Chapter 8: Too much in my head

Henna, Rumba Guaguancó, soft men and another evening my brain refused to keep simple.

by Karl

Thoughts about my head

A slightly unexpected topic to start with, because I actually want your opinion on this one.

I've been playing with the idea of decorating my shaved head for quite a while. A tattoo is definitely an option, although I still don't know what I would want there permanently. One idea is a bare branch that I could keep adding temporary leaves or flowers to with henna or colour. Another is a collection of symbols.

Henna gives me a convenient way to try different styles without having to commit to one of them forever.

My first attempt looked nice, but didn't hold particularly well. About a week later, I went back and got a second one for free.

Rumba Guaguancó

One of the things I had been looking forward to was taking classes at Kevin and Gezza's dance school.

Habana Salsa

The first time I saw them dance at a festival, I got that little shiver and one very clear thought: I want to dance like that. A year later, they did a workshop weekend in Berlin, which I joined as well. That made me pretty excited to learn at their school in Barcelona, even though I didn't actually get a class with either of them.

My first one was Rumba Guaguancó.

The class stayed in Spanish. The teacher does speak English, but he didn't switch languages for me or give me little translations on the side. Which is fair. That's partly why I'm learning Spanish in the first place, even if mine is nowhere near good enough for a class at that level yet.


Barcelona keeps surprising me a little in that regard. It's an incredibly international city, but compared with Berlin, I often get the impression that people are less likely to automatically switch to English, or simply don't speak it.

Most of the time, that actually works perfectly well for me. I just watch more closely: where the hands go, how the body moves, what exactly changes from one step to the next.

The harder part comes after class. I can understand a movement, get a few attempts that feel really good and leave with that satisfying sense of *okay, I got it*.

A week later, a surprising amount of it is gone.

What I actually need is someone to practise with regularly.

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Soft men

Bridget had told me about Club Imperial, a sex-positive club with a salsa night. I had registered beforehand, so I could get in for free.

Imperial Meeting Point

I imagined it would be a bit like KitKat on one of their Bachata nights or something along those lines. Still, I was intrigued.

Inside, one way led downstairs towards the dark rooms and the kinkier parts of the club. Straight ahead was a small dance floor with a bar in the middle.

And all around it, men were dancing with each other — soft and gentle in a way I rarely get to see.

There wasn't that constant pulling and pushing I sometimes notice in partner dance. Mostly just happy faces, close dancing and flirty glances. People touched each other and moved together without constantly seeming to check how it might look from the outside.


Even in Berlin, I rarely see people look that unconcerned about being judged.
I wish I saw that more often.

I immediately recognised a few people from the other queer club I'd been to and started dancing with them again.

There is a particular kind of dance I really enjoy with men who lead gently but clearly — a balance I'm still trying to get better at myself.

Sometimes they give me a turn and, instead of taking the obvious version, I change it slightly and look them straight in the eyes.

A small challenge.

And trust me, when that makes them laugh, that's the best part.

A lot of the men I meet in these spaces can both lead and follow, so the roles can shift naturally from there. I can give them the lead, take over again when I see an opportunity, or add something without waiting for the next instruction.

If something goes wrong, there is room for it. If I understand an invitation differently, we can see where that version goes instead of forcing the original plan back into existence.

It feels like we're creating the dance together.

That probably sounds slightly unfair to normal leader-follower dancing. I know. But trust me, it feels different.

For me, that's pure inspiration.

It's also part of why I'm enjoying following more and more. I'm finding ways of doing it that don't feel like copying somebody else's idea of how a follower should move.

It can still look like me.

And that's very close to the kind of dancing I'd eventually like to teach.

The part happening in my head

Watching everyone around me move, touch and flirt so freely made something else rather obvious:

I wasn't nearly as relaxed about how people might read me.

Eventually, all that thinking outweighed how much fun I was having.

I genuinely liked the place. I just didn't have the energy to keep negotiating with my own head, so I left.

I had another social nearby in mind, but when I checked the details, I realised I had mixed up the days. It was on Friday. I was there on Thursday.

So I kept walking, and with no next plan to distract me, my head got louder.

Calling people

When I notice myself falling into a hole and still have enough energy to act, I start calling people. I don't expect them to fix anything.

Sometimes I just need another person in my head for a while before my own thoughts take up all the space.

The problem is that it can backfire. Lucia didn't answer. Cami did, but she and Sophie were already done for the evening. Simon picked up, and we talked for a while.

That helped.

But even when I know there are people I could call, choosing one is strangely difficult. The moment I think of someone, my brain finds a reason not to: they're probably busy, I don't want to burden them, we don't really talk on this emotional level, things feel distant.

There are people I love, and people who love me, and I can still end up unsure who I'm comfortable calling. I don't know whether I'm actually the one reaching out more often, and I don't want to audit my friendships to find out.

Sometimes it just feels that way.