The Cha-Cha King–Banana Cha-Cha Salsa

Jorge leans nonchalantly against the far wall of the ballroom as he gazes across the floor.  His steely, unusually blue eyes float easily from body to body as he searches for his next partner.  Only the most pliant, the most supple woman will satisfy him.

His world’s right here … on the ballroom floor.  When he’s in his groove, his connection with the floor disappears.  He glides on an air cushion,  his feet inches above the polished hardwood.

Jorge pushes away from the wall.  With the grace of a Jaguar, he moves through the women, his eyes making fleeting contact as he brushes by.

He wonders who she will be.  Who will be the one to feel the rhythm with him.  Move as one.  Hear the music but not be controlled by it; sleek, smooth, conjoined.

This dance, the cha cha, calls for his partner to think she is in control.  But, after moments with him, she must submit to his will, to his motion and movements.   Feeling a cad, he’s tried less sexist approaches, only to fall short of his goal–to win the Cha-Cha Championships–to be crowned “The Cha-Cha King.”

But Jorge has a problem.  Only one, but indeed it’s a problem.  His problem isn’t a “big” problem.  Rather it’s just the opposite.  Jorge has a “small” problem.

It’s the pants.  How he dreads the pants.  The ordeal.  Humiliation.  It’s obvious as soon as he dons his skintight black leather dance pants.  They reveal nothing.  Jorge suffers from a complete lack of maleness.  His is a problem of P.D., Protuberance Dysfunction.

He’s the victim of his own DNA.  His is the true weenie in his family!

How can he pick and choose when the women won’t even make eye contact with him?  It’s as if they know.  He senses their rejection.

Jorge has tried everything.  Socks stuffed in his crotch.  Codpieces ordered via He-male.  Shaped plastic cups to boost his ego.  He is so desperate he’s ready to answer the penile enlargement ads that litter his email in-box.

Sideling past the elegant buffet prepared for the occasion, Jorge notices a delectable salsa dish surrounded by a few ripening bananas.  The light bulb some call a bright idea blinks in Jorge’s otherwise dimly lit brain.

“Aha,” he proclaims, to no one in particular.

A furtive glance to the dance floor.  Judging on size and suggestive curve, Jorge snatches the most appropriate banana.  Slips behind the velvet drapes.

With just a few adjustments, Jorge emerges from behind the curtains.  Head erect, he struts his new found stuffed look.  Is it his imagination, or is he detecting seductive glances from the room full of females?

Jorge smiles and struts.  Struts and smiles.  Lips sealed.  Pants zipped.  Secret contained.

The music pulses through Jorge.  His hips sway.  Eyes glisten.  He holds his hand out for Tanya.  She accepts.  Gazes up at him.  Back erect.  Her chin a slight tilt upward.  They start on the down beat moving together as a unit.

Jorge moves with a new confidence, leads Tanya with easy firm hand pressure in the small of her back.  A finger press here, palm there as they move with the sensual Latin beat of the marimba band.

One-two cha-cha-cha …Turn-two cha-cha-cha.  Now the dip, the circle around.  The intensity of the chase and pursuit of the female by the male predator notches up.  Sweat pops on Jorge’s forehead.  He’s floating.  In control.  Totally absorbed by the sexual chase.

Tanya’s smooth and elusive.  Cha-cha’s just beyond Jorge’s magnetic pull.  She smiles. Her eyes act as lures pulling him in to her sphere.

Jorge increases his pace.  Arms drift up and around Tanya as they cha-cha to center floor with frenetic movements.  The spotlight moves with them following each movement.  The pace quickens.  As the band rises to a final crescendo, Jorge executes a magnificent driving dip.  Tanya’s long bronzed hair skims the dance floor.  The audience breaks into spontaneous applause, shouts and whistles.  The couple bows gracefully.

No one notices the bright yellow banana on the floor sharing the spotlight with them.


This is a great complimentary dish for just about any meal, but most outstanding with seafood dishes and Latin dishes.  This will serve 4 people as a side dish.


1 1/2 tablespoons of fresh lime juice

1 tablespoon of dark brown sugar

1 tablespoon of olive oil

2-3 ripe but firm bananas…peeled and diced in quarters

½ red pepper and ½ green pepper seeded and diced

1 scallion including greens Finely chopped

2 tablespoons of fresh cilantro

1 1/2 teaspoons of fresh ginger root peeled & minced

½ tablespoon of fresh jalapeno pepper finely minced


In a small bowl, mix fresh lime juice, dark brown sugar, and olive oil.

Immediately add the remaining ingredients.

Gently mix together.

Place in refrigerator and serve within an hour.  I serve this on a Romaine leaf that forms the shape of a boat or a scoop for the Salsa.

3 thoughts on “The Cha-Cha King–Banana Cha-Cha Salsa

  1. Love this! But how the heck did the banana escape “skintight black leather pants”?

    • Aah, Janet … first– thanx for subscribing and reading and making a comment … stars all over you!

      Clearly you have never participated in a Cha-Cha Contest as a male.

      It’s fierce competition with a lot of twists, turns, dips and rapid foot movement. Hence, the crotch of a pair of pants, even leather, stretches and becomes looser … even to the point where an appropriately sized banana could conceivably slip to the ball room floor.

      If that doesn’t work for you, it’s fiction … suspend belief momentarily and go with the Cha Cha Flow! Thanks for reading it … BTW The salsa is fantastic!

  2. I was just looking for something I may feel like making. And I am also ROFLMAO because I used to ballroom dance all over New Orleans with a young man, not my boyfriend, who could easily have replaced “Mr. Obvious” in those ads on TV! Mamma said, “Don’t you let him near you!” and Little Prissy Pants obeyed her! Them wuz the days, eh?

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