Expose

Some of you may know (and be horrified) that I was at a burlesque 101 class on Sunday. It almost didn't happen because there was a blizzard swirling outside my door and it seemed more economical and sensible to stay home and not risk dying on the roads to swing a boa around.
But this is me we're talking about, so, of course the thought of not going didn't even cross my mind. Not once.
The brave ladies of winter shed our boots, coats, purses, and civilian baggage, including socks, and sat in a circle in the middle of a room. The walls were heavily decorated with giant active oil paintings of healthy looking nude women. Perfect actually. Then, the class began.
First, there was showcasing (or voguing) where you allow your hands to hover over body parts that you want the audience to really focus on. It's hard to know what your best "part" is, I don't sit around thinking about it. Our instructors, Runaround Sue (tall, very healthy, vibrant woman with a nasty side) and Legs Malone (tall, very thin, leggy, PhD type with magnetic eyes and a shaved head) made sure we KNEW that all of our parts were somehow viable material.
Learning to strut was fun, although I think I may have yanked a hip out of its socket. Then came "glove work". Who knew that revealing a hand could be so slow and sexy. I can now remove a glove with the tip of a stiletto, not that that's going on my resume and time soon.
Through all of the feathers, the spandex, the sexy sashaying, the music, the chair work (yes, we worked with armless chair, f***ing impressive) the most difficult thing was making eye contact.
Ain't that the bitch of it. No matter the human interaction--eye contact is the toughest. I can swing around in sequined pasties all day long, strut my business with fringe hanging off of it, but eye contact. Almost impossible.
Remember when, as a child, eye contact was the easiest thing in the world. We weren't performing then.