Jock on a pole

…or what I learned one night from pole dancing class

It’s 2003. Atlanta. And I have just entered my first all-black, all-lesbian strip club. I am in heaven. And the dork in me is walking around with my mouth hung open like I’m at Disney land. I’m carefully guided to a seat, and we ready ourselves for the show. The first woman, let’s call her Peaches, takes the stage. The only thing I remember her doing is working the shit out of that pole. Feminist politics aside (politics that I don’t actually possess, mind you), I was a lesbian woman in an all black, all-lesbian club in Atlanta, Georgia, surrounded by hot, hot, HOT women with very little clothing on. My thought process: “Damn, I wish I could swing around a pole like that.” “I wonder how she does that…” “Could I do that?” “How does she hold on without thigh burn?!” This very evening, almost ten years later, I have discovered, good folks of CNG, that Peaches ain’t got shit on me. I, too, can work a pole. Elle on a pole

During this epic night a decade in the making, I noticed that I was having some pretty great realizations. I’d like to share them with you:

Realization #1: All sorts of women want to spin around poles

We could probably even talk the first lady into taking a twirl. Though, I don’t know. With those two, it wouldn’t surprise me if they’ve already got one installed in the basement. I could see Obama on a pole. Anyway, corporate lawyers, engineering doctoral students, writers and full-time students – all in one tiny room giggling with glee at the excitement of spinning around a shiny, copper pole.

Realization #2: Strength comes in all shapes and sizes

On top of realization #1 is the realization that pole dancing isn’t just for young, skinny chicks. There was an older woman in tonight’s class who had to have been carrying at least sixty extra pounds and could hoist her legs up in the air much better than even the young 20-something who was in basic training. You might not have guessed it by looking at the older woman, but she was strong. And she carried herself like she knew it, which was a beautiful sight to see.

Realization #3: Fluff only gets you so far

Now, my thinking was thighs = automatic grippage. I figured that with these turbo thighs, I’d be clamped onto the pole and spinning around in no time. Apparently, thigh fluff, as it was told to me, only gets you so far. Some moves require that you just get numb to the pain. Like ballerinas on point. Without the inner thigh road rash. Ouch.

Realization #4: Booty shorts are a necessity

You can’t go to pole dance class thinking that you can hide – anything. You’ve got a wall of mirrors in front. Another wall in back. You’re wearing little bitty shorts with everything your mama gave you hanging out the bottom of them. And god forbid you have to take off your socks and forgot to cut that jagged toenail from the previous nights toe stubbing! Exposed, like ass out, exposed. But without that exposure, you can’t even get your poorly manicured feet off the ground. Thankfully, the chick with the jagged toenail didn’t cut anybody (I would’ve been so embarrassed).

Realization #5: Penis confetti makes everything all better

Some pole dancing studios do bachelorette parties. Sometimes the wild women of said parties throw penis confetti. So when you’re trying to get a really tough move, and you catch a glimpse of yourself, and you look like a jock on a pole, all you have to do is glance down at the penis confetti sprinkled across the floor and remember that it’s actually not that serious. And you can also remember that Peaches ended up having a fucked up attitude.

But she could really work a pole…

 

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