My friend Lara is a tango dancer (and former belly dancer) and she sent me this today:
On Wednesdsay night Nola invited me to perform a “lascivious tango” at Ember’s Fetish Night Show in downtown Portland, to help promote her gay tango classes.
I arrived early and began to chat with a friendly woman whose forehead was decorated with small glued-on crystals. She appeared to be dressed up, but assured me that she would not be performing this evening.
I asked her what usually goes on during these shows. She replied, nonchalantly: “Sometimes spanking. Sometimes flogging. Sometimes clothespins clipped onto skin. That’s really hot.” I was warned that the act that followed us would be “really disgusting.” I didn’t want details, but felt relieved to know that we would get to perform before the floor turned sticky.
We followed the host who transformed from frumpy anonymous woman in sweatpants into a domanatrix wearing rubber corset, fishnets, and thigh high patent leather boots. She bound her two cohorts on stage as she lip-synched a love song to them.
Nola wore a suit; I wore thigh high fishnet stockings, four inch heels, and a tiny Buenos Aires special whose hem only just covered the bottom of my lacy red panties, which I showed off every time I leaned forward. I was one of the more modestly dressed patrons that evening. The crowd hooted and hollered every time Nola either pushed me away, or abruptly drew me close to her in an intimate embrace.
There was a fat older man wearing makeup, a wig, and a similar outfit to mine, except that his heels were bubble gum pink. I’ll keep the wig in mind for future performances.
As soon as the dance ended, I hastily covered my stockings and bare bottom and ran out to catch the last part of the Wednesday night “alternative” milonga at Nocturnal, where casually dressed tango dancers dance to non-traditional music.
I knew that tango would take me places.