Scandal in a Corset

I let my hair down last night - and it felt finger licking good. I did something that I wouldn't normally do and it blew all the cobwebs away - it kind of blew them away with the sort of force that appears on Sky News 24.

I went to a Burlesque show. Now, I've tried this once before and I was mildly uncomfortable all evening and went home feeling a little insecure and very confident that I'd probably choke on a nipple if I tried to get tassles moving like those girls did. But last night I had a really good time - I went to the Hurly Burly Show at The Garrick Theatre near Leicester Square and it had all the atmosphere and coy sexuality that you need to enjoy Burlesque without feeling a little bit creepy. Having said that, if the woman next to me had laughed through her nose and sighed any more I would have had to ask her to immediately don an anorak and wear a badge which labelled her "More Than A Little Bit Excited".

I went with a lady friend who is in desperate need of cheering and so we decided to push the boat out on the glamour stakes for our evening. Killer heels and plunging cleavage were the order for the day... we did not fail. I have a certain outift that arranges my front bum into the sort of position that would save my life were I to be hit front on by a truck. It's quite convenient. That dress is a success if for nothing else than you always know where my boobs are when I'm wearing it - THEY'RE THERE. Perfect for a kinky show and a self-esteem boost. I don't usually feel very comfortable dressing up or being particularly revealing - it's not how I think of myself and I find it difficult than anyone I meet when dressed like that will have a certain label and make very strict assumptions about me. If you could wear a lot of make up, show a lot of thigh but carry round a certificate of your degree it might be easier. Just for one night, though, I thought I'd make an exception and feel glamorous.

The show was brilliant - really well done, beautiful girls and excellent music. I'd recommend it to anyone. It got me thinking a lot about how heterosexuals appreciate the sexuality of their own gender. The audience split was about 50/50 for the show and I couldn't help but think that were it a Chippendale show, you probably wouldn't get a straight man in the house. Why do straight women find it nice to watch other women stripping? Are we all secret lesbians as Zoo magazine would have us believe? Is it morbid curiosity to go and see the sort of figure the vast majority of us can't be bothered to achieve? I don't know.

For me, I found it pleasant to watch attractive women in this situation - it was a turn on, but not because I wanted to physically be with any of the women - it's because I wanted to feel what they were portraying I think. I was sort of watching these very attractive woman dancing and, not jealously wishing I had her body (much), but wanting to feel the sort of desire and sexual enlightenment she is experiencing. When you see perfect breasts on a stage, it's not that you want to be involved with them - it's that you want other people to appreciate yours in the same way. I think. Through watching a physical form that's like yours, you can almost believe you're acting out the fantasies that are occurring? I think. I'm not sure.

I'm not sure it is the same for men? I'm obviously not a man - as my dress last night proved - I think perhaps there is too much a competition element for men? As far as I understand it, sex for most men is much more a solely physical experience - I think women have more complicated layers to get them excited and for them to enjoy sex. I'm aware we're delving deep into potential Stephen Fry situations here - I'm not meaning all women need to have their hair stroked and be told they're adored before they'll drop their pants - but I think there are extra complications other than - Do I want to have sex, simple yes or no.

After the show I was reminded why I never wear revealing clothes. I WAS PROPOSITIONED. It was the sort of proposition that was very, very easy to turn down.

Having tried clubbing in Leicester Square, my friend and I decided it smelt like egg and that having your leg humped by a 12 year old in a chequed shirt wasn't for us. We left the club and were immediately greeted by a promo guy insisting the night picked up around midnight. By night picking up we assume he meant there would be 15 year old boys who might have progressed to tight tshirts and smelling of egg mayonnaise.

Our promo guy then declared I had beautiful eyes. This would have been a lovely compliment if he hadn't followed it up with "I want you to, like, have my babies." Er, right... is he looking for a sitter or suggesting I go and lift my petticoats round the back of Shaftesbury Avenue. He told us his name was Dijon - like the mustard, I asked, he ignored me (perhaps deciding the mother of his children was a gobby cow).

I was laughing by this point and I think the slight tremor in the chest reason must have caugh his eye like a mgapie going after a Mr Kipling cake case. He made the error of looking directly at the breasts. Now, I don't mind - I purposely got them out, didn't go out under the impression that no one could see my cleavage but me, if I didn't want them to catch the attention of the opposite sex I wouldn't show them off. But the poor guy didn't really know what to do after that. I was frightened he'd never stop looking and we'd have to get married or he could sue me for lack of earnings.

After about 15 seconds of rabbit in the mammaries style shock, he pulled himself together.
"Oh my god I am so sorry. I am just, like, staring at your tits."
Me - "Yes... yes you are."
"You have beautiful tits. Damn, I want to, like, take you to Nandos. Can I take you to Nandos?"


At this point I was crying with laughter. Our mustardy friend was floundering and had pulled out his trump card. Chicken. My friend and I could barely breathe and the poor guy was still backtracking desperately to try and keep his chances of spicy rice with Sharky & George (my front humps) alive. He tried the 'be nice to the friend card' and turned to my companion with his best grin,
"You've got a lovely scarf."

This man was a Grade A genius. Total and utter smooth charm. Women may have a lot of difficulties to overcome in finding a balance between the sexes, but at least we are blessed with the capacity to be able to consider the concept of sex and still run a functioning body.