missrenie: (Default)
Rubenesque Burlesque is doing it again with the Hubba Hubba Revue. Come see us shake and shimmy it up on the shores of Lake Tittihaha. Grab your gear and get ready for a hot hot summer night!!! xoxoxXXX,
Miss Renie
aka
Miss Magnoliah Black. Come see us shake and shimmy it up on the shores of Lake Tittihaha. Grab your gear and get ready for a hot hot summer night!!!

xoxoxXXX,
Miss Renie
aka Miss Magnoliah Black


Photobucket
missrenie: (MagBlackSep)

I keep trying to blog about what it was like on stage that Monday night.

 

What it felt like to taunt, tease and strip down to pasties and panties infront of the general public who hooted and hollered enthusiastically.  But I can’t.

 

In all honesty all I remember is this:

~nervous anticipation while standing at the curtain waiting to go on stage.

~an oddly hilarious moment when I realized in passing that the weird taste in my mouth was because I almost threw up.

~a sense of frantic disorientation when I made it back stage and wondered were my clothes were.

 

Standing there on that metal chair next to Kitty Von Quim with my arms upraised, my  hips twisted, exposed to the world was wonderful and powerful but this open ending seems trivial in comparison to what happened next.

 

During the second act there was a woman.  A belly dancer and she was gorgeous.  She was stunning, she was amazing.  She wove a spell like a shimmering  net, caught us up and drew us into her seduction.  In the end I applauded her wildly.

 

This may not seem like a big deal to some.

To me it was.

 

Less than six months ago I would have despised this woman

I would have hated her sexuality

I would have been jealous of her body

I would have compared myself to her and let her lovely image disgrace me, twist me, taunt me into a self loathing that would have began in starvation and ended with a binge.

 

But that didn’t happen this time

It didn’t happen because I was and am aware of the truth of my own sexuality, of my own body, of my own lovely image.

 

The truth of this makes me free

Free to enjoy her quaking hips

Free to applaud each thrust and twist

Free to see each bump and grind

Free to scream and clap in time

 

Because I have finally accepted me I can accept and appreciate her.

No matter who “her” is

And that is a powerful thing indeed.

missrenie: (Default)

In a little more than 72 hours I will be standing in direct defiance of every negative thing about my body that I have been taught to believe

I will take the stage in front of total strangers and fond friends;) and if you are there you will see that it will take a total of three minutes for me to stylishly remove two black gloves, one silk nighty and a black and purple laced bra.

What you will not see is the decade it has taken me to remove the limitations of self hate
What you will not see is the years I have spent removing corrosive loathing in order find my worth and self love
What you will not see is the six months it has taken me to remove that defeating fear that has told me that my dreams will never be my reality


You'll see me
just me
all of me
exactly how I was made to be

Yours Truly,
Miss Magnoliah Black





missrenie: (Default)
“You won’t make it on pretty alone” Kitty von Quimm says



There are three us there
Three of us sitting in a single line

with our legs spread
and our shoulders back

facing a large long ballet style mirror,
in a small theater somewhere in Oakland.

I look from her reflection to my own and in the light streaming in from above I  can see every flaw in my thunderous thighs, the repulsing fat of my abdomen, the ample flesh of my arms and yes more than one chin.

I almost smile at her remark. I’ve accepted my body but I’ve never thought of pretty as an option. Well that’s a lie. With clothes on, well the right clothes on I am beautiful. But like this…


“Burlesque is about attitude. They want it.  They want all of this” Juicy D. Light says from my right as she runs her hands up her full figured form. “And you can’t be afraid to give it to them.”


For a moment I am afraid.
There are no lines here, no biased boundaries, no entity to fight against, no rules to bend or break, no lines to refuse to follow.


There is just me


just me and the music
the stage and the crowd

The crowd who will not judge me according to my body, nor the false stylized standards of beauty that society has to its own detriment declared as fact.

No, they will judge me on something far more important…
my creativity
my fearlessness
my self expression
my ability to shock & amaze
my mastery over my sexuality and sensuality
my ability to command their attention and make them let me entertain them.


I am thinking this as Juicy counts off the sexy eight, as I watch us move together our left shoulders dipping to the right and our bodies following it back out.

I am feeling this as I shimmy and shake down low before slapping my thighs and pushing myself back up forcefully.

And as my mane of dreadlocks flips up and back over my shoulders I see this
I see this creativity & sensuality,
this expression of a fierce and fearless sexuality
I see this in my own reflection.
and I can’t help but growl a little.


Kitty is right I won’t make it on pretty alone
But that’s not a problem for me because I’m not pretty.

I am fucking gorgeous
I am fucking fabulous
I am fucking fierce



I am Miss Magnoliah Black~~~
                           Let me entertain you~~~
missrenie: (Default)
 

Friday night at 8:05pm 

I’m standing on a darkened street. 
my eyes are rimmed with khol, my lips shiny with blood wine colored gloss,
my dreds are pulled into two low buns at the back of my head.
I am dressed in a red and black striped corset,
short black skirt with a slit up the back,
and appropriately uncomfortable shiny black patent leather 6 inch fuck me stilettos whose steel grommets accents wrap scandalously up my ankle…
 

And I am trying to convince one of San Jose’s finest that I am not a whore.

 

We are way past the do you know why I pulled you over, where are you coming from, where are you going song and dance.  It is flawless until we get to the registration part.
 

See I brought my car a while ago and didn’t register it until that Tuesday.  I have the paper work proving that it is registered in my binder… that is on my futon… at home along with my proof of insurance.

So now I am trying to prove that I am not a whore and the car is mine.  Frantically searching for my cell phone in my purse so I can ask Marlene to bring me the papers, pulling out things like a leather collar and nipple clamps while telling him my entire life story or at least the part about buying the car, the breaking up of my relationship, moving to a new place, working seven days a week and the reason why the car was not registered sooner.

The officer informs me of all the fines and penalties that I am facing

I get  angry…

I admit I behave badly.  I am really looking forward to play time with Mister…. seriously I am  going through withdrawl for a while.  And the thought of having my car taken away, fined 1,300 dollars for not having my proof of insurance on top of the possibility of not being able to see Mister was more than I could handle.

I get emotional.
 

Maybe it’s the massive amounts of cleavage
Maybe it’s that I’m about to cry
Maybe it’s the fact that beginning throws of crying makes the massive amount of cleavage dance like a hula girl on the dashboard of some teenagers first hand me down or maybe his first teenage hand me down but he softens.

Look I want to believe you but you don’t have any paper work or any proof that this is your car.
 

At this point the phone rings and its Mister who sounds a little worried and wants to know where I am.  I apologize to the officer and take the call and explain what’s going on… when I hang up I tell the officer that I’m going to get scolded for running late and speeding.

 

Where were you going again exactly?
~********

Where is it?

~I give him vague directions because I do not know the street address.

He gives me a look boarding on incredulity You don’t know the street address?

~I give him an equal look of indignation I’m a woman I drive by landmarks.

So what exactly is ********? 

~Um

A club a dinner what?

~It’s a

A social event, a dance hall?

~It’s…

A rave?

~It's...What ensues is a nearly 15 min conversation about the nature of bdsm, dispelling the myth that it is all about sex, the importance of safe,sane and consensual,  basics on submissive and dominate relationship, power and exchange and overview on the psychology involved in play.
 
So what are you?

~Right now… a Submissive Switch.

Ahh that makes sense. That should be helpful with balancing out your A type personality.

~You really think I have an A type personality? I’m clearly if not blantly appalled.
 
Raises an eyebrow....with incredulity

~Okay okay you're right

 

He laughs and it’s a real laugh.
And he lets me go… even tells me that I can continue onto  ********* instead of going home to get my paper work first.  Tells me to drive slower, wash my rear window so I can see (if I’m being followed by the police) and tells me his name and where the station is and in case I am stopped again his card.

About 20 mins later (cause I went home and got my paperwork) I’m gripping onto the St Andrews Cross screaming/moaning my new mantra.

Early is on time
On time is late
Late is never acceptable

 

and for a brief moment I can’t help but smile because the sheer visual of myself dressed up like that defending myself, my sexual preferences, and the legal status of my ride is stranger than fiction
and what’s even stranger is that I think that officer knew exactly where and what ******** was and I think
 

… I think he made a pass at me.

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missrenie

November 2011

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