An Off Day + Boredom = a Lesbian

I’m nervous. As hell. I dunno why. It’s not like this is for real. But I always thought it was so damn CHEESY, you know? Just… ugh. But I saw the flyer and decided to show up. Besides, it’s free and that fits nicely in my budget.

A couple more women file into the room, looking around, seemingly as uncomfortable as me. I catch the eye of a tiny Latina girl with thick black hair. She gives me a quick smile and quickly averts her eyes. We all sit in silence, feigning intense interest in the contents of our expensive purses (Coach, Louis, Chanel, Coach, a Birkin over in the corner) (note to self: self, find out if Birkin has a son) and looking at the ground. The Latina girl has found her way to sitting next to me. She leans over to me.
“I dunno about you, but mi madre would be so proud if she knew I was here right now. I’m sure this is what she intended me to end up doing when she sent me to an ivy league school.”

I burst out laughing and the other 3 women in the room look at us strangely. We seek refuge in our bags, mine Coach, hers Louis, still trying to swallow giggles. Birkin shoots us a dirty look and reapplies Dior lipgloss. (note to self: self, make sure son does not have stick up ass like mom) After another minute, the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my life walks in, no less than 6 feet tall, all tight and toned, the smoothest dark skin I’ve ever seen, hair down to her ass. And dammit if she doesn’t have the nerve to have “on” these tiny shorts that don’t start until about mile 2 of her legs. Bitch.
Me: Oh are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?
Latina Girl: I know right?!?!?

“Hey ladies,” says the genetically perfect Dominican/Irish/Hawaiian (we later learn) hybrid standing in front of us mere earthlings seated around the room. “Welcome to basic Stripaerobics. I’m (something that sounds like Nay-hel-lah) and I’m gonna be teaching you some basic moves to help work out your bodies, and your man in the bedroom.” The two of us dissolve into study-hall-passing-notes giggles again. Birkin cuts her eyes at us. For someone about to twirl her 40 something year old nipped and tucked ass around a pole with some twenty-somethings, she sure is bitchy. (note to self: self, seriously… about that stick…)
“By the way, I’m Mariella. Everybody calls me Mari.” (Mar-ee-el-lah, ella, ella, eh eh) (ok I added the last part.)
“La.” We shake on it, co-conspirators in silliness.

I strap up my 3 inch heels around my ankles and push myself off my ass. Mari and I take our position behind poles next to each other in the center of the mirrored room. Crazy Name Instructor takes us through a series of warm up stretches. I’m pretty sure, in my hours upon hours of formal dance training, I never ONCE had to grande plie in stilettos. I’m sure my teachers would all be ECSTATIC that this is what their devotion to my training has been reduced to.

After teaching us a few basic movies (the Catch, the Twirl Down, the Spiral, the Lift, and, the deadliest of them all, the Scissor) she starts to teach us a bit of “choreography”. Mari and I spend most of the time whispering bitchy comments to each other and trying to ignore the fact that the instructor and other students are growing mildly annoyed with our giggling.

I pick up the “choreography” fairly quickly (even when I wasn’t technically sound, I learned faster and better than everyone else in all my technique classes so I shined when it came time to perform) and Crazy Name Instructor notices.
“Do you have dance training? You pick up very quickly.”
“Oh yes,” straight face, “2 years of intensive training and technique at Body Tap.”

Crazy Name Instructor looks at me strangely. Mari chokes on a laugh behind me. I duck my head in hopes of stifling my laughter. We get back to the choreography. It’s fairly simple logically speaking, but it’s pretty physically demanding. But not too awful. I’m not giving it 100%.

And then Crazy Name Instructor hits the music.

Damn that was so good
I wanna buy him a short set




Ohmydamn.


Seriously, I love this silly ass song. And dammit if Beyonce doesn’t DO THE DAMN THING in this video. Suddenly, I am inspired.

So inspired in fact, that Crazy Name Instructor makes me do it solo in front of the class.

Aiight.

I’m pretty sure I missed my calling with this whole stripping thing. The signs were there… growing up in the strip club capital of the world, all the dance lessons, the lower inhibitions than most human beings, the love of costumes… LMAO!

After class, Mari and I start talking. You know how it goes, trading school, work, superficial life info.
“Your boyfriend is gonna love it if you come home and put on that show that you just did for him,” Mari says to me.
“Ahh yes, but it is all wasted as I have recently been released back out into the wild to cause a little havoc.” She laughs at me. “But I’m sure your man is gonna LOVE you if you tell him where you spent your morning.
“Well… my boyfriend won’t. But my girlfriend will.”
“Or, you know, that works too.” More laughter “Nice way to slip than in there by the way.”
“I try to get it out of the way with women. If you don’t wear it like a sign on your head and tell them later they assume it was all part of a carefully crafted plot to seduce them.”
“I thought that’s what you were doing anyway. Damn, I was looking forward to being the equal opportunity turner-downer of both sexes.” (Besides, we all know starting an intelligently and witty written blog is the way to get the girls to love you- yes, Wise?)

We talk while we walk out to our cars, cracking up at the fact that we have identical trucks. She shows me a picture of her girlfriend when she calls to see if they’re still on for lunch.
“Oh God, you two must KILL niggas when you go out places. They must just, LITERALLY stop breathing.”
“They’re the worst. If I had a dollar for every guy that asked if he could join in-“
“You’d have $387,645,962,417.” (It should be noted here that her girlfriend is gorgeous as well, chocolate colored, nice body, large mane of natural hair, generous lips. I feel for every man in Texas they’ve ever encountered.)

We exchange info and promise to keep in touch, this time fully clothed and not pole twirling, though I’m sure this is what tipped her off as to what an awesome personality I have.
“Hey, do you have lunch plans? I’m meeting her at Lupe’s.”
“Oh I love that place. I always get their-“
“Fajitas? Yeah us too. So we’ll get enough for three. Get in.”

And that’s how La made her first lesbian friend.

(that she knew about.)

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