You Can’t Show Your Boobs in Australia
Photo: J.Robert Williams
Dancing burlesque has its perks. I get to buy fabulous vintage ensembles, put to use my years of acting and dance classes, be the center of attention, and see other sexy women in the dressing room. The best part, though, is the self-confidence that comes from knowing that, if only for a moment, everyone in the room is waiting, anticipating, and hoping to see me naked.
I’m a size 16, and, as much as I love my body, society has told me my whole life that no one wants to see it. Burlesque, on the other hand, has told me everyone wants to see it. As my best friend, and fellow plus-size burlesque star, Alotta Boutté says, “I’m not hiding anything. If you act like an ass later about my size then you’re the ass, not me.” Despite my insecurities, after every set I know that someone in the room wants to go home with me.
It was with that attitude that I jumped up on the bar and bared almost all of myself to the crowd at Delicious, a weekly queer dance party in Portland, Ore. I took advantage of the tropical island theme for the night and fed pineapple and strawberries to hot women while wearing only a wide brimmed sunhat and a smile. The crowd cheered, the bois and girls swooned, and I loved every tantalizing minute of it.
After my set, I put back on my red vintage polka dot bathing suit and shimmied over to the bar to get some water. As I gulped down my second glass, a hand slid its way up my arm and rested on my shoulder.
“I love your boobs,” a sexy thick accent told me in my ear. I turned around to see a petite dark haired bombshell with flashing eyes. “Why thank you,” I replied, “So do I.”
“I dance in clubs in Australia and we’re not allowed to show our boobs,” she said, positioning herself closer to me with every word. Her hand had moved from my shoulder to my waist, brushing my breast as she made her way down. My body had been “accidentally” groped many times that night, but never so willingly.
Allowing myself to be pulled in towards her, I asked, “What are you doing in Oregon.”
“Visiting a friend,” she replied, pointing to a man standing a few feet away.
Her breath was hot on my cheek and her lips seemed to kiss my ear as she spoke. We were silent for a moment as her mouth brushed open across my face, searching for my lips. She found her target just as the man took her shoulder and reminded her that they were heading outside for a cigarette.
“This is my friend,” she said as an introduction.
“Her boyfriend,” he added with emphasis.
As he pulled her reluctantly away, she whispered in my ear, “I’ll see you later.”
Any other month, I would have followed her outside pretending I smoke, male friend (boyfriend) be damned. But this is Drama Free December, and a foreign girl in a relationship with a jealous boy is about as drama as it gets.
So instead I turned around, headed for the dance floor, and never saw her again.
Blogger Bio: Queerie Bradshaw loves shoes, social justice and sex. Born a farmer's daughter, she believes everyone deserves a good roll in the hay, and feels empowered by her feminine sexuality. She frequently travels both domestically and abroad, exploring women and wine from all regions. Now a law student, she fights for international rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of good porn. You can find Queerie Bradhsaw on Twitter (twitter.com/QueerieBradshaw) and Facebook.