I showed my tummy. I totally danced belly exposed to the world. And I loved it! I may post some pictures at a later time. We'll see if any turned out.
I also only ate one piece of banana bread and one grain cracker so I would avoid the inevitable food baby gas pregnancy that would have made such exposure unbearable. After dancing I ate fried food from the Falafel House, which was catering the event. Mm-mm-mm. Post-dance gluttony. One of life's great unknown and untapped pleasures.
I put about, oh, six times the amount of makeup I usually wear to gussy up for the gala. It was sexy, it was tarty, it was barely noticeable under the harsh lights, and it was a bitch to take off. But it was also completely worth it. I felt hot.
There were these two dancers who were utterly to-die-for amazing and, frankly, hot stuff. After they were done, I turn to the Dude:
Me: Have a boner?
ME: 'Cause I know I do.
Heh heh heh.
I had a friend in the gala as well, and McPal showed up for moral support and good times. One of the better exchanges of the evening came courtesy of him, also after the two amazing dancers of wowness:
McPal: This is when being gay makes me feel like I'm missing out. That's hot! And it does nothing for me. Men don't do that.
Me: Some do.
McPal: Well, yeah, but when men do it it's not sexy!
And he's right. And I've seen men come into the belly dance classes. Without T&A and some extra pounds of well-placed flesh, the whole thing doesn't really work. Of course, with men there's nothing quite like a nice set of defined abs. Women can have those too, but like bellydancing men, a sixpack on a woman just ain't pretty.