Queen of Pole

This is a rather long preamble, but I feel the need to explain how I ended up at a pole dancing class last Friday. Alright….now you’re reading!

My friend Ian from work was bartending at the Black Fin on the east side Friday night. The Black Fin not only had a crazy happy hour, but if you handed $25 to the lovely lady at the door, she would give you a wrist band that would allow you to drink as much as you could until 10:00. Some people from work were planning on taking the challenge, and I was going to join them. My plan however, was that before the evening out, I was going to take a dance class in SOHO. I knew this woman Denise would be there (as she was every Friday night) and I wanted to “accidently” run into her and invite her to the Black Fin. This is certainly not as gay as it sounds (and this is a subject for future blogging – how can you make female friends without feeling like you’re coming onto them? I haven’t figured it out. Ask them for their number? Say you enjoy “hanging out with them”? Gay gay gay….)
I met Denise at an Equinox audition a few weeks back and we quickly hit it off. She was hilarious, full of energy, and we exchanged e-mails. We wrote back in forth and ran into each other at the gym a few times since, and I knew we could be friends in a more social – less “let’s –get-our-sweat-on“ environment. Friday night was my in. Alas, it was not meant to be.

Rubin, my dog walker, called me Friday morning and said he would not be able to walk Taetu. He had a last minute graduation (what graduation is last minute? I have no idea), and wouldn’t be able to come.

No fear. I was used to swinging home to take the dog out before going out myself. I did have to change the location of my dance class, however, so I looked up the schedule of my neighborhood gym and found a pole dancing class at 7:00. An hour there, and I could still head downtown to meet up with everyone and get my drink on…plus I would be armed with stories from pole dancing! I was in.

So this is how I ended up at my very first pole dancing class. Here’s what I thought. I thought it would be like the time I took “strip tease” in Seattle. It would be a sexy hip hop class where people thought they were being “edgy”, but really were just getting their heart rate up. Oh my God how wrong I was.

I showed up in my black pants and tank top thinking I looked pretty good. My hair was down, my pants were hip huggers…I felt sexy…I felt sexy that is until I stepped in the classroom and saw 19 other women in their underwear. “She’s exaggerating,” you’re probably thinking. “They were merely scantily clad.” Nooo…..they were in their underwear. Bra and panties. The variations ran from modest (boy short panties and sports bra) to not-so-modest (push-up bra and thong). The lights were dim and I wear glasses so at first I thought I was seeing things, but no…this was a Victoria’s Secret catalogue come to life.

I took the lead from others in the class and grabbed a mat. I started to stretch already dreading what was to come. The instructor entered. He (not a type-o…the only man in the room) wore a Crunch tank-top and tight shorts that left little to the imagination. “Okay,” he said to the class, “we’re going to warm up for about 20 minutes and then we’ll get started. Just follow me.”

He didn’t have a mic and didn’t really cue. Instead he would gyrate and grind on the floor and we would attempt to follow. I tried not to look to my right or left and concentrate on following the instructor. I soon realized this was kind of loose class. You didn’t have to do exactly what he was doing, and instead could “improvise” as you saw fit. I was not having it. There would be no improvising from this one. This was a gym for God’s Sake!

After the 20 minutes, he told everyone to stand by a pole. The problem was, there were 9 poles and 21 women. We were going to have to share. I was mortified. It was bad enough to be the “slow learner” in the corner by myself, but to have two other more experienced dancers wait for me to finish before they could take their turn. This all made it much, much worse. After our fearless leader instructed us to head to a pole, several of the women broke out their shoes. Oh yes…it was not bad enough they had floss up their rear, they now had on 7” platform shoes. This was getting ridiculous…(and why wasn’t every heterosexual man in Manhattan at this gym? I still haven’t figured that one out).

Our instructor stood in front of the room and demonstrated the first routine. There were 4-5 moves in quick succession. He showed us once, asked if we all got it, and I was the only one who didn’t enthusiastically nod my head. This was going to be trouble.

The first woman in our group went and she totally got it. She spun around the pole, circling her pelvis and whipping her long, blonde hair, and somehow ended up on the floor on all fours. She practiced a couple times and turned to me, smiling sweetly, “do you want to give it a try?” I think at that point I actually gulped. There was nothing I wanted to do less than give it a try, but I placed my hand on the pole and started to spin around.

I did not hide the fact that this was my first pole dancing class, so the instructor came by frequently. After the first routine, we were onto more advanced moves – climbing the pole to the ceiling. Okay – at this point I will give both of my readers a little “word to the wise.” You cannot climb a stripper pole in pants. It can’t be done. Obviously, this was my first pole class. Everyone in the room knew that when I showed up in my hip-huggers. When we started climbing…I had to remove my pants. I didn’t feel as self-conscious as you would think. I actually felt more out of place fully dressed…like wearing a turtleneck in a sauna.

So now I was in a tank top and my (thankfully clean, black, and modestly sexy) panties and ready to climb the pole. While the object was to “fan kick” our way up to the top, I simply grabbed the pole with both hands and muscled my way up. It was not the sexiest move, but everyone in my group was impressed. “You have great muscles,” one of the women said, “what do you do to workout?”

“Obviously, not pole dancing,” was my reply.

The instructor was, simply put, amazing. Every time he demonstrated our next routine, I would watch him with my jaw dropped. He had the grace, pose, and pure strength that made the most gravity-defying moves look effortless. The women in the class followed suit. Dressed in their prettiest panties and highest of heels, they swung, leapt, and twirled around the pole with grace. After an hour, I was ready to high tale it to the closest stiff cocktail.

The class lasted 90 minutes…..nine….zero….and the grand finale was a chance for us to “improve” on the pole for three minutes. Yay! What a treat! I was trying to figure out how to get out of there, and watching the Black Fin slip through my fingers, when I tried my hardest to dance “sexy” around the pole to an old Bon Jovi song. Really? Bon Jovi? Between my awkwardness and the smooth sounds of aging New Jersey rock stars, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

After our final stretch and mingling around to say goodbye to my gracious (and patient) partners, I was out of the gym at close to 9:00. There was no way I could change, grab the 2, and get down to the Black Fin in time to meet my co-workers. I ended up calling it a night and having a glass of wine with Taetu. To be honest, embarrassing myself on a pole for an hour and half with 20 nearly naked women was enough excitement for one evening. I was ready to hang low…and vowed never to return.