burlesque

I’ve recently been back in the sexy-dance studio, this time with vintage burlesque–not to be confused with contemporary burlesque in which ladies took off a bit more clothes but still hardly anything. Something like that … or perhaps not even close. Whatever. This class wasn’t as fun as swinging around on a pole like a dirty, uncoordinated slut but it had its moments. The most interesting exercises were those in which we were instructed to imagine something was shoved up our vagina. Specifically, a pen and a teacup but not at the same time. A very small teacup mind you–we are ladies, after all.I failed pretty quickly at both exercises, I think, because I forgot the teacup was in there when I tried to put the pen in, and when the pen was in it got ink in my tea. Plus, I couldn’t help think that if a gentleman saw a teacup in my vagina he would be more preoccupied with what it was doing there and less concerned with what my hips and generously-covered chest were doing. My pregnant friend did much better, probably because she has to wonder whether intense gyrating would–in fact–cause the baby to fall out, and the exercise was therefore more real for her.Even if I had pulled off the moves it wouldn’t have looked right because it is a law of nature that a woman in sweats and gym socks (i.e., a man) cannot be sexy. I didn’t write that law but I am all too familiar with how it works. Unlike, apparently, most of the women who frequent these classes who choose feminine over function and bring out their best underwear for the event. Unless the instructor is a gynecologist, I wouldn’t have dared. I get it, you love your body, but can you love it from the comfort of your own home or with a pair or shorts on, at least? I think it’s back to the pole dancing for me, where the only thing we’re supposed to imagine around our vaginas is money.

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