Ah, Now I Understand
When I was a kid, I took ballet at the local community college in order to fill out my semester and finish up my degree (took three classes, actually). It was a 'blow-off' course.
When I got there, I expected to do my class in sweats and a t-shirt. The instructor, however, had a list of items we were to purchase in order to 'do it right'.
One of the items was called a 'dance belt' and I had to ask what it was (it wasn't on the girls' list).
Basically, it's a 'thong jockstrap'.
I had jockstraps, and asked if that wouldn't be ok (didn't want to just throw money away).
It wasn't just the instructor who echoed back the answer. Every girl in the class at least giggled, if they weren't voicing the answer themselves. There were no other guys in the class.
It wasn't ok.
I showed up for the next class with grey tights and a 'dance belt' (got an 'A' in class, too).
It made little sense to me then (since us men had no idea what you girls were looking at). It does now.
My 'dance buddy' (for the most of the class) was a girl who worked at a strip club over on Northwest Highway. I never went to see her work (those memories wouldn't work too well with the 'dance belt'). I still remember her 'heft' (most perfectly balanced woman I've ever touched--like a Japanese sword), and her scent (sweet and salty).
TrackBack URL: http://blog.writch.com/mt/mt-tb.cgi/1655