It was not what I expected.
Everyone I know who has gone to a pole dancing class emphasized what a workout it is.
But no-one mentioned how overtly suggestive and sexual it was.
Why is that, I wonder?
Now, I’ve been to a few clubs in my time that featured girls on platforms high up, dancing around poles.
I do know what pole dancing looks like.
I’m not a complete innocent.
But somehow my reptilian brain had refused to tie together these girls on platforms and what I had actually signed up for.
Somehow I thought I was going to an aerobics class that involved a pole.
You know, like sometimes they involve stretchy bands and a step.
I didn’t expect to be gyrating quite so much while expected to move my hands up and down my body or run them through my hair as I stuck my tushie out as far as it would go.
(Normally I like to make my tush look as small as possible. I think it’s quite large enough. But the opposite was required here. And it’s quite liberating. Try it, you might like it.)
For a reserved, introverted Brit like me, this pole dancing malarkey was…unconventional.
I had planned to go several months back but I went ice skating.
And broke my arm.
My plans had to be changed again when the friend who’d offered to keep me company while I gyrated into the next century buggered her knee while skiing.
These are the kinds of things that happen when you’re middle-aged.
And in denial.
Eventually I went with my friend, Sabine, who bravely and good-humoredly decided to give it a go.
Critically, she’s also ten years younger than me so I thought she’d be able to hold the side up if I flailed.
We wore our tank tops, bared our legs and off we went.
We were welcomed by a tiny dancer named Jessica. The woman was totally taut and enviably athletic.
I’d seen more fat in a Lean Cuisine.
We were instructed to strap on a pair of stilettos and immediately my feet were contorted into a position not known for many a year.
The height of the heel caused me to wobble like jello rather than sway seductively as we were instructed in our sashay walk. They required a balancing act that quickly caused my thighs to tremble and shake.
It required some getting used to.
We curled and rolled and rotated and swiveled.
We performed cat moves. We flicked.
We stretched. We writhed.
Was just the warm-up.
When we moved onto the pole, my utter gracelessness was confirmed.
We learned four tricks, one of which I couldn’t manage at all.
I never could climb the ropes in elementary gym class.
Climbing a pole forty years later similarly defeated me.
Over the next hour and a half, I learned new terms like ‘Playboy bunny roll.’
And techniques like sinking seductively to the floor while encasing the pole in my thighs.
The most challenging was getting up from the floor in those three inch heels, knees opening and closing like a butterfly’s wings while flicking my hair – an image distinctly more delicate than my first, and probably last, attempts.
But slowly, very slowly, I started to get it.
The hips swaying from side to side as I walked, the knee-bent, butt out, back arched moves, the pole licking, the feline qualities.
When you do it right, this pole dancing thing is hot, hot, hot.
Hotter than the Indian curry I had for dinner later.
Very spicy, very sexy.
It requires a comfort with, and knowledge of, your body, some rhythm and a lot of physical strength.
A combination rarely demanded outside, well, the bedroom.
And while I can’t say I felt tremendously sexy as I endeavored to stop my quivering thighs from collapsing underneath me as I slid down the pole in a manner more burly firefighter than sultry siren.
I could see that with practice and focus, a whole new world could open up.
Once the world has been saved and humanity ensured, of course. 😉
Have you ever walked unsuspecting into a situation? How did you handle it? Did you grow from it or did it make you wither?
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