As a nudist, I thought I had an optimistic regard for my body, (at least before my transition) but nothing like the unrepentant body image of the dancers bodies moving like barely clad whirlwinds, sensually across the stage, merging erratically in a blur of music, lights, and movement surging through me like waves of freedom. Bodies a love poem in motion preaching the mesmerizing gospel of g-string buttocks seemingly emitting shimmering heat winks and tassel-covered nipples waving like an old-time country preacher speaking in tongues that only he understands. Sitting in VIP seats frankly not meaning much passion rising in the cramped barroom after each performer but not able to let myself go. Desiring more than anything else to be plucked down in the middle of this fantasy world living life saying yes without fear or qualification where nothing matters but the lights, music, and the enticing and inspiring movement of the dancers.
The Pine Cone Review 