Posts Tagged With: women

Much love for Mammals

I love being a mammal. I really do. It beats the hell out of pretty much any other earth-based option available to me. There’s a whole pie of reasons why, but let’s take a tiny slice and examine it in more detail. Well, hopefully not too tiny. Let’s talk about boobies. It’s clear that everyone loves them. Men, women, babies, teens… Haven’t checked in with the elderly yet but I’m pretty sure I know the answer. Men love to gaze. Women grab their friends’ for photos. Or their own for their man. They are a source of comfort, nourishment, and sexual appeal. Personal experience tells me that how a woman thinks about her boobies has a significant impact on how she feels about herself. Much money is spent trying to make them look biggersmallerperkierpushedtogetherliftedandseperatedfrilledlacilyetcetc. Depending on the woman, there is often a desire to move up or down a size…and when done they end up feeling better about the way they look…and about themselves in whole. Like here.

I don’t completely understand our relationship with the thing that make us mammals. Well, things, I guess. But I don’t care. I love being around women who feel good about themselves…who look in the mirror and smile. Women who aren’t trying to make themselves pretty, but who recognize and celebrate their beauty.

Who express their sexuality naturally and easily. In my mind there’s no better litmus test for how free a woman is than in how she presents her boobies.

I think.

It ‘s possible, I suppose, that I’m unconsciously falling prey to commercialized cultural conditioning.

Or acting out Darwinian based reproductive urges.

Or trying to find a higher meaning to what is simply a base, carnal reaction to stimuli.

But the truth is I don’t really give a damn. I find the stimuli soooooo stimulating!

If this is the matrix, I don’t ever want to leave.

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The Kundalini Peeler

I do yoga.

Its not that I want to…but years of forcing my body to do what I demand has left it hurting. And yoga beats the hell out of the handful of Ibu’s that I survived on before taking my body’s complaints seriously. So I do yoga. But never thought I would write about it…especially on my first blog post. But there I was today in a room full of middle aged women and one old bandanna’d yoda type guy and we were downward dogging and I was watching our instructor who I find mildly annoying and not at all attractive and it hit me. The only other activity I can think of that reminds me of yoga is stripping.

No really.

 

Not long ago in the midst of a large group of people I was asked: “Hey DD…when was the last time you were in a strip club?” My answer: “As a client…or a dancer?”  created enough raucous laughter to relieve me of needing to say anything more. Truth is it would have been 20+ years ago. There was a club near my suite that a buddy of mine introduced me to. I wouldn’t say I became a regular…but I was there enough to see a trend. Hold on…trend is too soft. Rigidly set routine would be more like it. The girls start out all energetic and putting out lots of big moves. Then they move to the pole. Finally a blanket comes out of nowhere and appears on the floor, and after some writhing and posing there’s a collapse and some stillness before the applause is cued. In yoga class we get it on with the sweaty sun salutations, move to some balance poses (I wish I had a pole), then down to the mat for various posings before Savasana has us still for a moment then a namaste tells us its all done.

Ok…I admit it may take someone pretty special (read twisted) to see what I see…but if you think I’m alone…think again.

How being a stripper has made me a better yoga instructor.

Bet you don’t ever look at cow pose the same way.

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