Okay, she didn’t wear pasties, but she did wear those frilly undies that are burlesque-esque; the kind that look so cute, but then on make your ass really big, cause they’ve got all those frills.

Last night I went to a pole dancing class. Let me restate that, last night I had to go to a pole dancing class. A good friend of mine is getting married, and his bride-to-be does pole dancing classes once a week and thought it would be (sadistic) fun to make us pole dance. I don’t know how many of you actually know me, but I’m a group five dancer, and what I mean by that is… I kinda suck. In drama school I was always in the back of the room, with the boys, spinning into walls, so you invite me to a dance based class, and already I don’t like you much.

The first hour was warm up, stretching and a lot of touching ourselves to feel our bodies. There are no mirrors, which was a small blessing. It was like erotic ballet class. My friend Dana put it well, telling her husband that it was like Yoga with touching yourself, everything we hate. She’s almost as uncoordinated and graceless as I am, so…

And then the pole. I have to admit, it was kind of fun. Very little kid spinning around bars and such, and then you just throw on a character of, “you all want to fuck me as I walk around this pole.” I forgot to mention, the bride made us all tank tops with our “porn names” on them – your first pet’s name and the street you grew up on – mine’s Lucy 69. Could I be more Borscht Belt hooker??

Finally the bride danced for us. I’m uncomfortable now, the next morning, sitting in my living room. I never, ever needed to see that much of the bride’s ass, crotch, thighs. Ig. And of course being confronted with her sexuality makes me think about her with my friend and makes me consider his sexuality, and that’s another thing I never wanted to do.

And then we went for Mexican food.

Today, I am a little sore and have bruises from the pole.