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Elizabeth’s Sixth Floor Show, Day 54

April 3, 2010

Several of my good friends and readers have messaged or told me ways in which my writing has moved them to do something challenging or out of the ordinary.  In celebration of the ways in which we inspire each other, I decided to begin to feature contributions from friends who motivate me by their random acts of fearlessness.  My fantastic friend Elizabeth Meriwether offered to share one of her adventures, which I know you’ll enjoy immensely, as did I.  I will return for a rare weekend post to review tonight’s performance of Ambroise Thomas’s Hamlet at the Metropolitan Opera.  In the meantime, enjoy…

By ELIZABETH MERIWETHER

Rah-rah ah-ah-ah
Roma Roma-am
Ga-ga oh, la la
want your bad romance

i wasnt sure if i would really like it – figured it would be like most intros…new, a little enticing, but a little boring, maybe just enough to “give it a shot”….

that was my shot. and it was NOT boring

welcoming us into a dark, cold, red-lit room, she told us that there were no mirrors, next to no lights, and no judgements. she also told us that the cold air wouldnt be cold for long.

she led us over the floor, our sweaty breasts and hips dragging our faces and hair over the floor, our legs beating out erotic circles of air as our hips ground out patterns and our hands searched over our own bodies – “if you dont, who will?”

time passed and we circled and girated and slid down poles, as the ladies around us clapped and hooted and cat-called encouragement. the room was hot with our sweet, happy, if nervous sweat. sooner than i expected, it was wrapping up, just as i was vamping up. but we had one final surprise awating us yet…

“…a demo…?”

the way she moved…. strong bassy music filling the cracks in the room, she was slinky and strong, a body like any other suddenly became the most powerful thing i could think of, as she writhed around the pole, climbing higher, to its very apex, turning a static silver pole into a support, an accomplice to her sweet demands, the floor her creation, the chair her willing but impotent lover. i couldnt take my eyes off her…i knew without a doubt it was for me.

in a circle together, having just faced, found, and fondled ourselves, i was in a trace, saying “yes” to everything she said, missing her when she left to go to another room to charm and bedevil another crowd of unsuspecting females….

i signed up, right away, for my first, but definitely not last, set of pole-dancing classes. im taking them with a friend. we will bond through this, and we will find things out about ourselves together.

oh, and im buying a pole for my living room. so if youre ever in the neighborhood and want a hot show…just look up to the 6th floor window, where the low-red light gleams past a dark sillouette, grinding her hips, flipping her growing hair and lifting her ever-finer ass in the air in ecstacy, sliding up and down a pole like the lover we should all embrace one day…strong, willing, and completely supportive.

its not for them…its for us. its for ME.

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