While the story is not autobiographical, the setting is. 

 

When I was around nine, my parents enrolled me in a social dancing class in NYC.  Suits.  Dresses.  White gloves for all. 

 

At the time, I was attending an all-boys prep school and I took a huge amount of flack from my classmates.  I mean huge amount. 

 

What I could never explain to them was that for two hours, every single Saturday, I had the giddy pleasure of holding
a girl in my arms.