat down with my business coach to talk about putting together a real plan. Originally, my idea had been to focus only on yoga, but I couldn’t help but think that the studio would be such a great place for dancing as well. So, I reached out to the instructor who had taught me the basics of tango, and of course, I reached out to Bert as well to see if he might want to give intermediate classes.

Well, it’s been two years, and Bert is no longer my sugar daddy. Instead, he’s my business associate, my occasional travel buddy (we make an annual pilgrimage down to Buenos Aires), my yoga student and my constant dance partner. And one of these days, I think we’re going to win a competition!