So how was it for me?
Wonderful! And maybe not for the reasons that the dirtier-minded of you might think. 🙂
Since some of the places i write for are firmly targeted at the adult end of things, I do get to go out to places that the mainstream media might delicately term “adult clubs”. This was no exception: a space for women to let their hair down with other women (and a very few men), outwith the disapproving gaze and pursed lips of the local community.
I like women’s clubs. They feel safe for me: I enjoy meeting and chatting and yes…dancing.
Last night was definitely a dance night. Loud techno, and all species danceable: an occasional snatched word with others at the bar. Not a place to develop deep and meaningful relationships.
A little smuttiness definitely going on in dark corners. I averted my eyes and moved on to the dance floor.
Did I mention I LOVE dancing? Maybe another of those small tells gender-wise. Oh, sure: of course boys (and men) do dance. Most don’t though: whereas one of the happiest times of my life was spent living in Bath, going clubbing three nights a week…and spending a significant part of the time on the dance floor with the girls.
Not only, though. Looking around last night I realised for the first time that I don’t just dance with the women: I dance like the women. There is a “style” that men seem to adopt on the dance floor. (I use that word very loosely).
Expansive. Arms flailing. Space-hogging. Showy.
The female way involves showing off too, but for the most part in a far subtler, far more measured way. Its more compact. Definitely more sensuous.
Oh: cliché, cliché! I know that’s not true for all. Let’s just say there are two ends of the dance spectrum, with all manner of variety in between: women tend to dance at one end, men at t’other.
I think I danced off and on for two hours. Joy!!! I’d forgotten how good it felt.
I’ll be going again.