Sashes

I started getting nervous when the second class started to run a bit late.  As usual, all my old doubts and concerns started flooding forth - what if I got the time wrong, the date wrong, the venue wrong..?  In a few weeks, I'm going to start using a new venue as a sort of back-up option and suddenly I was nervous that I might have given the address of the new venue instead.

I think the class was about twenty minutes late in getting started, but by the time the girls arrived, I knew it wasn't my fault.  They had simply arrived late and were getting drinks.  I could see out the window, up to the ground level and I saw them all arriving, so was able to relax.

It was another fun class - and this time, the girls were from Aberdeen.  I hate to generalise, but that does often mean a bit more rowdy and a lot more like to ask personal questions.  One of them asked if I was particularly hairy... which, surprised me, since she could see everything there was to see.  It made me regret not having had the money to get waxed recently, though.

Another girl asked if I thought it might be a good idea to start hitting the gym.  A fairly valid point, I suppose.  I'm inclined to view myself as lean and athletic, but there are definitely people who would prefer to use the word "scrawny" instead.  Perhaps I really should join a gym and try to get a bit bulkier.

The girls all had sashes in the second group, and so I borrowed one of them and spent most of the class wearing it.  I had to remember to give it back, when the class concluded.

I made sure to warn the girls that they should conceal the sashes if they ended up drinking in the Grassmarket - which was their plan for later that evening.  Someone mentioned that there were pubs in that area that welcomed Hen and Stag parties.  This is true, but those pubs are off the edge of the Grassmarket and heading up to Lothian Road - and probably not the kind of places they'd want to visit.

When pressed for details, I told them that those pubs tended more towards small, seedy, strip clubs.  In fact, that area is generally known as Edinburgh's "Pubic Triangle".  It was an American girl who told me that.

Audience participation

My first class of the year was a great one. I couldn't have asked for a more cheerful, friendly and enthusiastic group. It was great fun.

One girl was particularly enthusiastic. Almost as soon as the class started, she wanted to get involved more actively and asked if she could join in any of the poses. With feedback and motivation like that, Alison and I hardly even need to work. The sheer energy of some people can carry a class along.

The volunteer told me to relax, reassured me that she was a lesbian and told me that I was quite safe from her. Then, when I adopted the first pose of the class (the "Brucey Bonus" - I need to get Alison to stop suggesting that one) she hurried up, ducked under one of my arms and got very close. Some innuendos were thrown around and when I glanced down, all I could see was the back of her head. I asked Alison if I should start feeling scared, yet. I don't know what kind of perspective everybody else had, but I know that my own perspective made everything seem very suggestive.



The volunteer (as I'll keep referring to her in this posting) told the group a few times that she would have absolutely no problem with joining in fully, if that was OK. And that included stripping down and posing right along with me. If enough people had said it was cool - effectively giving her "permission" to do so - then I genuinely believe she'd have gone through with it. In that sense, she was a lot like me. I'm always looking for a good enough excuse to get naked.



Two of the girls came down earlier than the others to introduce themselves and to bring in some prizes to be handed out.  A packet of jelly penises for the best picture and a booby prize for the worst - literally, a pair of plastic boobies.  That was another element of fun.  That's them being proudly worn in the very last picture.