Recently I had the opportunity to dance with a woman. This can be (for a male like me at any rate) quite an exhilarating experience. I don’t get out all that much.

It all started after dinner. She was back in Auckland from Berkeley for a week or two. I had organised things. We went dancing.

The band started playing something, I could never tell quite what. There were drums, there was a beat, that's all that really mattered. Something from the 80's, I think.

Felt like there was just her and me on that floor. Sure, there were other people around, but for all I could care, they were mere background furniture. Dave had buggered off - either hunting more beer or just leaving me alone with her for the one dance.

She had this dreamy look on her face. She reached out to my shoulders. I put my hands on her hips.

She moved to the music. I adjusted, and I moved to her. Moved with her. Took care to move in sync. A look of euphoria crossed her face. We moved. It was glorious.

She turned around. Rested her head against me. The feelings I had then were a mixture of euphoria and the knowledge of being useful, coupled with physical contact. Sensual.

I perhaps moved a little uncomfortably – not every day that a woman holds me like this, and my body reacted.

She turned back to face me. She started to lean back. I moved my hands to the small of her back. I enjoyed this. I think she did. I tried to support her.

It continued... my hands on her, hers on me.

I knew full well that I had no chance of ever getting involved further. She knew that. I knew that. It was just a dance. A close dance, perhaps, but just a dance. This was very liberating - I had no need to impress her, I was just to enjoy the feeling of being with her.

Even if she's the only woman I've really ever danced with.

But then, like all good things, it came to an end. And one of the highlights of 2001 drew to a close.