The Art of Keeping a Straight Face II

I attended my second “Art of Stripping” class yesterday and was disappointed to learn that the class doesn’t actually get any harder, sexier or funnier as you go along. With the exception of one minor move, we didn’t cover anything new this week. Of course, I realize I have some distance to travel before I’ve mastered the moves I’ve learned thus far, but I see no way I’ll make it to stripping artist status in the four remaining weeks of the class.

Last night, we worked on our belly roll (I thought I was taking the class to get rid of that but alas…), which involves a lot of kneeling followed by slithering around on the floor in uncomfortable positions. We worked on our wall slides, which, as I said last week, involve a lot of touching yourself while sliding up and down a wall trying to maintain a sexy look on your face. We worked on our sexy walk routine, which involves walking toward a mirror while crossing one leg over the other (sort of how you would walk if you really, really had to pee, only in this case, you are walking very slowly). Halfway across the room, you stop and strike a pose of which we have learned three: the Marilyn, the sideways Marilyn, and the one-legged plié. After posing and rubbing your hands along your thighs, you then continue up to the front of the class where you finally stop, move your hips from side to side in a straight legged-posture while you simultaneously walk your hands down your legs until you are holding your ankles. The grand finale is then a head snap to throw your sexy locks back from your face.

In theory, all of this is very sexy. In practice, it remains quite embarrassing. For one, it appears that when I concentrate, I have one of two facial expressions, neither of which is even remotely sexy. The first involves biting my lower lip until it almost disappears and the other involves compressing both lips together in a supremely prissy fashion. As I walk toward myself in the mirror and concentrate on the placement of my legs, I’ll think I’m dead sexy until my eyes travel up to my face where the cold shower of my intense concentration lies. It’s bad enough when I notice it, but if Juggsy sees it first, she’ll immediately mimic the expression on my face, which is guaranteed to set us both off. I suspect we are one laughing fit away from being asked to go stand outside the classroom until we’ve collected ourselves.

It’s interesting to watch how others deal with their embarrassment. Some women stop mid-move and appear to give up, ambling half-heartedly up to the front of the class deciding they’ll do better if they just start over completely. Others hoot and holler at each other throwing high-fives around as though they are the quarterbacks of burlesque. At this stage, Juggsy and I are in a quandary about whether or not we’ll actually keep going to the class. I think we’ve gotten the laughs we're going to get and since it isn’t a really great workout, I’m wondering what the point is. Of course, there is the fear that if I stop now, I’ll never unleash the true sex kitten within as I was promised by the instructor. Juggsy made a good point today saying that she felt way sexier lifting weights than she has thus far parading around the classroom like a lonely nymphomaniac. Perhaps, one’s true sex kitten can’t be unleashed by hair tossing, public masturbation or belly rolls but rather simply by getting comfortable in one’s own skin. I don’t know yet. I’ll give it another week and let you know.