The Tempest

I have this thing I do when I dance.  I pull people in and I push them away.  I tell them to come get me with my body, invite them towards me and then I make it clear that I'm about to devour them.  When I get close to the lap dance chair, I stalk whoever is sitting in it. I torture.  I tease.  And I love it.

A few months ago I was giving my ex a dance at home.  I approached the chair from behind, where he couldn't see me, and I leaned down and pushed my head against his, hard.  He complained. "EASY!" he said.  But I don't know how to be easy.  Easy is not really in my lexicon.  Especially not when I dance.  "What a pussy" I thought to myself.  And I moved back towards the pole.

What's interesting is how frequently that push-pull plays out in my life, especially in my relationships.  I will draw you in and then I will test you to see how much you can take.  And I will get a very profound sense of satisfaction mixed with intense disappointment out of watching you fail.  I want and desperately need someone who can stand in my storms and just take it.  That is, perhaps, completely unreasonable.  But it's the truth.

When I dance this scenario plays out again and again and again with whoever is sitting in the lap dance chair.  I just recently started giving lap dances again.  For a couple of years, I would approach whoever was in the chair, but never get in it, never offer any contact aside from a hand brushing against a calf, or my head nudging their knees apart.  Sometimes I would offer my leash, a piece of fabric looped through the leather and metal O-ring collar I wear around my neck.  But I never gave myself over to anyone.

Then, for some reason, about two months ago, I climbed into the chair.  I got really close to the woman sitting in it, and I had a wordless conversation with her.  I told her all about my disappointment and heartache.  I told her all about how much I wanted to be desired and how open I was to being devoured and cherished.  I told her how difficult and sweet I was.  And I told her how much she would be rewarded for sitting through just one of my storms without walking away.  And then I crawled away, glancing longingly over my shoulder, begging her to come after me.  But of course, she didn't.

Vulnerability is exquisitely hard for me.  I am constantly opening and inviting you in and then threatening to hunt and eat you.  It's incredibly hot when this dynamic comes out in my dance. But while it sends men over the edge in dance-land, it drives them away in real life.  Which is tragic.  Because if they stayed put through just one of my feminine storms, they would find that underneath the tempest is a very scared, very sweet woman who wants nothing more than to melt into a strong man's arms.  And that is, perhaps,  completely unreasonable.  But it's the truth.