Thursday, February 22, 2007

Champaign Wishes And Lap Dance Dreams

For five Mondays in a row, four girlfriends and I dutifully donned our skivvies and some ridiculous shoes and headed to a seductively lit studio for our pole dance class. We laughed, and fell down a lot, and pretty much made fools of ourselves, but in the end we looked damn good and the classes were a blast. Once we got passed the bruises and sore bodies, Monday evenings became a time for bonding over our girlie-ness, boosting our feminine confidence, and celebrating our general all around sassiness. Come to think of it, Mondays rocked! So when the class ended last week, it was no surprise that the five of us were sad to see it go. Desperate to keep the dream alive, we decided to give our tired bodies a much deserved Monday off while we watched the professionals have at it. Yep, we went to a strip club. On a Monday. For an awesome reconnaissance mission / girlie bonding adventure. Yay!

Let’s just say that Mondays are not the most happening night to go to a strip club… apparently others have not yet received the “Monday = Pole Dance Day” memo... but, on the upside, without much competition from other patrons, we got oodles of attention, which we couldn’t have been happier with!

We told dancer after dancer that we had just finished a pole dance class and that we were there to do some research. They were SO excited for us and most of them did a special pole trick in our honor and then came over and hung out with us for a while afterward. We chatted with them about how difficult the tricks can be, where to buy the best outfits and shoes, and what music was the most fun to dance to, then we begged to know how they kept their skin so smooth. Such girl talk!

Meanwhile, men from across the club sent round after round after lap dance after round over to our table. Champaign, top shelf liquor, any girl we wanted. It was all taken care of.

I’d never been fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of a lap dance, and I’ll admit that I was more than a bit frazzled about what the heck I was actually supposed to be doing with my hands/arms/legs/face while a half-naked 23 year old writhed all over me (Holy Cow was her skin soft!), but once Paige (stage name, Dillion) was finished doing her thing on my lap and I could breath again, I have to say that, looking back, it was a very pleasant experience. I certainly felt special. And when the next dancer (whose name escapes me, becuase my heart belongs to Paige) sat us all on a bench and then did the splits across all five of our laps – well that was just REALLY COOL. Plus, the several free drinks we enjoyed while it was all happening weren’t half bad either.

We ended up staying out way too late and drinking way too much Champaign (I’ve been paying for it all week), but Mondays now hold an extra special place in my heart. Next up, amateur night???

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