Sultana

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Or not.

I don´t know about you but I, a professional Oriental Dancer about whom people love to thread fantasies and pre-conceived ideas which are miles away from me, never danced for a sultan or anything of that sort (let´s say a man). Needless to say I´ve been asked to but I refused. I rarely work – reminder: dance is my work – outside my working schedule. I prefer doing other stuff like reading, cooking, writing, running, living, making love or, why not?, watching people dance for me.

I´ve had men – and women – dancing for me on countless occasions. I don´t have to ask for it, they do it by their own will and I´m usually curious to watch, especially if they don´t consider themselves dancers. The lack of pretension is a delight and a hint that I might be in for a treat.

Men I loved and who loved me back danced for me; strangers in public places, friends, adoptive fathers, all kinds of men. They dance for me as I watch lying on a couch, like a sultana, waiting for the grapes to fall on my mouth.

As soon as I´ve started studying Oriental Dance – in this life time -, or remembering what I already had in me, I realized I was doing it for me, to please me, to rock my world and not to please a man. I can think of many things, more interesting and spicy than dance, to do with my man. Come on! Don´t make me say it. 

Let wives, lovers and concubines do their thing for men – as long as they´re happy, I´m happy. As far as I´m concerned, I´m the sultana and they are the dancers who delight me with their moves. A twist in History never hurt anyone, did it?

It´s hard to express through words the pleasure I get from breaking (rotten) rules.

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