LITMIR.BIZ

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Some will be inspired by heavy rock, while others may prefer slower, more soulful music. What you wear and how your day has gone will also affect how you dance.”

      “You said we were supposed to check our baggage at the door,” Trish says.

      “I did. And you should. But despite our best efforts, some of it will seep into the studio. I’ll show you how to use those feelings to enhance your pole dancing. For example, if you’re more emotional one day, express that in the way you move—slower, more controlled. If you’re frustrated, then you’ll probably prefer a stronger song that you can match beat for angry beat.”

      “How long does each dance last?” Pam asks.

      “The length of one song—about three minutes. Long enough, but not so long as to exhaust you. During that time, you’ll string together a collection of anywhere from five to ten moves.”

      “You mentioned that you have a list of rules,” Pam says. “Are there any more?”

      “Just one—the most important. Whatever you’ve got, flaunt it in a way that’s fun, sexy and empowering.”

      Several of the women smile at the concept, seeming to be excited. I like that. Their questions are good, demonstrating that they are eager to delve into the unknown. The new. The unlikely. The more I’m around them, the more I like this group of broken women. They’re full of potential. Lumps of clay, ready to be molded…. And by helping them find themselves, I’ll make myself stronger. That’s what I need—to heal them.

      Guess it’s time to get this party started. “Each of you needs to stand next to a pole.” The women fan out around the room, each connecting with the pole that calls to her. Standing on the stage next to my own shiny pole, I take them through a series of warm-up stretches, watching each out of the corner of my eye, to see if any have difficulty with flexibility or if any get winded. To my surprise, all are rather limber and well conditioned. Good. Like that. Nothing worse than a bunch of women pulling muscles right and left because they’re out of shape. We’re off to a good start.

      “We’ll begin with several basic moves. Nothing too complex, but when coupled with others, watch out! I want you to think of the pole as your own personal tall, gleaming, slender dance partner. Be as naughty as you dare with it. Fill your mind with seductive erotic thoughts and let them guide you as you familiarize yourself with the pole.” Another slinky rhythm-and-blues piece begins playing. Perfect get-to-know-your-pole-better music. Glad I decided to stick with these tracks for today’s class. “Whenever you approach the pole, don’t be shy about it. Take control. Be decisive in your moves. This first time, you might wanna mimic what I do.”

      Wrapping my left arm high on the pole, I extend my left leg, place my other hand on my raised right hip and thrust my chest out. Everything about this position cries out confidence. I see a look of apprehension on Molly’s and Carol’s faces. Can almost hear the thoughts pass through their minds. Ignoring them, I dance around my stationary partner, hugging it to me. Loving it. Stroking it. All the while, I maintain eye contact with the students as I gently sway my hips from side to side. Feeling the music, I arch my back, push my chest out farther and let my seductiveness flow free as I strut my way around the pole. “Okay, now each of you try.”

      Trish jumps at the opportunity without hesitating. Had a feeling she would. Head thrown back, eyes closed, she gets lost in the music as she spins and shakes to the beat. Her moves are advanced and improvised. Again, not unexpected. I sense she’s a showoff. A standalone. The longer I’m around her, the more I begin to understand why she’s here. She’s so engrossed with her routine that I doubt she would hear if any of us cried, “fire.” She’s a natural in her element.

      Carol begins, spasmodically seducing her pole, or possibly threatening to hurt it. Her moves are stiff and intense—not in a good way. “That’s very good, Carol,” I lie. “But you might want to tone it down just a tad. Don’t want to wear your pole out on the very first move.” A couple of the other women chuckle. Eager to please and get it right, Carol slows her moves as she learns to “lead” the pole where she wants it to go.

      Then there’s Alicia. Her cropped black hair sways as she flaunts her sexiness to the max. Well, damn! You go, girl! For someone who looks so used up, so expired, you sure resurrect when working a pole. There’s a glint of sheer unadulterated mischief in her eyes. I sense a little temptress in her. What’s her whole story?

      Molly hasn’t moved. Not one step. She’s looking at the pole as if it’s the enemy—rather complex, better left undiscovered. What am I gonna do with her? How am I supposed to make any progress, if she can’t even look at the pole without getting threatened? How am I gonna get her to touch it? I sense there’s another, more adventuresome Molly. Hiding below the surface. Or maybe further down. She’s there, yearning to be born. I know it. It’s okay, Molly, I’ll figure out how to help you.

      Pam is stationed on the pole to Molly’s right and is getting to know it with great enthusiasm. Noticing Molly’s frozen stance, she offers, “Try this,” as she circles her pole, shaking and shimmying her hips. Molly looks over and then approaches her own pole with determination. With a stiffness resembling that of the Tin Man left out in the rain, she robotically encircles her pole.

      God! That’s not seductive. It’s more like preparing for the kill. Damn, I’ve got a lot of work to do with her. But…at least she’s interacting with the pole. That’s an improvement. She walks around her pole once and looks at Pam, who gives her an encouraging smile. For the second time, I see something that, in the loosest of terms, might just be considered the beginnings of a smile. Cool!

      “That was great.” I say. “You all did a wonderful job. Now let’s up the ante a little.” The minute the words leave my mouth, I regret them, for Molly’s evolving almost-smile morphs into a fallen frown. Oh, well, maybe this move will be less of a challenge for her. Yeah, right, and the temperature is falling in Hell.

      “This one doesn’t require much movement,” I say. “But its visual impression packs a wallop.” Standing with the pole directly in front of me, I place both hands on it just above my head. I hold that pose for a few beats before dropping my left hand to my hip. Still holding onto the pole, I gyrate my hips, envisioning them as a slow-moving top, spinning on an erotic axis. Wow! My mind comes up with the strangest images. Didn’t have sexy tops like that when I was a kid. As expected, Trish’s already fully engaged in advanced hip gyration before I instruct the class to try. Damn! She’s got moves. Fluid and flawless. Wonder if she gyrates in her sleep like that? Or at any other time….

      Pam’s left her own pole and is standing behind Molly. With her hands on Molly’s hips, she walks her through the motions. Molly’s movements are stiff and unyielding. Instead of swinging her hips to and fro in one fluid motion, she progresses through a series of jerky convulsions. Might be better if she signed up for a tribal war dance class.

      I relieve Pam so she can return to her own pole. There, her enthusiastic energy shines through her moves. I give Molly a few pointers on how to loosen up. She incorporates several, and her movements become somewhat less of a train wreck in appearance.

      Carol, too, has managed to slow herself down a bit and is letting the beat of the music guide her nether regions from side to side, as is Alicia. At least the majority of my students are showing promise. The jury’s still out on Molly. Honestly, the woman has three left feet and a stick up her rear at least a mile long. Okay, that was mean—true, but mean.

      I leave Molly with her pole and return to my own. “Since that last move had you wiggling,” I say, “I’m going to introduce another that promises to shake things up.” The women watch as I position myself with my back a few inches from the pole. Reaching behind me, I grab it with both hands just above shoulder height. I bend my legs a little and thrust my chest in and out in rapid succession.

      Was that a small gasp I heard from Molly? Really, her reactions are becoming a bit of a bore. What’s her story? She signed up for this. And it was clearly advertised as an interactive pole-dancing class. Shaking off her prudish reaction, I taunt my audience a bit more. Making

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