It was a typical weekend for me these days – which is to say, mostly spent indoors. However, last weekend was an exception. My D&D group, who are also my polycule, decided we needed a night out and dragged me to a club. The first hour was pretty standard club fare, nothing remarkable. I was just nodding along to the music near the bar when Walk the Moon’s upbeat track, “Shut Up and Dance,” started playing. It’s one of those songs that’s undeniably catchy, even if it feels a bit like watered-down stadium rock.
Then it happened. A woman in a striking orange dress approached me, moving with a confident sway. Perfectly synched with the song’s chorus, she leaned in and whispered right in my ear, “Shut up and dance with me.”
What she couldn’t have known was that her seemingly playful invitation unlocked a vault of deeply buried dance-related trauma, all stemming from a period in my early thirties I’d rather forget.
Rewind to 2011. I had just turned 31, and the airwaves were dominated by LMFAO’s aggressively catchy “Party Rock Anthem.” My own dance skills were… limited, let’s say. Think of a Peanuts character awkwardly flailing – that was pretty much my level. But seeing the impressive moves online and even on daytime TV shows like Ellen, I felt a strange urge to learn.
So, I started practicing. My living room became my dance studio, complete with self-recorded practice sessions uploaded to my fledgling YouTube channel. I was naively hoping for some positive feedback, maybe a little online encouragement. Reality quickly set in: I wasn’t improving. In a moment of questionable judgment, I hired a dance teacher.
Linda was… intense. Forget positive reinforcement; her teaching style was pure critique. Every flaw, every misstep was pointed out with laser precision. Being someone who grew up believing everything I did was perfect (thanks, Mom and Dad!), this was… jarring. Any hint of a whimper from me was met with a sharp, barked command: “SHUT UP AND DANCE!” Predictably, this made the whimpering, and the tears, worse.
Despite the disastrous lessons, I felt obligated to my small YouTube audience to keep uploading, even these painful practice sessions. Shortly after my last lesson with Linda, someone compiled all the Linda-and-crying footage into a single video.
I won’t go into graphic detail, but this compilation became, and remains, surprisingly popular on PornHub in a specific category: “humiliation fetish.” The video went viral in the worst way possible. Coworkers saw it. Family members saw it. Many people exited my life. The only ones who remained, who truly get it, are my fellow D&D players and polycule partners. Perhaps it’s because their own… interests… are far more niche than simple humiliation.
And honestly, I really hope it stays that way.
