Confessions of a virgin burlesque-er part 4: The finale and the reveal!

I feel like I should be writing this entry like a diary.

Dear Diary, Today I lost my burlesque virginity and I feel amazing and exhausted all at the same time. (Isn't that how everyone feels after their first time?... haha, right.)

My oh my, what a night. This last week has been a bit of a whirl wind in itself, as leading up to the event my mood swings went from confident to crawling under a coffee table and never coming out, very rapidly.

The day before the event, I was busy putting together raffle prizes and at the end of the night I started to feel crazy jitters, giant expanding Pterodactyl wing nerves, in my stomach, and I wasn't so sure I could do it. I was freaking out that I was under-rehearsed, because in my crazy brain, even if people didn't like my body, they would love my routine as long as it was well put-together, and well executed. So I thought I needed more rehearsal... despite the large amount I had already rehearsed...and I didn't have time for anymore... And therefore I lost my shit.

What was happening? My highly over-loaded brain couldn't compute that even though I have come a LONG way with being able to feel sexy, and love myself and my body, I was going to allow other people into my vulnerable place, and leave room for judgement. That is a whole other beast into itself! And one over which I had absolutely no control. Luckily I was in the presence of a calm, wonderful company member who graciously offered to watch my routine, as it would help a lot to do it in front of someone. She was right. It helped a lot. But there was still a lingering fear...

So, the big day arrived. I woke up before my alarm, super excited, shaved everything that needed to be shaved, made sure I had everything on my list to bring, curled my hair, and headed out to my cab with my load full of stuff. The first thing I see when I'm out the door, is my adorable old caretaker watering the garden.

"Oh, what lovely packages you've got there." It was at this moment that I realized I was carrying 2 large gift baskets full of dildos, lube, and naughty videos. Before my mortification could set in, and before he could get a better look, I ran into the cab and wished him a good day safely hidden in the back seat.

There were plenty of things to be done during the day, and therefore I had a lot to busy my mind with. It was about 2 hours before the doors opened that I suddenly started worrying about my pasties. I had this day-mere of getting down to my bra in front of the crowd, and exposing my breasts to see that I forgot to put them on, or they fell right off.

I should mention here that a few days before this, I had decided to practice my routine with the pasties glued on. I used spirit gum, as a couple of burlesque pros had recommended it. For those of you who don't know, spirit gum is used generally with actors for facial hair, fake lesions, etc. So, I had some around from my old U of W days. Anyway, I was told to apply it, and wait until it was sticky, then put them on. The problem was, I didn't know how much to use. I figured the more, the better, so I coated both pasties in a layer of the stuff, and off we went. After rehearsal, I took my bra off to discover there was glue ALL OVER. It was covering my bra, and basically my entire breasts. I started freaking out, trying to wash it off with soap, to no avail. I remembered that I had a bottle of spirit gum remover in my stage make-up, so I was throwing things out from under my bed trying to find it. (comically, I had put on a robe in case my roommate came home, so it continued to get stuck, and I was intermittently ripping it off of my poor glue-coated chest. At last I found the bottle to find... it was empty. Crap. I know we used something else to remove it in school, but I couldn't remember, so I googled it. Rubbing alcohol. Did I have any? After another drastic search, SUCCESS! I went on to spend the next 45 minutes watching "Orange is the new black" and de-gluing myself, but at least it was working.

So, you can imagine why I would be nervous. Luckily after a brief consultation with a seasoned professional, I decided to put them on right away, and get it over with, with the ability to check before the number, that all was well. It is the oddest sensation to sit topless in a public bathroom stall. I felt strangely giddy as I sat there half-naked, applying my glue in calculated amounts.

Through a mediocre amount of chaos, we managed to get everything set, ourselves dressed, and the show began! The only difficulty came when we realized we would have to clear the bar off completely to make sure it was safe for us to get up there. I volunteered to go out and check, and was surprised to find there were about 12 people sitting right at it. Shit. I went up to the first couple and tried desperately to communicate quickly that we would need them to move because we needed the bar for the first number. They were appalled. The lady turned to me and said "well, where do you expect us to sit, then?" This was not the answer I was expecting. For a few seconds my brain could not comprehend that these people were being so ridiculous.  I had no reply except "I don't really know, but I assure you that you can have your seat back when the number is done." I saw them begrudgingly get up mumbling "Leave your coat on the bar to save it." I couldn't believe it. I picked up the coat, at this point having lost all patience, and handed it to them saying "We will need the bar clear, sorry." The look on their faces told me that our neediness in performance was really getting on their nerves. Luckily all other people were very compliant, and the clown number went off without  hitch.

Intermission hit, and my number was first up in the next act. This is when my fears began to creep in once again. I checked on my girls, pasties were still in place and holding strong, and then started to put my costume on, when I suddenly realized that I did not have my gloves, as I had thrown them on the bartenders' head in the first number. Again, Shit. I ran over to our kitten, but she did not have them, I ran to the bar but they did not have them, I ran over to the door as I had misheard someone say they might have them, and then made my way backstage, this time, in full freak out mode. Luckily they were lying at the bottom of a pile of clothes retrieved backstage. And I was back in business. Outfit on. A little rehearsal with my lovely opening partner, and I was ready. Before I knew what was happening, I was introduced, and the music started, and we were out. Thank god I had another person in my introduction, as it gave me a very friendly and safe way in.

I got to the beginning of the actual number, and I could already feel the encouragement. The audience was with me. As I got up to take off my first glove, I started to feel relaxed in my routine. I was starting to enjoy it. I stopped worrying... that is until I caught a familiar eye in the audience and then began the moves to throw my stocking before I had actually taken it off... whoops. Deep breath, went back into my zone, and we were back at it.

I cannot fully describe the exhilaration of having a room full of people cheer you on as you flirt and tease and take off a couple of items, and watch the excitement grow as more and more interesting things come off. It was amazing.

Now, I was at the point that I was regretting the most...I was about to show off, pretty much, my entire butt to a crowd full of people. It wasn't until rehearsal the day before that I had found out I was the only one who would be wearing a thong in the show. I started to really regret it, but my costume was all put together, and it was too late for changes now! It was around then that I remembered how I had planned on putting make-up all over my butt, to feel a bit better about it. I had some bruises, and faded stretch marks, and I thought it would give me more confidence, but, alas, I had forgotten that little detail in the craziness of looking for gloves. It was too late now. I was holding my skirt, teasing for a little bit more than I had planned in rehearsal. I took a deep breath, and let it drop to the floor, as the audience got more excited, I turned around, gave a little shake, and they cheered like crazy! They loved my bare butt!

The rest of the routine is a bit of a blur, as I found myself getting ahead of the music a few times, so I was playing with the audience much more than I had planned, and I have no idea what I did. All I can say, is in the last moments, when I dropped the bra, turned around, and did a little shimmy, I have never felt more like a rock star in my life. I felt good. I felt sexy, whether I looked it or not, is not even relevant. I felt it. And I liked it.

I hadn't even planned an exit from the stage, so I stood in shock for a second, boobies forward, and then excitedly, and speedily made my way into the back changing curtain.

Holy shit. I did it. I was still ablaze with a rush of excitement. My fingers were shaking as I tried to put some clothes on. I did it. I did it. I DID IT!

Through the rest of the night, I had a lot of lovely people show their support, and compliment me on various parts of my anatomy. It was a strange thing to walk into a room and know that everyone there has seen my money maker and my ta tas. You'd think that would be enough to keep me from getting into my head, but I could feel little thoughts creep in that "everyone was really grossed out by my ass, they were just being nice, they thought I was fat..." I heard them, but you know what? I wouldn't let them stay. I made the decision to enjoy my night. And I did.

The truth is, I don't think I could have done this a couple of years ago, or maybe even a year ago. This was one of my biggest but also most enticing fears I had, and I proved to myself that I have really grown as a person to get out there and do it. And sober at that! That is truly astonishing.

There were several moments near the end of the night when I looked around that room, overwhelmed with emotion. Overwhelmed that there were so many supportive friends and Theatre comrades out there, overwhelmed by the caliber of performers who agreed to use their talents to help us with the night, the supportive colleagues and friends who helped us run the show, and the fact that we, inamorata,  actually made this happen. We did it. And I did it.

Not only that, here's to another baby step forward into changing the views on female body image and sexuality. I am very proud. 

I encourage y'all to try doing something that scares the poop out of you. It is quite an empowering experience.

Love and kindness all. 

Confessions of a virgin Burlesque-er part 3: The art of sexy, warts and all

Warning: This blog would probably be viewed as containing TMI (too much information) so please turn back now if that offends you. For the good of this "experiment" I feel it is only fair to include all the details. You have been warned!

Okay, we are ONE WEEK away and the reality has officially set in: It is crunch time!

The last couple of weeks have been a whole mix of putting a costume together, finding the right songs, learning (very slowly) how to edit these songs together, and of course, setting the routine!

In the middle of that, I have discovered even MORE wonderful fears! Yay! Also, the difficulty involved in the art of being sexy. Let me explain this with a story. One of my lovely company members and I decided it would be a good idea to attend another burlesque class with a new instructor to switch things up, so we went to a drop in class. It turned out, we were the only two who  showed up on this muggy, sunny Monday afternoon, so we had a private class. We were excited.

The instructor was sarcastic, voluptuous, strong and saucy, and I was instantly terrified of her. We decided to learn some more glove moves (you can never have too many glove moves it seems) and she overwhelmed us with massive amounts of tips, techniques and information, woven with stories of her success and sex appeal as a professional burlesque dancer. As I watched her demonstrate with absolute ease, like she could actually do it in her sleep, I was mesmerized by her opposing hand and leg. What really struck me was that she seemed to know intuitively what to do with her limbs to ALWAYS look sexy. It was an art. A gift. A gift that I unfortunately do not naturally possess.

At the end of the class, she turned on some random music and told us to demonstrate what we had learned with gloves. Right at that moment, the next class came in, an advanced class of burlesque dancers who were now our impromptu audience, and suddenly I couldn't remember any of the moves she had showed us. I glanced at my partner in crime, and with a little grin of encouragement, I bit the bullet and displayed, teased, removed, flourished, and discarded those gloves, with a teeny bit of sex appeal.

When we left the class the question that kept coming back to me was "how did she look so sexy no matter what she did?" I mean, she could just put her foot and hip in the right spot and BAM, sexy, where as I would try the same move, look in the mirror and BAM awkward. It really was an art form, and one that I cannot hope to learn in the remaining days before the show, so all I can do is try to emulate the art of being sexy. Respect.

In other news, I had a sudden realization last week that I was not exactly properly groomed in certain areas for the skimpy things I would be wearing in public, and if I left it to the last minute I would inevitably have a skin reaction and be even more embarrassed, and we don't need that. I don't want to repeat myself, as I have blogged about this before, but I have an issue with full hair removal, down there. I frankly feel prepubescent without any hair. I am a strong believer that real women have hair, but in these particular circumstance, I needed more of it off than normal.

Sadly, my usual lady was all booked up, so I looked for other alternatives and ended up at the ten spot. Hey, they are known for their waxing. So, I stroll in for my appointment, and was led down 2 flights of stairs into the dungeon of waxing, fit with cement hallways and all, and into the very usual-looking little room, and the very nice lady told me I could turn on netflix to whatever I liked. What?? Alright this age we live in is pretty darn cool. I chose to watch Sherlock Holmes while the nice lady ripped hair off of some sensitive areas.

What an interesting thing it is to realize, as I am spread eagle on the table, that this strange woman whom I just met five minutes ago, has a very close look at my intimate parts. Talk about vulnerability. Well, I thought, if I can do this, I guess I can strip too!

Anyway, it turned out to not be too painful at all, thank goodness, and after a couple of days of CRAZED itching, I'm doing just fine.

Now, it is all about practice, practice, practice. I made a deal with myself that I had to finally set the moves, and then be done with it, which has worked out pretty well. Confidence has been pretty good until the moment yesterday when I realized just how many stretch marks I could find on my jiggly thighs and butt. In the middle of my rehearsal I found myself becoming obsessed with it, starring, and feeling violently ill. I sat down defeated and decided that I could not do this after all. No one wants to see that. After a ten minute pity party, I forced myself to look in the mirror again, and remind myself that no one is expecting perfection. Imperfection is beautiful. Imagine how many people would feel shitty about themselves if they saw that my body was absolutely perfect, right? I'm doing it for US, all of US! WARTS AND ALL! (Luckily I don't actually have warts, but you know what I mean.) Let's love our bodies with our imperfections, and that starts with me taking my clothes off to show that I am not perfect, but I can still be sexy.

Here we go!

Love and kindness all.