The Weekly Mindfuck: Grinding

I'll be real with you guys: I know grinding is not a legitimate dance form. It doesn't take an immense amount of flexibility or years of training. It requires rhythm and glute strength, yes, but beyond that, I understand that's it's more or less a sweaty mashup of bodies on bodies, a swaying, undulating way to grope a stranger (or a not-quite-lover) under the influence of alcohol and minimum lighting. 

And I love it. I started grinding far too young, but kept it up with the vigor of someone was who was lit on fire by music and just discovering her sexuality. Since then, I've sought club after club, familiar with the feeling of dancing with your girls knowing that at any moment, a crush or perfect stranger (or sometimes an unwelcome stranger) would approach and run his hand along your hips. Grinding has always felt more invigorating and less suffocating than going to a guy's house for the first time, not yet sure if you wanted to have sex, and has been much more fun than the foreboding staleness of the first kiss after a full date. Grinding takes on a certain safe inhibition, a way to let people watch you that's easy to extricate yourself from but just as easy to re-enter.

In a way, grinding is the world's best foreplay, the best way to determine sexual chemistry with another human. More than anything, it makes me feel alive. 

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