The
other day I was talking to a friend about pole dancing because I took a class a
few years back. It was fun. I joined to get in shape and feel sensual. After
the experience…well, I’ll leave it to you to assume what happened to my
pole dancin’ calling.
For
about the first half of the pole dancing class, we stretched and then the
teacher put on music for us to walk around the room to get our sexay on. This
was the tough part. Getting in your zone…feeling the music…letting it move your
body. I laughed and looked at the others…then I’d get mad because they
got in the zone while I was laughing. So my right leg would take a lazy, drunk
step forward while I swung my hips to the right, and then my left leg would
stagger forward for a left hip swing. I let the lids of my eyes sink halfway down
so I couldn’t see anyone else and try to keep the zone going. I walked and walked, swinging from side to side, my body feeling the groove.
After
we brought sexy back, there were two cushioned stages with a pole in the middle of them.
We each took turns going up there. The first pole dancing step was to walk
around the pole with our right hand on the top of it, lean out with our legs
angled toward the pole, and swing around it. Good! I swung around the pole
feeling strong and sexy. I wanted to
shout, “Bring it on!” We did this a few times until everyone felt comfortable
with it.
Then
the instructor was about to show us the next step. My body was screaming ‘sexy’
inside and I couldn’t wait to feel the pole again. With the instructor’s
right arm at the top of the pole, her left hand underneath overlapping the
right, she lifted and bent her legs behind her, turning, drifting beautifully
down the pole until she so eloquently made it to the mat with her legs flared
behind. The strength…the beauty…the “I so can do that” feeling made me want to
be one of the first people in line. I hopped up on the mat, grabbed the pole,
walked around it a few times, getting in the mood, placed my hands as shown by the
instructor, lifted my legs—damp palms screeched down the pole and boom,
straight to the mat. I thought, “Seriously?! Get your fat butt up there and
spin. Prove you brought sexy back!” This time, I grabbed the pole with a vice
grip, lifted my legs up and nothing. I wasn’t spinning, nor did I fall straight
to the mat. I just hung on the bar, like a drunken starlet has-been. I couldn’t
nor wouldn’t do it again. Too many sets of eyes watched me as I threw away my sexiness.
So
now, the only pole dancing I’ll be doing is this one.
Pole
Dancing and Giving Sexy Back,
Bea