Free your Burlesque Radical Fem-ness!

you are the daughter of a Radical Feminist . 

She's a Hetro -lesbian beatnik musician poetess. So how do you rebel when your mother and her lover are so right on? 

What rebellious right of passage could help you transition from girlhood to womanself? 

In a predicament like this I recommend doing whatever you were not allowed to do that has magic uplifting taboo in it for you.

 What realm of self expression and exploration was not given supportive space in your formative childhood?

 I was relieved when I saw an add for Exotic Dancers.

I imagined It was a dream job for a dyslexic. All instinctive, intuitive, artistic, emotional, and creatively ever-changing. 

It was also a dream job for a repressed hetero-sexual muy feminina muchacha! 

And it was irresistible and inevitable for a young vixen who was being drawn irrevocably to the path of the Goddess Lalita 

of the Feminine Devine!

I was about 24 years old when my dyslexia had lost me three waitress jobs in a row and I was losing my apartment. All other jobs advertised dealt with numbers or letters in ways i couldn't even interview for. So it was comforting and convenient that I could also justify my exploration as sheer desperation! After all it appeared I had no other alternative…But that is the way of destiny, it tricks us into doing what we otherwise might never dare, yet we long to know…(script 

"My Burlesque Radical-Femm-ness Freed!"

*I climb the high stairs wavering on high red pumps. Lights are churning.

 The music throbs in me. It sets my heart beat slower and suddenly eternal. 

This is my first professional strip dance. 

*I am in a river of snakes  and I must get to the other side.

*They are undulating all around me; snakes of a new kind of love, 

culebras of rhythms and sounds streaming on strobes, serpents of mens virility rising,

  and an unmistakeable rising of self discovery from within me.

*when the snakes see me I am energized by smiles the whole river wide.

*And now I am a snake as one of them, it is the only way to handle the power of this river,

 it is the way to cross the river of what I fear. 

*But never before have I revealed my snakeyness, To my surrender I realize with dread and great yummy greed,

 I have always been a snake. In this "costume" I suddenly feel I have revealed more than I planned, 

in this honesty I am dance.

*It was the way that I didn't have to dance that made my movements effortless. 

The way a snake is sinewy, slowly sliding, This is just the way snakes are!

*Without any false modesty or demure politeness on behalf of my married sisters ,

 or haughty cool to fend off users, I am unguarded without my usual disguise. 

This is the permission I give myself to be me, regardless of how anyone else reacts. 

My disguise doesn't serve me any more. 

* I am fire as it licks the walls. This is more truthful about how I feel in my woman's body.

*A longing so deep is quenched now by my surrender into hips that circle, 

belly that undulates, breasts that flounce, 

arms that wriggle free of the shackles of The prerequisite " good girl uglies". 

Erotic Joy 

*All else was a worn out temptation to play it safe, to go back to the "real world" a lie. 

 Where is the bridge back to my depressed security? 

in a momentary panic I try to trace the path backwards before I fall over the precipice. 

But in these fire cracker synapses the maize walls of my familiar cage have collapsed. 

Simultaneously the right way through is erased. "Which realm is the real world?"

*But juiciness floods me, fills my breasts, plumps my behind, overflows from inside.

*Such feelings of relief in my exposer. I am no longer in hiding!

*Remember me as the one in red lace with an open face.

* Beg of me not to remember to put my old mask on when the other side of the river bank comes closer.

*Please forgive that as I reach the other side I become brittle and afraid when I must leave my home, the stage.

*Delight in these moments with me when we are all the same waves of slithering life.

*Sweet surrender exists when I remember this shedding of my skin when I went from girl to woman. 

*Never before had I given myself permission to fully enjoy the polarity between men and women.

*I will always be in awe of you inside me who allowed me to break free into freely expansive femininity.

*Orgasms that start in my heart and rumble the ground of my life…have taken the helm of my mother ship, 

so that all my old goals are no longer in sight.

*Train me please in how to stand proud in my right to this initiation!

*willingly I ripple across my own divide inside.

*Always aware that I am now already here!

***********

I learned so much about women's sexuality while exotic dancing. What I loved most was watching the women. I was so in love with them . They healed and entranced me. They intoxicated my senses. They broadened my awareness of feminine energy into eternity! As they danced across form me or under the sultry lights in between my sets I was so moved by each one of them…so specific, so special and so unique in her feminine essence she shared so brazenly. 

In those days the strip clubs still featured Burlesque as the main style of down and kinky entertainment. So everybody had characters to go with their get ups and music to whip the audience into attention. The stages were set up high above the men. Men had to look up to us. This was good and wholesome for everyone.To my surprise most men were there literally to worship the goddess.  we were glowing in rosy ever changing lighting. There was a bar between us and them that encircled us on the central stage. the corner stages had plexiglass around our platforms so that no one could touch us. 

The strippers were surprisingly sweet to each other in the dressing room. they were constantly encouraging each other , complimenting each others beauty, feigning jealousy, sharing costumes . I was so nourished by this sisterhood of feigned  humbleness alongside brazen gloriousness! The women often made a dead night funner by pooling tips. They would come back stage and be throwing piles of their money in the air to share equally. "shouting as the money rained down in piles"look we didn't make any money!" We were all paid a salary in addition to tips, which gave us job security when nights were slow or men stingy. Pooling our tips with out counting who had gotten most of the tips was a way of having sister solidarity.

On stage money was showered upon us and we would periodically fill our garter belts and bra straps till we were bulging with the cash… this was an  aphrodisiac for our dancing and also excited the men to give more and compete over who was showering the girl with more money and buying her attention. But we were trained that the secret to a riveting performance was not peep shows or prettiness or the beauty of your dance. 

The secret was eye contact and the romance of seduction. We learned how to make each man feel in these moments not that  he had purchased our attention, no it was that he was the only man in the world we could think of with all our lust. And under the conditions with the focus that was required on so many levels, it was true! So many of the men were as wonderful about making us feel the same way! These were not woman haters ( as I had expected strip club visitors to be) They seemed instead to be starving for feminine essence. They waited in silent revery and out loud awe for womanhood to be revealed to them instead of always so hidden and forbidden.

 they were goddess addicts or secret Feminine Divine worshipers!

At the time the dancers were a very exciting group to behold. we spanned a wide age range and wide variety of body types and races. we were every ethnicity. Our costumes and characters evoked archetypes from many fairy tales modern and ancient. There was the black mermaid always in sequins a new las Vegas mini push up something with wavy black tresses cascading all down her back displaying her perfectly round high black Barbie boobs  and huge eyelashes languidly batting. All she had to do was a few poses to transfix us all. 

*there were the cowgirl twins with yeehaw rope tricks, 

*The Marilyn Monroe kinky baby doll who simply leaned against the wall in such provocative ways the our jaws dropped,

* the gypsy fortune teller huge and voluptuous who enchanted the room with her sensual rhythm, 

*the wild child jamaican girl who was all natural and danced the club fully awake, 

*the scary intense red head who wore one black bra and skivvies the entire year who pole danced acrobatically and was so built and toned that all you wanted to do was just see her one more time in that simple black so as not to distract. 

*There was me all in red lace and red pumps, "the love goddess" self proclaimed glamour girl and dance vixen (as I imagined myself to be) trying to become as mainstream glamourous as I could manage so as to escape my beatnik hippy ways for an all together exotic experience of magazine normalcy.

*There was the girl next door wearing glasses and a plaid skirt that popped off for twirling pasties,

 ( who was in fact putting herself through law school),

* the sweet Puerto Rican princess ( who was a single mom ) and who I spent one night holding up so she wouldn't choke on her vomit that I caught in a cup for her until i could drive her home.

Yeah the sick dangerous side was there too, of drugs and the men who did actually hate us and threw things at us as we danced. including bags of cocain. All the girls' fancy cars out back were bashed in one night. the only one skipped was mine…apparently junk heaps are beneath the dignity of thugs to enjoy bashing…there were the bouncers who molested us in exchange for" protection" there was dancing almost naked on freezing nights which eventually gave me namonia. As I was trying to recover I had a disturbing dream that I couldn't shake.

 I dreamed that I was being domineered over by a brooding bull. The Bulls ass was huge and swollen full of blood. His ass burst open onto me and covered me in bull-shit blood. That was it. When I woke up I knew the whole thing was over for me. especially when my college professors had started showing up at the club to watch. What had started out as glee about dominating over father figures who reminded me of my father who had taken advantage of me, became a terrible phobia that my father or father figures would walk in and enjoy my dance. I would miss half my sets trying to avoid certain men. More and more were coming in who I knew in daily life. I couldn't integrate the two me's. 

Shortly after I retired, the clubs brought up the lights, then they lowered the stages, right down to the mens drooling jowls. They even took away the black wall that made us stand out and painted the walls  pink. Then they hired only  pink girls, took away costumes and choreography, replaced dancing with worming around, made the music generic for every one instead of specially chosen by the dancers as to what turned us on. Then they even took away our salaries, made us pay for the privilege to grovel completely naked for tips! We were suposed to grind right on the mens laps like squid for the taking. All the magic , mystery and self respect were drained away by vampire lust. 

The club manager who had been our backstage buddy all those years was part of all the decisions that destroyed the magic. He knew he had betrayed us. He was no longer our friend. Interestingly it seemed he subsequently went entirely grey almost overnight. All the romantic projection and archetypal fantasy play was gone. Girls were supposed to have no personality. And this now was to better match the male fantasy that was now about himself , no longer about us.. 

Worship of the Divine feminine as Harlot-Goddess was replaced by male privilege and cynical disgust on both parts. Erotic dance was subsumed by lazy deadening groveling. Glamour and excitement were destroyed by trashy low self esteem moves and humiliating nakedness of the most base human desperation with no hope of redemption in the clubs. 

Our Temple of the sacred erotic feminine priestess was toppled. It was male greed and jealousy over the mesmerizing power we had. They could not own us, and in this one arena they could not equal our pay. The financial abundance that helped to compensate our considerable risk taking was something they were determined to steal from us. They made a cover charge and took away all our salaries and lowered the expectation for tips that we should accept for services we never before were expected to offer . such a s five dollars for a lap dance. 

Better to be a prostitute! 

And so they lost partaking in our love and our joy. They lost our respect and all the favors we used to give out to our favorite audience men….those men who worshipped us in ways that renewed our faith in man kind….nothing could be genuinely given when every fiber of our bodies were forced to give like that. Strippers who had been genuinely kinky were now just fakers for money. It was super depressing.

I started to do oil paintings to cure myself of shame and shock. With my remaining tips I quit the club and started painting madly with no clue how I would survive once again. I prayed to Kali to destroy my willingness to live so dangerously. She didn't cure me ( I still love the edge of creation too much!) but she allowed me to accidentally paint her yantra with accurate clarity with out having ever seen it!  My second painting was "the porthole to bliss" " Kali Ma Earth" is included for you with this offereing! 

At this time a very grounded devoted friend came into my life.

He was a contractor who was a repressed artist himself. Yet his own vow to make millions like his own father before the age of forty meant his love of the arts would have to be lived vicariously. I was in such a deep reverie with my healing paintings that I didn't realize at first he was trying to date me. He invited me to live in his picture perfect brand new home on the hill and paint full time. For two sacred years he was my best friend, my Jewish prince charming. Because of his belief in my work and patronage of my art making and personal love for me

 all the paintings I show on line now exist.

By year three I felt so sad and alone in his castle on the hill. I had given away my power to influence my own life. The wild gypsy erotic dancer I had so courageously embraced was buried inside his world. He insisted I dress like his mother . Cut my hair short like hers and act the part of a contractors wife to help him land his prospects. I might have been okay with doing him this charade as a favor, except that he also wanted me to share in paying the bills of the "castle". They were much higher bills than I could afford so I had to give up painting. The mansion on the hill became a very lonely place with the millions being made at the cost of fun, health, peace, connectedness, sexual relating, and time to play! A life like that was not worth the money to me. I would much prefer a dirt cheap trailer as my gypsy wagon. It would be full of friendship and freedom from the oppression of materialism. A sanctuary for art making time I dreamed of. So when I discovered there was such a place as "Cummington Community of the Arts" right within reach, I leapt! It seemed there was some place I might belong as my authentic wild self.

 The family member who had cut off from me for being a stripper actually paid for my artist residency there. I was suddenly side by side with famous new York artists. In two precious weeks I made ten shrine nests to the feminine Divine, and wrote like crazy and and danced wildly in lingerie right there in my forest studio! in the middle of the day! I practiced character expressions.

  Sadly this story of my self imposed Hetro-Initiation really hurt my other mother. She was horrified that she had helped to raise a blatantly self destructive anti feminist low self respect "daughter".  So as not to face what she felt was her own total failure as a Goddess-mother she was unable to recovere her trust in me. She never saw the one woman show she had produced as benefactress. Instead she still inadvertently excommunicated me. I was no longer invited to all the family functions I had been nourished by. throughout my childhood.  However this shows how successful my rebellion was. I had found my own definition of true feminism on my own terms.

However my truly radical blood mother stayed by my side. She did not judge me. She just kept asking questions. Ironically by becoming one with the underground of the sex industry I was actually inviting in total feminine energy, a holistic "yess!" to my feminine urgings 

that included all of myself.

I performed a one woman show called "stripped". In this play  I played twenty four characters from the strip club and roasted myself terribly. I only performed the play twice for the group of great artists gathered there at Cummington. I felt they would understand me. This performance was a total success. By success I mean it was a totally healing experience for me and transformative for my audience. I never needed to perform it again because the Healing power of the five arts was complete in me. 

The healing empowering new world will be that women DANCE and offer erotic services on their own terms. 

The outcome of the feminist movement should not be that women's Erotic dance is banished, 

Or that prostitutes are further punished for the generous service they offer. 

It also should not be that men are shamed for enjoying these services. 

Or that demaning pornography had no boundaries on the internet. 

Lets imagine that ;

* All women dance their sexyness in public with total support for the joy this brings community.

*Strippers  are celebrated by all men and women for how erotic dancers 

free every one up! 

* Prostitutes are protected and create their own conditions like courtesans 

who actually have long term loving relationships with all the clients they choose to serve and be worshipped by over many years.

* There are no more evil pimps or selfish madams. Instead women vote for who their protectors and agents will be. 

* like in Amsterdam's red light district all men are tested for freedom from disease before receiving attention.

* At risk Children and vulnerable women stolen or tricked to work as sex slaves no longer exist. 

Why? Because the sex industry is no longer full of shame and shadow. 

Everything is so in the open that no one can get away with coercion or entrapment!

 Now women right here in the valley are reclaiming Burlesque back on our own terms.

*"Gypsy layne" based in Easthampton is a burlesque company performing for sold out audiences. 

*And in portland oregon another Burlesque troupe has sprung up.

* Attar Melay in Leverette has an erotically celestial belly dance troupe performing in public at family festivals. 

*Tiana Mirape in Montague holds a four year Goddess ritual training for women and men 

to really celebrate the divine feminine in worship of the Goddess mother.

* Nevline in Northampton Is teaching pole dancing and really bringing vitality to her students.

Also Partner dances in the valley are super hot and also safe.

I am so excited by these partner dances!

Salsa dancing is elegant and joyous at Melays dance at the legieon hall in Hadley. 

And Salsa is very exciting and free at the Iron Horse on tues nights starting at 10pm.

 Contra dancing has gone techno at the town hall next to the Black sheep deli in Amhearst most wednesdays.

 And Contra dancing is wilder than ever at the guiding star grange in green field every fri and sat.

Kizomba dance classes are springing up from the African american community.

 Kizomba takes partner dancing into subtle energetics of call and response to pure rhythmic communication. 

 Zouk dance from Brazil is going on at fire and Ice in boston, and is sweeping the world.

Zouk asks mens dance leadership to be in response to the woman. 

It takes female centered partner dancing a step further. Zouk is a partner dance that responds to the woman's impulse

 and follows her improvisationally as the man leads entirely by connection to her.

 Zouk also gives the man room to really move sensually too!

Woo wee! 

Shake your hot little booty!

 Love Eve Christoph