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Ivy
Thetune“Fever”blared from the speakers as we pranced coquettishly around our designated poles. Sara kept giggling. It was her first class. She’d mentioned needing to join a fitness class, and I’d raved about how pole dancing worked up a sweat. Liam had joined up too. As the only boy in the class, he was getting off on the fuss the teacher made.
“I love this song.” He held his hand by the side of his mouth.
“Treat the pole as though it’s your lover, someone you want to tease. Show it you’re the boss,” Kitty, the teacher, instructed.
Sara kept pulling silly faces as we strutted about like sex kittens.
It was nice having them there to share a laugh, because unlike me, most of the other students intended to make a career out of pole dancing.
Kitty jumped onto the pole, dangled upside down, and opened her legs into a wide split. I assumed she was around sixty since she’d started stripping in the mid-seventies. Unless she’d stripped as an eight-year-old, she looked much younger than her age.
She then spun around the pole and landed in the splits. Her skyscraper heels were no hindrance to her balance.
“She’s amazing,” Liam whispered.
After she demonstrated each move slowly by showing us how to clutch the pole correctly, we all executed the maneuver, which I’d already learned and practiced. Sara and Liam crashed into an ungraceful heap onto the padded floor, and we laughed our heads off.
After sweating it out for an hour, we showered then headed for a drink.
Liam wiped his brow. “That was a really good workout. Thanks for suggesting it. I loved it. Although I’m not too flexible. Not like you, Ives. You’re the natural.”
Sara nodded. “I think you missed your calling.”
I smiled at her compliment. Was it a compliment? Is that what I should really be doing?
Apart from performing for my horny boyfriend, I also loved strutting the stage for amateur burlesque nights. Although I didn’t swing around on a pole, I enjoyed prancing about, switching from purring like a sex kitten to sashaying about like some empowered vixen.
Pumped with endorphins, we entered a trendy Soho bar—a favorite among artists, tech millionaires, and tourists. The sound of laughter, chatter, and clinking glasses hit us as we stepped through the doors, greeted by the smell of garlic, perfume, and smoky breaths. Resembling a hipster’s lounge room, the bar oozed familiarity and comfort with worn leather couches, books, hanging lampshades, and flamboyant art splashed all over the walls.
We propped ourselves on barstools and ordered drinks.
“That was a hoot,” Liam said. “I’ll have to install a pole to practice.”
Sara’s head jerked back. “That’s a bit extreme, having a pole in your living space.”
“Apparently, Chase has installed one in his bedroom,” he said.
Sara’s head whipped around to me. “You’re kidding?”
I laughed. “Nope. Soon as I told him I was doing classes, he had one installed.”
“That seems like a pretty permanent fixture,” she said.
My phone buzzed. “Speak of the devil,” I said, amused by the devil’s head lighting up on my phone.
“He strikes me as eager,” Liam said. “And I saw how he stayed glued to your hip at the party.”
A smile grew on my face as I read his message: Where are you?
I typed: Just having a drink with Sara and Liam. A bit sweaty after class.
That sounds exciting,he wrote.
Which part? Drinking or sweating?I asked.
Sweating. I like you hot and wet.
