Not long ago, I was confronted with a problem that some of us older men have to deal with, namely, what to do when a young woman finds us irresistible.

On a road trip, I stopped in Swannanoa, North Carolina, and decided to go contra dancing, an activity I was no stranger to. In case you don’t know, Contra dancing is a mix of square, line, and country dancing, all set to the sounds of bluegrass music.

300 or so people filled that old barn in Swannanoa. They were stomping and romping and spinning and twirling to the sounds of the Smoky Mountain String Band. I arrived a few minutes late with a tune already in progress. So, I eased into a chair against the wall and watched the dancers as Smoky Mountain rocked the rafters.

A controlled explosion of Southern beauty immediately caught my eye. I’ll call her Legs because that’s mostly what she consisted of. She wore a scant, blue jean skirt and a finely stitched pair of red, f*ck-all cowboy boots. Between the hem and the boots was a long stretch of Carolina tanned legs. Around her neck, a jade chiffon scarf quaked and quivered like a witchy ghost in the wind as she moved to the music.

And did she ever move to the music.

Her hips swung, her hair flung, and my heart sung. All of her was in such a hypnotizing rhythm that if someone had told me the music was being generated inside of her, rather than the fiddle players, I would have believed them.

But then suddenly, as I was watching her, Legs glanced at me.

And then she did it again.

Those smokey green eyes framed by that tangle of ebony hair, they darted my way again, and again… and again!

Maybe it’s because you’re gawking at her, I chided myself. Put your tongue back in your mouth and stop staring.

So, I shifted my gaze to the other dancers and avoided looking directly at Legs. Nevertheless, I still followed her every move with my Third Eye. Yes, ladies, every man has one.

Even after several minutes of me not staring, Legs kept looking my way, again, and again…and again! Short but intense glances filled with what I can only describe as red-hot desire.

Okay, time to confess. I’m a 60-year-old man, and it was doubtful that Legs was a day over 21. You should also know that I’m married. In truth, I’m just a harmless looker. But that’s not the point here. The point is the way that she looked at me.

“You still got it, Jim,” I told myself. So what if you’re a little gaunt compared to your younger days, and your ears are bigger. And who cares about that little roadmap around your mouth…

So what? You still got the looks, man. Those same irresistible good looks that your mother used to brag about to her friends.

“You still got it!”

I ran my hand through my full, not quite white, head of hair and sat up a little straighter. What if she asks me to dance with her in the next song? I’ll do it, I thought. Oh, hell yeah! I might even show her a few of my signature moves. In the short span of conversation before the dance, I would tell her I was married, just in case this filly couldn’t resist my aging good looks and had ideas about taking me outside the barn for a ride.

No ride today, Legs. But I’ll be happy to dance with you. Hell, yeah.

The music played on, and while Legs continued to romp and stomp, she continued to look at me, I swear, with burning passion in her eyes. This prompted me to pump out my chest, which in turn caused my lower back to lock up. But only for a moment.

When the song finally ended, I leaped to my feet, truly expecting Legs to ask me to dance next. That's when it happened...