I won a pole dancing competition. My prize was a pole of my own. I was in my twenties.
I am now forty and I am thinking of digging it out of the garage and giving it another whirl. I suggested it to my hubby to be, expecting him to be enthusiastic and in all honesty, I expected a stiffy to wave in my direction in response; not so much as a trouser twitch, which I admit, pissed me off!
Twelve years ago, I was in a nightclub which was playing host to a sex toy business launch. It was a pretty good night and lots of freebies were given out. The evening culminated with a pole dancing competition for the ladies attending. I was second to last in the competition queue and was watching in slightly drunken fascination, as women of all ages, shapes and sizes swung around and slid their crotches up and down the pole to Hot Chocolate’s You Sexy Thing. It was a good job that I had lots of Barcardi Breezers inside of me (I did say I was in my twenties) as the pole was looking well groped, a bit sticky and was definitely working a bit loose from the ceiling.
When my turn came up, I knew that I was in with a good shot, as my dance background finally became useful for two minutes. I flipped my hair and emulated the film Showgirls as best I could. I attempted a spin on the pole and nearly ripped my bloody arm out of its socket, so I tried to quickly disguise my ‘pain face’ with a smoulder…. which I’m told are near identical anyway. I won.
A week later and I was in the new local sex shop to collect my prize. I suspected it was the exact same pole from the nightclub but I figured a good antibacterial spray and some polish could wipe away the grubby looking palm (and other places) sweat which may still be smeared on it. As I waited for the manager to box it up for me, I wandered around the shop. This was definitely more of a blokes shop than an Ann Summers! A few DVDs drew my eyes and a few others made my eyes water in horror. I grabbed a Jenna Jameson classic and took it to the counter. £40!!!! I was aghast. That’s one very expensive wank! I paid up anyway, as my twentysomething self was far too shy to tell him to shove the DVD in the same direction as Jenna was demonstrating on the box. I sulked all the way home.
For the next four years, that pole stood in the centre of my back living room (yes, fancypants me had two living rooms in my pre-divorce house). It had about three armpit ripping sessions a year, but for the rest of the time, the kids used it to play Fireman Sam, Tarzan and various other games. It was impossible to feel sexy spinning around it when only a few hours before my kids would have demonstrated far more impressive acrobatics on it.
Nowadays of course, women & men use pole dancing as a great form of exercise and there is nothing grubby about it. They get amazing thigh muscles, rock hard abs and strong defined arms – and I want the same! My kids are teenagers and I suspect will be mortified at the resurrection of the pole, now that they’ll realise Mum didn’t really buy it to help her clean cobwebs from the chandelier. Sod the hubby who doesn’t want my arse blocking the view of the TV when I’m hanging from the ceiling, near tears from cracking another shin bone, black and blue thighs shuddering as I unpeel friction-burnt skin from my arms – I am digging it out of the shed anyway. Maybe I best get in a stock of Bacardi Breezers first.