You never forget your first time.

My blood red, open toed heels squeaked on the beat up wooden floor that the club called their stage. It looked like one giant splinter fest waiting to happen. After spraying the cleaning cloth for the poles, I came to standing, my legs feeling wobbly. “Damn heels,” I muttered to myself. Upon taking a couple of steps, I came to terms with the fact that I would be spending most of this audition on the floor. I was okay with this, it would allow me to show off my flexibility. But first the poles needed my attention. From behind the dj booth, Kyle announced my audition in his signature drawn-out manner, and my song began. I cleaned the first two poles at the front of the stage more slowly than the others. Starting high, as far as I could reach, I wrapped the cloth around the metal. The rag made it’s way down, creeping gradually to the base. Bent in half now over my legs, I swiftly threw my head back, attempting the well known “stripper hair flip”, and nearly lost my balance. Saving myself from embarrassment, I turned around to tidy the pole behind me. “Pretty cool to have four poles on this stage.” The ones in the rear of the stage were spaced further apart, and it looked like they were going to be easier to dance around. I tossed the unsavory pole rag to the side of the stage near the staircase.

 It was time.

 My right hand reached for the pole and gripped firmly. The cold metal molded to my flesh, and it was ineffable. Sexual, phallic innuendos aside, the feeling was not only exhilarating, but inspiring. Taking a couple of steps around, my confidence got the better of me, and I threw my outside leg just a tad too hastily in front of me, and around the pole.

 “Fuck! That’s fast.”

 I was sure the audience saw my surprise. But this was all new to me and it was no secret to anyone watching. I tried again, not really doing any better. Although this time my spin was more controlled. The poles were stationary, meaning they did not move or spin. The dancer moved around them. I came to a sitting position at the base of the pole, propped up on one hip, my free hand rising to my head to run my fingers through my hair.

 “Be sexy. Make it sexy.”

 But making any eye contact with the audience was difficult because the stage lights were blinding the shit out of me. So I remembered my training -- focus on one spot in the distance, and stick to it. A few customers approached the stage and threw some dollar bills, but they didn’t stay. Was that normal? Oh god, I had NO idea what I was doing. My song now halfway through, and in my moment of panic, I crawled to the middle of the stage and did a split. There was a moment of silence, accompanied by applause and cheering.

 “Oh shit! They love it!”

 I turned over to my front side, and pushing upwards, brought both feet to the back of my head to create a triangular shape. More clapping and shouting this time, and the beautiful noises filled the club, as several other customers brought more money to the stage. Switching positions to lay on my back, my hips circled and waved in the air, and I eagerly felt myself up. Every inch of my body tingled in delight, as my fingertips trailed along my sides all the way up to my unpretentious titties. With goosebumps covering my almost naked flesh, I brought myself to my knees and stared directly into the audience, preparing to remove my bra for the very first time in a public place. I hesitated. Would my tits be too small? What if I get boo-ed?

 “No, you have to do this,” I encouraged myself, “You’ve come this far, there’s no turning back!”

 My fingers reached for the clasp that was the only part separating my insecurities from reality. The hook-and-eyes that secured the garment clicked, and bra was quickly off.

 I waited.

But no boo-ing transpired, only clapping and shouts of approval. With two flips of my head, hair whipping in identical circles, I rested on my backside once again, re-positioned my ass towards the audience, and stuck my legs in the air. I knew that my movements were rough, but my eagerness to have the opportunity to perform again, on a stage in front of an audience that appreciated my talent, drove me. I really wanted to get this job. Shaking my legs vigorously, my curves jiggled in delight as the crowd roared, sharing their excitement. A huge, toothy smile spread across my face, and despite my unsteadiness from an intoxicating combination of adrenaline and nerves, I came to standing, managing to not fall. A small bow was taken, and my new born baby calf legs carried me to the stair case.

A Blast From The Past

I will always be eternally grateful to my Ballet training, as well as treasure my fond experiences, and love for classical dance. But sometimes what you believe may be the correct route for your life, might not be exactly what you need after all. This is one of the reasons I created the style, "Ballet Sensual". An almost hypocritical style of dance and movement, combining the most classical and un-classical of arts.
This is a very abridged version of my dance history. It may offer some insight into why I became the dancer I am today.

Do what's right for you.

Enjoy your life.

Be strong in who you are.

All that mattered to me was becoming a ballerina. When I was 8, my Mom and Dad enrolled me into gymnastics classes. I didn’t care that I was a “natural”, “destined to go to the Olympics” (my instructor told my mom often). Every floor routine, flip, sequence on the balance beam or bars, I would add my own flair, a little twist, twirl, anything that felt natural.

“Don’t do that, Lindsey!” “Stick to the routine!”

I didn’t care. Who were they to tell me how to move? Even my mom, one of my greatest supporters would chastise me for being different, unique, free-thinking. When I explained to her that all I was interested in was becoming a dancer, she seemed more understanding. But gymnastics was still on the agenda. You see, being home schooled didn’t exactly always offer a vast array of classes. The home school group my siblings and I were enrolled in, offered courses that were on a group rate, making the price either very cheap, or next to free. Discount aside, tell that to a kid, and they don’t appreciate a good deal. I just wanted to dance. It wasn’t until I was almost 12 that I had the opportunity. So until then, I sat in my room, scouring library books, stretching as best I could (with the little education I had, internet not yet being available to the general public). My folks recognized my passion, and occasionally chatted amongst themselves. Month after month, year after year. Every empty space, grocery aisle, empty field, drive way. . .even in the swimming pool, I practiced what I saw on my video tapes and in my books.

My passion and drive were insatiable. Fast forward a few years, Ballet and Dance classes now weekly taken and thoroughly appreciated, my parents get the news that we will be moving to Japan, working for the Department of Defense. I was irate. How would I dance in Japan? Were there even existing dance classes? (Looking back, it amazes me how the general education of the American population really is completely inadequate). My mom and dad reassured me that there would be, but I had my doubts. I was crushed, this was my dream. And after waiting for so many years? I made myself a promise. I vowed that no matter what happened, or how many years I was made to wait, that when I grew up, I would become a professional dancer. To my surprise, my training was continued overseas, and funding was more prevalent. We were re-stationed, moving from Japan to Germany. And instead of attending a regular academic college, trade college schooling for Dance and Performing Arts was available off post, for young artists with passion and drive. After 3 years, at barely 20 years old, I made the decision to move to Ireland to continue my education in Cork City. Under the direction of Alan Foley, and his incredibly competent board of teachers, after only a few months, I was also given the opportunity to dance in his company, The Cork City Ballet.

But somewhere along the way, something didn’t feel right. I was being made to dance in ballets and numbers that I didn’t really enjoy. My body began wearing down, as my soul slowly suffered. This was forced movement. The conditions for constant weight loss and the need to be technically perfect was excruciating. Was this was what being a Ballet Dancer meant?