I get on my hands and knees and start doing really slow push ups. My arms are trembling, but under the watchful eye of my instructor, Anjua, I feel the pressure to perform, so I keep going, more worried about looking foolish than collapsing dead in front of her. My reason for impressing her? She is hot. She’s tall, skinny, oozes sex appeal and yes—is the mother of a small child. When she flies around the pole she looks like an acrobat from a Cirque du Soleil show. I want to be like her. So, with only her as my mirror, I’m lying on the floor touching my body. I discover creases, like the one above my lips where sweat gathers before it runs across your mouth. I quickly sneak a peak at Anjua. If she looks hot, maybe I do too. Keeping that in mind, I arch my back and drop my head back toward the floor.

Anjua teaches me an easy stripper move called the fiddler, where you lay on your mat with your weight resting on the elbows. I peel my legs straight up toward the ceiling, bending my left knee, slowly sliding the inner edge of my left ankle down the inside of my right ankle and calf. My legs are elongated as I bring my left knee toward my right shoulder and up again toward the ceiling. I could do this in bed. Anybody could.