Dungeons and Old Men

During my first dance set I’d managed to corral a group of generously tipping retired white men around the stage. When I see old white men, I never quite know how to take it. Are they broadly interested in all the dancers or me in particular? I spent some time afterward noting how much they were tipping the other dancers, and eventually made the decision to try my hand propositioning a balding man whose remaining hair formed something of a bird nest shape from ear to ear. I approached him during a twofer special and squatted down at his knees. It’s a diminutive strategy I use sometimes, that communicates that I’m small, and you’re a big man, and men seem to go for it.

Me: Hi, how’s it going?

Him: You had some pretty great moves back there. How long have you been dancing for?

Me: Here or generally?

Him: Generally.

Me: I started a little over two years ago taking pole classes.

Him: You’re very strong, you make it look easy.

Me: It took a lot of me throwing myself at the pole and getting bruised up before I got to this point. They say you have to “rip away your baby skin”.

Him: Ouch, sounds painful.

Me: Mind if I sit in your lap? It’s a little easier than squatting.

Him: By all means.

I sat on his khaki jeans.

Him: This is much better. Now I can see your breasts.

Me: Yep.

Him: They are very nice.

Me: They are.

I jiggled them in front of him, like so many Girls Gone Wild commercials I’d stayed up to watch as a kid many moons ago.

Him: How was it the first time you got naked in front of strange men?

Me: I was nervous. My friend came with me for my audition, but I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know how to dance properly, or what to wear. I kinda just did yoga for my first set-- I was doing way too much: arm balances and all kinds of tricks. It worked out though, they were impressed with all I could do. I’ve always been comfortable naked, though.

Him: Were your parents always naked? Mine always seemed to be.

Me: Well… No, actually. My mom is very Catholic.

Him: Then how did you get comfortable with it?

Me: I always liked being naked. I got more comfortable being naked in college. I went to art school, so we had a very liberal nudity policy because we had life drawing classes and nudity was often a key component of performance art. We could technically be naked anywhere on campus. I got naked for art, it was natural. There was one girl who really tested the boundaries of the nudity policy. She decided she would show up naked to all of her classes.

Him: Wow, how long did that last?

Me: I’m not sure exactly. A few weeks maybe?

Him: It’s always been a dream of mine to go to a painting class with a nude model. Tell me, how did the freshmen, eighteen, nineteen-year-old men handle it?

Me: Well, what you don’t realize going into one of those classes is how stressful drawing a model is. You have a set amount of time and everyone around you is going at it, you start leaning over to see what progress other people have made. It gets competitive and when you see the person beside you is almost done while you only have a few lines on the page, you aren’t thinking erotically. You think, “oh shit, I better catch up.” The other thing is, we’re all entering into a program where we’re all taught a specific type of philosophy and theory-- we all learn about feminism and other things, so the young men learn pretty quickly.

Him: They’re forced to mature.

Me: Exactly.

Him: And were the models mostly female, or were they an even split?

Me: It was an even split. The other thing is, after you’re exposed to this sort of thing, it becomes normal. You stop seeing bodies as sexual and start considering the work people are producing. You see someone naked performing, but instead of getting turned on, you consider the piece critically.

Him: I see. One time I went to this hippie retreat in the mountains along the coast. I wanted to go because they advertised nude hot springs and I always thought that would be interesting. I was wary though, because the program had a lot of hippie dippie philosophy stuff and spiritualism. I went anyway. I thought it would be sexy, getting in the hot springs with these women, but throughout the course of the program I started to see them like my sisters. Even when we were naked, I couldn’t really think of them that way. It felt wrong. One night, one of the women and I had decided we wanted to hook up after the bath. I remember putting on my clothes and I felt so embarrassed, more embarrassed than I’d felt being naked, because I was covering up.

Me: Clothes are sexy. Covering up is mysterious and intriguing.

Him: I think nudity is sexier.

Me: Sexier than sexy outfits?

Him: I think so. Anyway, I was surprised I felt so bashful putting on clothes. I still hope to one day attend a nude drawing class. I’ve also wanted to watch a couple having sex. Two people really passionate about it. It’s the... the--

Me: Voyeurism! Yes! I love watching too.

Him: Yes, me too. But I don’t know how to go about doing that.

Me: You can do that at a dungeon.

Him: Is that a specific place?

Me: No, it’s just the term for a kink friendly space. It’s a multipurpose play space where you can watch people doing everything from having sex to people enjoying getting tied up and spanked.

Him: Wow. I didn’t know that existed.

Me: You should search “dungeon” or “playspace”. There’s a bunch around, especially in LA.

Him: Have you been to one?

Me: I have. I was dating someone kinkier than me, so we explored them together.

Him: I just want to be naked watching people having sex.

Me: There was a guy like that at an event I went to. He was only wearing a t-shirt. His boner was out in plain sight and he was just watching everyone.

Him: Did you do anything when you were there or did you just watch?

Me: I tried everything I could. I had a public orgasm even.

Him: A public orgasm? How did that work out?

Me: It was with a Sybian.

Him: It wasn’t painful? The ones I’ve seen look kinda painful.

Me: Nah, it was fine. There was a curved ribbed base and protruding from it was a dildo. Everything vibrated and the dildo had the option of moving back and forth or spinning.

Him: How was it?

Me: It was interesting. People gathered around me in a semi-circle to watch and my partner at the time held the remote control for the vibration and movement of the dildo.

The event was like going to a carnival with a variety of booths where you can try each of the events. At a carnival you can throw an ax at a target; climb a curved rock wall for a prize; or take a ride in a spinning teacup. At the dungeon you could have professional doms flog you; wait in line to get suspended by a rope bondage expert; or have a knife expert tickle your clitoris with the tip of a Bowie knife, among other things. In reality the public orgasm was a lot of pressure. Not literally, but to have a crowd watching expectantly, wanting to see a true expression of arousal. The dildo was unpleasant. I’ve never been a fan of dildos because I find them to be too stiff and cold, even when they’re made of silicon. The oscillation pressure was too intense and managed to distract me from the clitoral vibration. I realized in that moment I’m not an exhibitionist. I had to tune out everybody to produce the orgasm. Isn’t that a funny way to phrase it? Even pleasure under capitalism is valued by production. It was a sad orgasm, difficult and unsatisfying. When I finished, I was relieved. In retrospect, I could have faked it, but what’s sadder than one more ingenuine female orgasm? Afterwards a few of the men watching propositioned me, as they do. Their approach was obtrusive, even as they tried their hardest to use proper safe space language.

Him: I’ll have to look up this “dungeon”.

Me: You should.

Throughout the conversation he tipped me in twenties. In all he handed me a hundred dollars. He didn’t want a dance. I suppose I’d given him something more valuable.

Him: I like talking to you.

Me: I’m glad.