Had a great girls night out recently, with the girls of course.  There were eight of us in total and we had booked a Burlesque night about 10 miles away.  I was fierce excited.  Sure I’d always wanted to go to one of those.  The closest I’ve ever come to that, was a night in the red light district in Amsterdam, many moons ago.  Sure you’d see all those women in the windows, with all the gear on them, the lingerie ‘n’ all that but they’d be sitting demurely or strutting about, not climbing poles or dancing or anything.  And sure I was the only woman. with a load of lads, walking around the red light district.  Don’t ask!  Actually, I’d better elaborate on that or you’ll be thinking all sorts of lewd thoughts.


The reason I was with all those lads, in a place of such repute, ill or otherwise, was that my boyfriend at the time was doing a five day electronics course nearby and sure he’d brought me along for the ride.  Not ‘a ride’, though…no never mind that.  Sure being in Amsterdam and not visiting the Red Light District would be like going to your Auntie Mary’s village and not popping in for a cuppa.  Those poor lads, their eyes were nearly popping out of their heads at the signs inviting them in for live sex shows and the touters outside those places were encouraging them.  They were fierce respectful though, didn’t want to bring a ‘lady’ in there, despite the touters’ encouragement.  Sure I was wondering what lady they were referring to as I was the first in the queue but the aul boyfriend pulled me back and insisted we move along and window shop instead.


Anyway, I digress…our burlesque night….sure we had booked a party bus ‘n’ all.  Might as well start as you mean to go on.  But Jaysus, it was a night fit for ducks.  Not the show, no, the weather.  The skies had opened and the rain was falling relentlessly as I made my way to the local rowing club, which was the first pick up point for the mobile den of iniquity.  Mind you, I was only short of phoning ahead and asking could they send a party ‘boat’ instead with some nice muscular men to do the rowing for us.  They’d be rewarded when we got to our destination with the sight of basques and boobies.  


As i approached the pick up point, I saw a mini van parked outside and through the rain, thought I saw the word POLICE above the windscreen. ‘ Oh’, I thought, ‘there must be a fracas at the rowing club, if they need a mini van….ooh, it’d be nice to see lots of hunky policemen wading in through those rowdy rowers, all those muscles tensing and rippling with the tension’.  This was gonna be some night!


My delight was short lived however as I was brought back to earth with a bump, when I drew nearer and realised that it wasn’t the word POLICE at all but simply TAXI.  ‘Jaysus’, I thought, ‘I hope that’s not for us, we didn’t book a feckin taxi, we ordered a party bus.  Maybe those rowers weren’t having a barney after all, but had ordered a taxi and sure they might even be going to to the burlesque night themselves, now wouldn’t that be fun.  My imagination was running riot, when I heard the voice of one of the girlies calling me.  Looking around to see where the sound was coming from, I realised she was actually in the van.  Quickly turning my frown upside down, coz sure I’m very fond of this aul one, I decided not to have a moan and climbed in and sat beside her, on one of the four seats, facing another four opposite.  Not long after, four more of our party arrived, including the only aul fella crazy enough to come on a girls night out.  Sure he’s more like a young fella, knows how to have a bit of craic.


With two more passengers to collect, at the only other pick up point, we closed the doors on the weather for ducks, not a rower or a sexy cop in sight.  Our driver turned on the engine and in a puff of smoke he turned into a DJ, as on came the flashing disco lights, out pumped the loud music, the bus filled with mist and we were OFF!!  It WAS a party bus after all.  The only thing we were missing was alcohol but sure we were high enough on the excitement, being aul ones who don’t get out much ‘n’ all that.


Well we sang and we bopped, the type of dancing you do while sitting, seat dancing, not lap dancing, as our driving DJ took requests along the way.  Stopping at our second and last pick up point, the rest of our party joined the fun as the door slid open to reveal to them, six enthusiastic teenagers trapped in the bodies of five aul ones and an aul fella.  Smoke and flashing lights emanated from the van as Abba thanked us for the music. Jaysus, they were providing the music.  Well the young fella in the front was really, because he was playing the stuff, spreading the joy and sure we aul lot in the back were lapping it up…no, still not lap dancing.  Jaysus, I wouldn’t be able for that stuff, the arthritic body would ask me what the feck I was thinking about.  But maybe with a few drinks…don’t they loosen you up a bit…sure the night was young!!


Ducks were now fast disappearing as the weather changed in favour of penguins.  Light sprinkles of snow fell gently from the dark sky as we pulled up outside the venue for the burlesque shenanigans. ‘Here we are ladies’ announced our DJ Driver and looking out the window I thought he’d made a mistake as there in all its glory stood a church of all things.  ‘Ah, sure you’re having me on’ I proclaimed to the aul one who had organised our trip. ‘A church?’ ‘Jaysus, the priests and nuns will be turning in their graves’. ‘Not at all’, the cheeky faced aul one replied ‘they’re long gone, this hasn’t been a church for years’. ‘Well’, I announced ‘I hope there isn’t a crypt underneath, because their ghostly remains will be shoving each other out of the way to have a good look when the show starts.  But sure if the movies are anything to go by, they could just float through the floorboards and have a peek!!’


In we trotted and headed straight for the makeshift bar and sure the drink was fierce cheap, so we were delighted with ourselves.  Once seated in the ‘bar’ area we decided it might be good to take a little trip to the ladies, as you do, two by two.  It was just as well that we were in pairs because the toilet was for all sexes and when it came to my turn, sure I’m only a little aul one and the lock was up so high, I couldn’t reach.  The last thing I would have needed was some fella, auld or otherwise, opening that door and seeing me with my knickers around my ankles.  Coming to see a burlesque show is one thing, a bird’s eye view of an aul one’s fat arse is hardly the same.


While I was in the toilet I heard a young one telling her friend how her Da doesn’t agree with multi-sex toilets.  Being a nosy aul one, one ear to the door, with both hands pulling up my knickers, I mused how my hearing aid was doing a grand job, as I listened to the divulging of family secrets between friends.  Now in my defence, she couldn’t have been whispering or there wouldn’t have been a chance of me hearing, through a closed door, even with a hearing aid.  And sure there were males and females of varied ages in the queue listening too. I may be a nosy aul one but I’m also polite, so when my friend had taken my place in the cubicle and knowing she was tall enough to reach the lock, I asked the young one about her Da.  Eager to share the hypocrisy of his opinions, the entertained young lady announced to all and sundry, waiting to deposit their bodily waste, that she herself had pointed out to her Da, that they only had one bathroom in their house and they all used it, herself, her brother, sister, himself and her Ma.  And sure weren’t they different sexes!  So what was that all about?  Just as well her Da wasn’t at the burlesque night or he would have been beside himself with the amount of legs being crossed and lipstick being re-applied in the wait for that single toilet.  Worse still, if he was a short aul fella, he may have had to ask some aul one to keep guard on the toilet door, God forbid!!


Bladders emptied, drinks in hand, we climbed the stairs with all the other eager multi-sex voyeurs of various ages.  The venue was a bit like a small school hall, with chairs set out in rows both sides of the stage. Once seated, intermittently sipping our wine, we watched as the seats were filled and eventually the show began.  Wearing a suit that had seen better days, the compere greeted everyone with a cheery introduction and the usual jokes and silliness that are part of a cabaret evening of any sort.  Then the action began.


Now being an aul one with a large bucket list to get through, going to a strip club has always been on it, if for nothing else, to get some tips. Not the tips that the lads shove into the strippers’ knickers, just a heads up on how to do a good strip tease.  It might have been better to have gone to one of those when I was a young one, because comparing one’s own titties to those of the performers mightn’t have been such a deflating experience then, as now in my fifties.  I’ve more or less accepted that I’m not going to be visiting a strip club any time soon, so a burlesque night would suffice.


However, every woman has the potential to look well in a basque with knickers and stockings, even with fat and cellulite.  So before the ladies whisked off their bras to reveal tassle adorned naked boobies, I had been quite confident I could pull off some of their sexy moves, with a bit of practice.  Once those firm breasts were exposed however, all was lost. I’d have to be like those women who practically wore dresses into the sea in the olden days, should I meet a lusty gent in the near future.  Either that or I’d have to make sure he wore high prescription specs and whisk them off him just as the basque hit the floor.


Sure it was a grand show and the ladies, of different shapes and sizes, were fab.  There was even a Jessica Rabbit style singer who did a little strip herself at one stage.  Ridiculously, there were three intervals ,which provided plenty of time for multi sex queueing for the one toilet, which became blocked with overuse.  Subsequently, the disabled toilet, which was grand for the height challenged amongst us, having a lock at a reasonable level, was the place to hang out.  When we got back to the hall, they had put up a pole on the stage.  Flashbacks of girls nights out, with a full hollow leg, when anything that looked remarkably like a pole, got a full sexy shimmy of a dance, brought a smile to my face. Likely we were wearing little enough in those days that we could have passed for burlesque dancers ourselves, never mind voyeurs.


Sitting back in our seats, we aul ones were prepared for one or more of the girls to do a pole dance, when Mother of Divine Jesus, an aul fella walked onto the stage.  Now, he wasn’t any aul fella.  He was built like a tank.  A short tank mind you, but a well oiled and maintained one. Sure the muscles were bulging out of him everywhere, he looked like he could row, ride, swim, whatever, he had muscles for all eventualities and he used them in every way possible.  That aul fella was climbing that pole, hanging out of it, upside down, rightside up, Jaysus he could move.  Though he wasn’t wearing a basque and he may not have been performing burlesque, you could say that he fitted right in because he was, you know, BURLYesque.  As close as possible as you could be without wearing sexy underwear though what he was wearing was very sexy, all leather and oiled and….Jaysus I’m giving myself palpatations  just thinking about it!


With a glittering finale of leather clad ladies holding chainsaws, sparks flew in every direction as they moved with the music.  I was ever so slightly concerned something might catch fire but it all went off without incident and with a big round of applause, the show came to an end. Gathering ourselves together, us girlies donned our coats, hats, scarves and gloves, in preparation for the cold weather outside, had a quick pee en route and headed towards the party bus for the trip home.  Visions of the sexy underwear packed away at my place, brought a glimmer of excitement as I thought how nice it would be to begin wearing them again, just for me. That feeling of knowing you’re wearing sexy underwear, be it a basque, suspender belt, stockings, without anyone else needing to know, unless you get lucky of course, is empowering.  Maybe it was time to resurrect those undergarments and show them the light of day.


Happily singing along to the music in the party bus on the way home, no flashing lights this time, I smiled at the thought of maybe putting my plan into action the very next day.  Even the snow that had fallen on the ground, making it potentially slippy, when I had bade my friends goodnight, didn’t dampen the joy.  Once inside, I decided I couldn’t wait till the following morning and opening my wardrobe, grabbed the small blue suitcase that held the sexy garments, from my wardrobe, in eager anticipation.  Tossing the bag on my bed, I cursed silently as I realised there was a combination lock, Jaysus they were like the feckin crown jewels, sure they might as well have been, they were likely worn less than the crown itself.  Quick thinking recalled the combination and as the lock clicked open, I eagerly threw back the lid of the case and grabbed the first garment my hand touched on…a light pink basque.  Holding it in both hands, the smile disappeared from my face as I looked at the size of it.  Tossing it on my bed, I grabbed another item, then another, they were all the same, tiny.  Like water draining from a sink, my dreams of walking tall, with a twinkle in my eye, knowing that I was wearing lustrous lingerie, faded rapidly.


Closing the case in dismay I slumped on the bed, then caught sight of a sticker on the lid.  Looking more closely I read the words SKINNY LINGERIE written in pen.  Like a light being switched on, a thought came into my head, which brought back all the joy I had been feeling earlier.  Jumping back up, I returned to the wardrobe, to drag out another case, red, with black handles, which had been pushed further back. Carrying it towards my bed, pushing the blue bag out of the way, I clicked the red case open effortlessly.  No lock on this, I noted with a smile, catching sight of a sticker, which read PLEASANTLY PLUMP LINGERIE.  Lifting a lacy black number out, together with fishnet stockings, I knew at once that these garments would fit, without a doubt.  Who needed the uncomfortable crown jewels when you could have your cake and eat it, and still feel sexy?


So, if you see a smiling, sassy, pleasantly plump fifty something aul one, strolling along the street, walking tall, even though she is decidedly short, know with certainty that she is wearing her PLEASANTLY PLUMP LINGERIE and if there’s anything resembling a pole in sight, have your camera phone ready, because the show will be about to begin!!

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By |2019-02-20T13:05:42+00:00February 19th, 2019|Comments Off on Burlesque

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