SEXIS WRONG

wiry hair and wore big eyeglasses that took up much of her
face. Despite her age, she was rapt, like a small child studying
a bug on a flower.
I was slightly nervous riding my bike to her apartment on the
day of our first lesson, but I laughed to myself. I had no idea
what I would teach her. Just figured I would turn the music
on and take it from there. For comfort, I wore sweats, sneakers,
and put my long, greasy hair in a ponytail. Yes, I dress for
comfort now, not to sexually arouse. Especially when I’m to
teach erotic dancing to a septuagenarian. I paused just before
knocking on the door.
Rose opened the door wide, exposing much of her body to
any neighbor who might have been passing in the hall. “Hi,
Jill, is this okay to work in?” she asked. Her choice of weaponry
was a black, sequined bikini with fishnets.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” I actually got a little self-conscious and
hoped she didn’t expect me to strip down the way she was.
I totally thought she’d be in workout clothes, but God bless
her. There she was.
“I got it at Patricia Fields on sale,” she said proudly as she
flipped her boa over her shoulder. Pat Fields was where all
the strippers shopped. We even got discounts just for being
strippers. I could tell Rose was working on being an insider.
All her life, she said, she had a good body and would get
catcalls when she walked down the street. She loved that.
“Lived off” that. A natural exhibitionist, she likened herself to
a peacock. Rose wanted to prove that it was never too late to
learn something new, even if it was erotic dancing taken up
by a senior citizen.
A real-estate broker, Rose also ran a bed and breakfast out of
her apartment. She charged $75 a night.
“I thought we could work in the guest room because one
of the walls is mirrored,” she said excitedly. Her high heels
plunged into the carpet with each step.
“Are these heels high enough?” Rose asked, kicking up a
leg.
“They’ll do,” I said encouragingly. “Besides, we’ll worry
about costuming you later. Let’s just get to the dancing.”
Rose beamed as she pressed play on the box, giving us some
Toni Braxton tunes. She told me how sexy Daryl was when
he danced to this CD. He had made her a tape of it. We had
to play it loudly because the battery on her hearing aid was
getting weak.
Standing in the sparse, blue-carpeted room facing the mirror,
I started the gyrations first. Shifting my weight from side to
Her body was surprisingly shapely and strong.
She told me she had been doing yoga, weight
lifting, and taking a Pilates class to increase
her strength and flexibility. Her back and arms
were powerful, her legs well-formed, and her
figure hourglass. There was barely any sort of varicose vein
action happening, or loose skin. She told me she’d had her
breasts done six months before so they would look firm again
for topless dancing. Her surgeon asked why she was getting
them done at her age. When she told him, he thought she was
nuts but wished her luck. One of her young gay male friends,
Daryl, nursed her while she was in recovery. The breasts did
look firm, but each had a scar going from the nipple to just
under the curve of the breast. She planned on getting tattoos
to cover up the scars. Maybe roses.
Already, she was experimenting with stick-on tattoos. Today,
she had a dragon on her thigh and black nail polish on her
toenails. No piercings yet, but the lady was hardcore. Beatup
combat boots stood in a corner of her living room. Most
of her boyfriends, she said, were a lot younger, sometimes
half her age. The men her age usually sat on park benches
outside her building, feeding pigeons. She couldn’t exactly
relate to that. The black sheep of her family, she was always
known for doing her own thing. Her family accepted her but
thought her eccentric.
Spreading her legs in a thong bikini
in front of her guest-room mirror
seemed to do the trick.
side in faded gray sweats, I showed her how to move her
hips in figure eights, a staple move. She was a little off at
first but eventually picked up the rhythm, arms dangling at
her sides. I told her we’d get to arms later and not to feel odd
about touching her body. Watching me in the mirror, she copied
every move. Once in a while, her heels would get stuck
in the carpet.
We did another move she calls “the wave,” where you isolate
your body much like a cobra. We did this and the figure eights
in repetition for about an hour. She started to get the hang of
it before I left, and she thanked me for my time. She said she
was glad she could learn it that way instead of embarrassing
herself somewhere. Then she showed me her breasts up
close and told me of her tattoo endeavors.
As our weekly lessons progressed, Rose continued to improve,
started using her arms more, and yes, we even got
into floor work. At one point, both of us were lying on our
backs facing the mirror, legs spread eagle, my feet clad in
sneakers, hers in heels. She was loving it. She told me she
was really into raunch. That this other woman had taught her
TEACHING ROSE 51