What Happens at the Dirty Show...

...sure doesn't stay at the dirty show. I've been thinking a lot about my experience at Detroit's Dirty Show last week. There was no, "I kissed a girl and I liked it;" I didn't get spanked (though more than a few tried). And if I did, I'm sure not going to tell here. I haven't led a particularly sheltered life, but I saw some things that night. Some things I don't think I'll soon forget. The Dirty Show is an international erotic art exhibition now in its tenth year. It was a wonderful mix of freeks, geeks, miscreants, weirdos and suburbanites. There was latex and there was leather. There were hipsters and hippies. And then there was me. It was actually kind of fun to put some thought into my digs for the first time in a long time. I finally settled on what I like to call "spinster chic." And while it was sexier than my normal attire, I was damn near cloistered compared to some of my fellow Dirty Show goers. There were more than a few people on leashes (!) and a few adorned head to toe in black pleather (fetish gear I've since learned it's called). There were moms and dads dressed up for the night. And there was a woman bent over some sort of altar. It was freaky and fabulous. I was most taken with the aerial and burlesque acts on stage. Seeing so many people comfortable in their own imperfect skin was inspiring. The women climbing silk sheets and displaying amazing strength and grace captured most of my attention. As did a piece involving clowns entitled "Fucking Funny," I liked the name more than the piece, but I can't complain. It was fun stepping outside my comfort zone. It was one of those things that years ago I would've never attended on my own and I would've never known any different. And that would've been a shame.