"This is my dance space. This is your dance space. You don't come into my space, and I don't go into yours."

That may be my favorite line from the movie "Dirty Dancing."Patrick Swayze is explaining to Jennifer Grey how they are supposed to dance together without much physical contact.

It sounds simple - respecting each other's space enough to refrain from unwelcome touching. But many people just don't have a firm grasp on the "my dance space/your dance space"concept. They don't know how to coexist with someone without invading that person's privacy.

Like the other day. I was coming to my Arlington, Va. apartment when I noticed a group of guys standing outside my building. I recognized one as a neighbor, so I smiled and said "hi."Suddenly, this other guy, this grubby kid, stuck his hand out for me to shake, which I did to be polite, and moved in on me, wrapping his left arm around my waist and pressing his sweaty body against mine.

The other guys started motioning for him to stop and saying, "ÁNo toca! ÁNo toca!"The kid backed off but grinned from ear to ear. I moved through the crowd with my head down and hurried down the stairs to my apartment.

Like last summer. I was working as an intern in Washington, D.C., and was passing through a metal detector in the basement of the Capitol. The detector kept beeping, and I was motioned aside by an officer so I could be checked more precisely. The officer used a metal-detecting wand to rub the inside and outside of my legs, force my arms away from my sides and lift the edge of my shirt.

I climbed into the Capitol subway car with a fellow intern, who hadn't been paying attention, and relayed what had happened while I cried. I was upset enough to file harassment charges against the dirty codger and request an internal affairs investigation by the Capitol Hill Police Department.

Like my senior year at OU. I was at a party at the house of some close friends, and at their behest, I decided to spend the night to avoid the poorly lit streets of Athens' West Side.

I agreed to share a male friend's bed, but when I climbed in to lie down with him, he wrapped his arms around me and held me close. I told him I just wanted to sleep, but he kept his grip firm around my shoulders as he drifted off.

As he started to snore, I wriggled out of his embrace and spent the night fitfully napping against the wall. When I woke in the morning, I slipped out of his bed without waking him, changed back into my dress and shoes and walked home.

Like my freshman year at OU. I was sitting in the hot tub of a friend's backyard, enjoying an annual alumni-student gathering. I was relaxing in the bubbles among friends and acquaintances when a guy who had a crush on me moved across the tub in my direction. I had brushed him off several times before, but he slid over anyway. He wormed into a seat next to mine and draped his right arm across my nearly-bare back and shoulders.

I bristled, and a close friend of mine noticed my uneasiness. My friend scooped me up and moved me to a seat next to him and away from the guy. Not too long after that, I left the tub and spent most of the evening in the yard.

In each instance, I felt the same way - indignant and violated. How could someone do that to me, I thought. How could someone invade my space and touch me without asking?

And then I remembered how they could.

During my senior year, I was drunk at a party and accepted a bet to kiss a guy I didn't know very well. Because I thought he was cute, I did it for the elusive sum of $5. I walked across the crowded room, backed him up against the wall and made my move.

I don't remember if he kissed me back, but he did sort of laugh and make a joke as I received my $5 bill. Months later, after he and I became good friends, he told me he hadn't been sure what to do or how to react that night.

"All of sudden, you were just coming at me, and I thought, 'Oh my God! What do I do?'"he said.

I have felt that way so many times when someone has come at me, violating my space, trying to touch me, and I have hated it every time. Yet I carelessly allowed myself to make someone else feel the same way.

What happened to me? When I was little, I knew better. If I crossed the line in preschool or kindergarten, the teacher sat me in "time out"and forcefully told me, "Keep your hands to yourself!"

Now, almost two decades after hearing those words, as someone who has been both invaded and invasive, I find myself relearning their importance and wishing everyone else was doing the same.

So, to everyone I pass on the street, stand with in an elevator, ride next to on the subway, dance close to at a club, sit near at a party or share a barstool with at Homecoming, I have something to say:

"This is my dance space. This is your dance space ..."

Hughes, a 1997 OU graduate who will one day take revenge on a Post sportswriter for the bet, can be e-mailed at hughesm@gwis2.circ.gwu.edu.