Ummm... Thanks?

By now y'all should all be aware that, among many other classes, I teach a naked yoga class. This past weekend we held a naked yoga retreat out in the Texas Hill Country, which was glorious. Beautiful weather, for the most part. Great yoga sessions. Lots of fun activities. It was all rather nice.

Until...

I finished leading a practice session on Saturday evening about the Lotus flower as a metaphor for human existence, complete with poses associated with the elements and a visualization meditation at the end. As I was chatting with the students, a man that I had not met before made the comment, "That was a great class. It answered a question for me." Thinking that he was going to express how he had been struggling with something and was able to find some clarity due to the practice I inquired about what he had learned.

"I can see why your body is so well put together. Yoga is really helping you keep looking so good."

*blank stare*

Really? You're hitting on me after that? I talked about the challenges of the human condition and how we are able to rise above our defilements and the sufferings of life. I talked about not only connecting with the physical elements of our surroundings, but to seek inspiration to develop our spiritual awareness. And now you're hitting on me. I thanked him kindly and moved along.

The next morning at breakfast he again approached me and asked if I had ever done any modeling. Odd question, I thought, but I said that yes, I had done some swimsuit modeling in the past.

"Well, I'm a photographer in Houston. If you'd like, I could take some pictures of you. You can even stay with me, and I'll feed you and entertain you while you're in town."

Wow... If the first time had been a little odd, this was just downright creepy. "Uhhh, thanks. I'll keep that in mind if I'm ever down in Houston," I said and politely excused myself. Another teacher that was present for this exchange later told me that it was good the teacher's back was to me and creepy guy cuz the look on the teacher's face after creepy guy said this was just too much.

I'm surprised and impressed with myself that I was able to maintain composure. Is it sad that I'm getting used to dealing with older creepy guys making odd advances toward me?

But... where are their clothes?

Friday night, April 30. Two days before the anniversary of my birth. I arrive in Washington D.C. to engage in some raucous events to celebrate said anniversary. Well, I'm not sure we intended them to be raucous. I mean, I am a good Southern woman. I don't do such things.

Do you really believe that?

We started off at Eatonville, a FAB-ulous Southern-style restaurant that serves up some mean drinks and even better fried green tomatoes. Since my friends and I readily admit to be the lushes that we are, we sat at the bar where our bartender Lauren took care of us. Drinks, apps, shots, drinks, food, shots, drinks, drinks. People wandered off on their merry way. Lauren explained her philosophy of people that "ain't shit." People joined our group. More food, shots, drinks... I think you get the idea.

Once we were well sauced, we piled poured into cabs and went... well... to a strip club. A male strip club. A male strip club in Washington D.C. For those of you that may not know, in Washington D.C., the strippers wear, well... shoes and socks. That's it.

It was definitely something to behold. If anyone says that there aren't enough guys willing to dance around on top of a bar, waving their business around, then you need need to head to D.C. The place, while not huge, was fairly large and had quite a few guys dancing around, shaking their money-makers.

Having never, ever, ever done anything like this before ever in my life, I had a few questions. What was allowed in my interaction with the entertainers. What should I expect? Where do I put the tip?

As it turns out, it's all very easy. One can touch below the knee and above the waist. The entertainer will likely just wave his ooh-hooo in your face. Place any money one tips the entertainers in their socks. Well that's all very nice. And boring. And Puritanical.

Well, leave it to me to push the boundaries. But I totally didn't start it. At some point in the evening, after a drag show (yes, they had drag queen shows as well) I was upstairs, enjoying the scenery, and decided to show my admiration to one of the dancers. I went up to him, smiled, and looked up at him as he was dancing on top of the bar. He waved... something... at me. I smiled again. I attempted to place the dollar bill into his sock. I missed. I looked up at him and smiled again. He laughed at my drunkenness lack of coordination. On the second try, actually having to watch what I was trying to do, I successfully tipped him. To show his appreciation, he smacked me on my head with his penis.

I was taken aback. I looked up at him in amazement, his cock just dangling in front of me. I looked him in the face. I looked at his cock. I took my hand and smacked his cock like a cat smacks a play toy.

He tried to scold me gently, telling me that I'm not supposed to touch him there, but I guess the look of bewilderment that I had on my face was humorous. He just laughed and shook his finger... yeah, his finger... at me.

Hold, please.

So I just got back from a rather interesting trip to D.C. for some birthday shenanigans. I shall try to get some stories up soon, but first I gotta see if I can remember the weekend. Or if y'all are old enough to hear some of these stories. Or if I might get indicted for revealing some of the things that occurred.