My sister-in-law talked me into and signed me up for an introductory Striptease/Pole dancing class. She decided to take it awhile back, and she loved it so much she has continued on and convinced an untold number of women to give it a try, myself included.
I enjoyed it even though there were a few reasons I might not have.
First of all, the group I was in were all work out partners. I haven't really worked out regularly since high school. I know. It's a miracle I'm not 400 lbs. They were all in shape and used to following instructions.
Secondly, I'm jaded. This is a sad consequence of spending too much time on the internet. You hear all the good one-liners, inside jokes, and sexual innuendo, before anyone else does. And since I have the attention span of a child who is being punished without tv, I get bored quickly with redundancy.
It was a good class, though. I can see why women would really enjoy it and how it could be a huge confidence booster especially for women who have been in bad relationships or have mother issues. It is not the workout class for me, but it made me see the importance of regular exercise. The sexual empowerment, however is not something I need. I have my shtick worked out for the most part, and it tends to be more cerebral than overtly sexual, although I use my knockers as bait frequently. They make intelligent discussion more palatable somehow.
Anyway, the class itself was a riot. It was a lot of sexy Pilates/yoga for the most part. The instructor was a sweet, silly, maternal woman, hell-bent on seeing our hoo-hoos in the air as much as possible; and she mentioned our sexy asses frequently.
My position on the floor was not conducive to the spread eagle she wanted us to do at one point. I had to do a half spread eagle while my other leg rested against the wall. Finally I had to face the instructor with my spread eagle and since I had been sweating for about 20 minutes by that point, I wondered if I was going to make her rue the day she ever decided this kind of thing was a good career choice.
The worst part for me was a move where we had to stick our asses in the air and lie, boobs down, flat on the floor. Everyone else's faces were touching the floor and I was still a good few inches above it.
The best part was *Raquelle. She was a teacher in training who was so beautiful, you couldn't even remember to be jealous. You just kind of thanked God He'd seen fit to make such a amazing creature and that you were privileged enough to catch a glimpse.
She was quite tall with long, flowing dark hair, perfect skin, big, dark eyes, and the sweetest face.
Her body was amazing. She had gorgeous boobs. Not too big, not too small, high and perky - probably just over a handful. I'm pretty good at guessing, and I'd say they were real too.
Her waist was narrow and her stomach was completely flat without looking overly toned.
I'm no good at describing women's tushes, but hers was luscious.
She had legs that went on for miles and she wasn't even wearing heels.
At the end of the class, the instructor and Raquelle did a demonstration of their art. God bless the instructor, who was lovely even in her gigantic knee pads, but I wanted her to move her granny-pantied behind out of the way so I could watch Raquelle. She was so incredibly graceful. She did all the sexy moves we'd done during the class, but she actually made them look sexy. And when she swung her perfect ass around the pole and wrapped her legs around it, well... all I can say is that the gentlemen (and ladies of a certain persuasion) of Houston better get down on their knees and start praying she goes public.
Yesterday, was a whole other story. I. Was. Dying. My butt hurt. My abs hurt. My arm muscles hurt. The untouchable place between my shoulder blades hurt. A good hurt, no question, but I was moving a little slowly and walking a little funny. Today is more of same. Maybe I'll break out Carmen Electra and see if that dumb slut can help.