I’m not a pole dancer; I’m just the pole!

This is a short story I wrote based on a joke between me and my colleagues during breakfast… hope you guys get a laugh out of it. Michael is a real person, and yes… he is indeed 190cm / 6.2 feet.

This would be my first non-celebrity fiction :P



I’m not a pole dancer; I’m just the pole!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


You wouldn’t believe the story I have to tell you, but I assure you it’s true. Whenever I tell people about my extra-curricular activities, all I get are bug eyes and dropped jaws.

“You’re in a pole dancing class?” they exclaim.

“Yes,” I would reply.

“You pole dance?” they continue.

“No,” I’d reply. “I’m the pole.”

It all began when I saw this odd advertisement in a local magazine.

Are you tall? Can you stand still and remain emotionless for long periods of time? If you’ve answered ‘Yes’ to both questions, we need you. Call 013-xxxxxxx.

‘Why would they need a tall and still person?’ I wondered, and out of curiosity, I called them.

“Hello?” a lady answered.

“Hi…” I said. “I’m calling about the ad you put out in X magazine?”

“Ah, yes… are you interested?”

“I’m just wondering… what is it that you need a tall and still person for?”

“If you’re really interested, you can drop by,” she said. “We’re open tomorrow at 8pm, for classes.”

“Classes?”

“Yes,” she said. “Let me give you our address.”

I jotted down the address, thanked her, and hung up. Tomorrow, I shall find out what the mystery is about.

I arrived at a row of shop lots and scanned the plates on the doors to find the number corresponding to the address she’d given me. I found it and started climbing up the dark stairway. On my way up, I could hear music coming from the door at the top of the stair.

‘Hmm… music… must be a dance class,’ I thought.

I opened the door and walked in and immediately about 20 pairs of eyes were focusing on me. The girls were all dressed in the normal workout outfits; tank tops, tights, leg warmers and sneakers; definitely a dance class… of some sort.

“Erm… Hi! I’m Michael… here about the ad?” I said nervously.

“I’m Eva,” a slim and petite girl walked up to me. “I was the one you called yesterday.”

“Michael,” I reintroduced myself and offered my hand.

“You’re really tall,” she said as she shook my hand. “How tall are you?”

“190cm,” I said and I could hear gasps go around the room.

“I think you might be the guy we need,” she smiled.

The class turned out to be a pole dancing class, and I was to be the ‘pole’ for the girls to practice on. Sounds bizarre, but I swear it’s true. What’s more… at $500 a month, it was an easy and fun job for a lot of money.

I was pretty nervous during my first class. I stiffened up, no pun intended, whenever the girls were asked to rub against me or even when they touched me as they walked around me. Thankfully, none of them were humongous and hairy women, and eventually, I got used to all the touching, rubbing and grinding. I’m really becoming a pro at this and I tell you… it takes a lot of self-control to do this job. Being able to remain indifferent and emotionless like this could help you on your path to being a saint… that is, if you want to be.

I get looks of admiration from the guys I tell this to, and sometimes, looks of disgust from the women, but who cares, I’m happy. Who gets to be rubbed on by 20 women once a week and gets paid $500? I do!