“Did you just call stripping . . . romantic?” Lila giggles after Maddi.
“Oh shut it, Doc. It really is. I’ll tell you the whole story later, but basically, some stuff went down and Mom got all weird and ran away. Dad found her at a strip club of all places, and when she went to, you know, strip, he jumped on the stage and carried her out of the place over his shoulder. See? It’s romantic.”
“Uh, Maddi . . . if you think that’s romantic, I would hate to see what happens when you have someone send you roses.” Lyn snickers.
“Roses are boring. And overrated,” Maddi snaps back.
God, I love my weird friends.
Twenty minutes later, I hate my weird friends.
We, of course, were the first to arrive. The room—a long, white rectangle—has ten poles going down a line and all facing the huge, daunting, floor-to-ceiling mirror. After the five of us filed in and were introduced to the instructors, Sarah and Felicia, they asked us to sit tight for a second while they waited for the other ladies who had signed up for the class. Who, of course, were late.
And now, here we are. After stretching every possible muscle in our bodies, the music still low, Sarah and Felicia got to work on some basic instructions. Instructions my short-as-hell ass was just struggling with.
“You want me to do what?” I ask Sarah again.
“Sweetheart, get it out of your head that you can’t do this. It isn’t about upper-body strength so much as it is about core strength. You’re using your arms to pull, but you are pushing off with your feet, all the while using your core to hold. Don’t focus so much on the mechanical stuff. Let your body do the work, and shortly, your mind will follow.”
“How is my body supposed to climb this thing again?” I ask, watching Lyn, Lila, and Stella slowly worm their way halfway up their poles. Maddi—the little slut—is already practically hanging from the ceiling. Of course she would be a natural.
“Watch,” Sarah says and grabs the pole with one hand. Then she reaches up and grabs the pole right above her other hand. She continues to alternate hands until she’s standing on her toes. Then she mimics the movements with her feet. And just like that, the monkey-slash-instructor is in the air. She elegantly lands back on her feet and, with a wave, says, “Now you try.”
It takes me a few times, but the next thing I know, I’m halfway up. “Woohoo!” I yell and stupidly remove my hands from the pole. My eyes widen about two seconds before I’m ass to the ground and once again cursing the pole.
“Next time, don’t get so ballsy,” Maddi laughs from the other side of the room, still twirling and swirling like she was made to be attached to a metal pole.
Okay, once I am out of my head, it really isn’t so bad. It only takes me a few more times before I feel confident to try something new.
“Well done, ladies! Now it’s time for the good stuff.”
Another ten minutes and I’m having more fun than I ever thought was possible. I’m covered in sweat, but the moves we’ve learned against the pole—and some off the pole—have my body humming with confidence. Okay, Lyn was right. Not that I’ll admit that to her.
I laugh when I see Lyn twist her body and almost fall off the heels on her feet. After about thirty minutes, we are told to shed the gym shoes for the heels we were asked to bring. Looking straight ahead to the mirror, I have to say that I look hot as hell.
My body looks tall with my five-inch heels, my legs long, tan, and toned. My gym shorts are looking more like sexy boy shorts at this point since they’ve all but ridden into my vagina. I’m normally not proud of my less-than-spectacular tits, but my small boobs are pushed up with my sports bra, and with the way I’m breathing, those barely-a-B cuppers are heaving like a busty pro. (Okay, so a B cup might be pushing it.) My cheeks are bright with all the exertion I’ve been putting out, my light-green eyes bright and shining with excitement, and my hair, which was in a long, perfectly stylized ponytail, is now looking more like a messy but sexy up do.
“All right, ladies. Class is almost over, so now it’s time for the fun part. Each of you, grab a chair off the far wall. I want you to use that chair and pretend that it’s whoever you need it to be. Work it like you mean it. Roll your hips, pop that ass, and make it mean something. Pole dancing isn’t just a dance of seduction. It’s an art form in how to get a man to crave you like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Like, if he can’t have his hands on you right that second, he is going to die. Make that chair crave you, ladies.”