Stripped Down: Patch Writer Bares All

While on a business trip in Portland, Ore., a few years ago, I paid my first visit to a strip club.

I was working for a popular outdoor sportswear company at the time and had been outvoted by a group of mostly male co-workers on what we should do for our nightly “bonding” activity. It was a seedy dive bar near the Oregon Convention Center—Mary’s, I think it was called—and I wondered why a group of business associates all armed with an American Express card hadn’t sprung for something more posh like the Dolphin II (lucky me, that would come later).

I pulled a metal chair up to a table covered in graffiti and chewed gum, ordered a pint of Portland’s not-so-finest brew, and blushed at the realization that a bunch of men and one woman (with whom I had only ever shared catalog copy and sales reports) and I were about to be getting lap dances from the ladies.

When the first “dancer” took the stage, I felt my jaw drop. I’m not sure I even noticed she wasn’t wearing any clothes; I was too busy being blown away by her incredible gymnastic ability. I sat there in amazement for the next couple of hours wondering what kind of training this sort of gig required—how these women managed to shimmy up a pole faster than a fireman slides down one, all while making it look so effortless, and why they weren’t shooting for something higher (like the Olympics).

It was shortly after this that a striptease and pole dancing craze seemed to sweep through the fitness industry, with classes being offered everywhere from the Equinox Club to the local YMCA. I was eager to give it a try, but hadn’t belonged to a gym since my late teens, when I worked as a lifeguard and scored a free membership. Fitness has always been more of a side effect of my thirst for outdoor adventure than a measure for keeping the number on the scale under four digits. And the gym is about the last place on earth I want to go to break a sweat (one adventure with a college boyfriend excluded).

As a writer, I’ve had the opportunity to try some pretty fun things—glassblowing, belly dancing, the flying trapeze—and needless to say, I was ecstatic when Hollywood fitness instructor and dancer Kate Noonan recently came to town to host a “Striptease and Lap Dance” workshop for ladies who wanted to give their significant others something extra special for Valentine’s Day.

I didn’t have a Valentine this year, but I figured I could shelve the knowledge, wishfully thinking that I won’t be single for a fourth Feb. 14 in a row next year. Plus, I thought it would be fun to learn some new dance moves to practice at the (kidding).

In preparation for letting loose, Kate advised us to wear our hair down and rock something “sexy.” For the more audacious, this meant vinyl and fishnets. For me, it was yoga pants and a beater. I did manage to find a pair of never-worn-before, stripper-like heels amid the pile of Birkenstocks and ballet flats in my closet, though.

A group of about 14 women gathered in the upstairs room at in downtown Laguna Beach for the workshop. Most warmed up with “Sex on Fire” martinis and champagne, which came complimentary with our fee. I forewent the liquid courage in an effort to see if I could actually let loose without it.

With laser lights and R&B to set the mood, we started with some basic side-to-side hip movements (“basic” for anyone who actually has rhythm). I flashed back to the incessant scolding from my childhood ballet teacher for using too much hip (“Ashley, again—this time without the hips!”). I was 5 years old at the time, so I’ve been mastering this hip thing for a while. This was cake.

Until we mixed in a front-back move and threw in “the snake.” Suddenly I felt like Jennifer Grey in that scene from Dirty Dancing where she gets her first lesson from Patrick Swayze, and as he walks away at the end, he leaves her twirling and doing ridiculous pelvic thrusts in the middle of the dance floor.

As we’re learning to sway, shake and snake, Kate is reminding us to make eye contact with our “lovers” (in this case, empty chairs), run our hands over our curves and exude confidence. I find it impossible to watch for instruction while simultaneously flashing bedroom eyes at the piece of, uh, wood in front of me, and moving in ways that make me feel and look sexy. I’m pretty sure I look uncoordinated and robotic, and at other moments, like I’m seizing, such as when Kate told us to lay our bodies on the ground, rest our feet on “his” thighs, and circle our hips in the air.

I’ve vowed never to unleash this move again.

At one point, after we performed a series of turns and flips on the floor, I spun my head around to find that I was facing in the opposite direction from everyone else. Half laughing it off and half feeling discouraged, it hit me: What guy is really going to care if I nail the proper sequence of dance moves? (“Uh, honey, you missed a pivot; put your shirt back on and try it again.”)

As I learn to forget that I am actually throwing myself into a piece of furniture rather than an actual lap, and tune out the fact that there is a room full of other women and my least favorite genre of music playing in the background, I grow more comfortable and at ease with my performance. Once I’m able to pretend that I’m doing this for real for, say, Johnny Depp or that scruffy, rugged cutie who works at , it becomes much less ridiculous and more freeing.

By intermission (i.e. cocktail refill), the majority of novice strippers seemed to be feeling more confident. And then came part two: find a partner and practice. I don’t consider myself a particularly shy or conservative person, but “spidering” and seducing a woman I’ve just met really isn’t my style.

As I’m instructed to stand over her thigh and—there it is again, “snake”—I stop and introduce myself to the pretty blond I’m molesting (“By the way, I’m Ashley. Is it okay if I put my hand here?”). Her name was Jenn. She was there to learn some spicy new maneuvers for her husband. We’re able to joke our way out of the discomfort somewhat and get through the rest of the routine, albeit, a slightly toned-down version.

All in all, I found the workshop to be a rewarding experience. Not only was it a great workout, it enabled me to break through personal barriers and reach new levels of comfort in my own skin. After a few bicep curls and stretches, I think I may even be ready to give Kate’s pole dancing class a try.

For more information about Kate Noonan’s workshops, call 714-615-2185 or e-mail kate.e.noonan@gmail.com.