"There are some three senses of the expression 'virgin dance' on Gor. There is a sense in which it is a kind of dance, rather than a particular dance, which is deemed appropriate for virgins. In that sense I was not expected to perform a 'virgin dance.' One would seldom see such dances in taverns. The second sense is the obvious one in which it is a dance danced by a virgin, and usually just prior to the loss of her virginity. In that sense it could be almost any dance which serves the purpose of displaying the girl before her initial ravishing. The third sense of the term is that of a specific dance, or type of dance, most often, interestingly, not even danced by a virgin, but usually by an experienced slave. It is not exactly a story dance, but more of an emotional or attitudinal piece, more in the nature of a 'role dance,' a dance in which the slave dances as though she might be a virgin, but knows she is to be ravished, and that she is expected to be pleasing. The dance I was expected to perform was, I suppose, a 'virgin dance' in both the second and third senses of the term. Mirus, paradoxically, speaking obviously in the third sense of the term, had told me that I would do better at this sort of dance when I was no longer a virgin. I felt metal anklets being thrust on my ankles by Tupita and Sita, They put several on each ankle. They then, similarly, placed narrow bracelets on both my wrists, several on each wrist. A long belt of cord, to which were attached numerous metal disks, suspended and shimmering, was then looped twice about me, the first loop secured high, and tight, at my waist, and the second loop, a larger loop, a framing loop, was secured in such a way, in the back, that it would hang quite low on my belly, well below my navel. The purpose of this belt was to call attention to, and enhance, by sound and sight, the movements of the hips and abdomen. With the slave beads I already wore I felt inutterably displayed, and barbaric. I could not move now without the sounds of the beads, the anklets and bracelets, the shimmering belt with its two loops. I stood before them with my hands lifted over my head, the backs of my hands facing one another, my knees flexed. It is a common beginning position in slave dance. The musicians readied themselves. I looked out on the men. These were not men of Earth, defeated and tamed by propaganda and lies. These were Gorean men, men like lions. I stood before them, weak and helpless, a woman from Earth, now a collared slave who must dance for their pleasure. The czehar player, sitting cross-legged, now had his instrument across his lap. He was the leader of the musicians. He had his horn pick in hand. I stood barefoot, naked, save for collar and adornments, on the dancing floor of a low-ceilinged Gorean tavern. I must prepare to please masters. I looked out on the men. One of them would be my first use master. In a special sense my 'virgin dance' must be dedicated to him. But, in general, I must dance, too, before the guests of Hendow's tavern, and, too, before all who were present. In the dance I had power. In the dance I was beautiful. I saw delight in the eyes of men. I heard gasps of admiration. To be sure I was of a body type, that of the natural woman, short-legged and well-curved, that tends to be attractive to Gorean men, and I think my face, which some had told me was delicate and sensitive, and lovely and intelligent, which so easily betrayed my emotions, may have been pleasing to them, but I think there was more to it than these things. Had it been merely a matter of face and figure I do not think the effect would have been the same. Many things were doubtless involved. One, of course, was that it was a slave who danced. The dancing of a slave is a thousand times more sensuous than that of a free woman because of the incredible meanings involved, the additional richness which this furnishes, the explosive significance of this comprehension, that she who dances is owned, and, theoretically, could be owned by you. Too, she is naked, or scantily clad, and is bedecked in a barbaric manner. This speaks of reality and savagery, of ferocity, and beauty and barbarism, and of the fundamental meaningfulness of the male/female relationship, that of power and ferocity to beauty, of dominator to dominated, of master to slave. The dancing of the female before the male, that she be found pleasing and he be pleased, is one of the most profound lessons in all of human biology. Others are when she kneels before him, when she kisses his feet, when she performs obeisance, when she know herself subject, truly, to his whip. Another is when she is seized in his arms, imperiously, and crushed to him. Too, I think in this dance I was also as successful as I was because of the sort of woman I was, one who possessed deep female needs, and profound passions. I was ready, even at that time, as I now realize, to have the relentless torches of men set to the tinder in my belly, that slave fires might be lit there, thence by service, submission and love, my condition as slave, and the commands and touches of men, to be fanned, whether I willed it or not, to my dismay and joy, into open conflagrations. But I think, too, more simply, that there are skills involved, and that I was an excellent dancer, even at that time. I danced, as the slave I was. 'Here, slut, here!' called more than one man. I teased them, dancing close to them, swaying, my belly alive for them, with the jangling metal pieces, the anklets clashing on my ankles, the bracelets sliding and ringing on my wrists, and then, as they attempted to seize me, drew back, backing away, or whirled, with a swirl of beads, away from them. I picked one man after another out of the audience, seeming to dance my beauty most meaningfully to him. Perhaps he would be my use master. I did not know. Several began to keep the time with their hands, clapping them together. 'She is not a virgin,' said a man. 'No,' said another. I came about then to the back of the dancing floor. Tupita, and the others were there. 'You are good,' said Tupita to me, grudgingly. 'I am superb,' I said to her, angrily. Then I added, hastily, 'Mistress!' I looked to the back of the tavern, where, near the beaded curtain, stood Hendow, my Master, his arms folded. I swayed before him. I wanted to convince him that he had not made a mistake in purchasing me. I saw in his eyes that I had much to learn. I moved a little to my left, dancing before Mirus, who crouched there at the back of the floor, the sack of tarsk bits heavy at his belt. 'Do not change anything,' he said to me, 'but I would have thought you would dance rather more like a virgin.' I whirled away from him, to my right. Yes, I thought to myself, what are you doing, Doreen? What has gotten into you? Why are you doing this? Why is your belly so alive? Why are you so excited? Why is your body so hot? Why is it moving like this? You are dancing more like a purchasable slut, a common girl from a market, a girl who has been well taught by men and the whip the meaning of her collar, one who has already learned to whimper behind the bars of her kennel and scratch at its walls, than a virgin, fearing, but curious about, her first taking. 'Look,' said a man. 'Superb,' said another. I did not think Mirus would mind if I changed my performance in this fashion, particularly, as I would, later, return to the taunting, sensate splendors of the aroused woman, and then, at the end, to the helpless pleading of the begging female, she who knows herself, ultimately, at the mercy of masters. Actresses need only be actresses. They need not be dancers. But she who is a dancer must be more than a dancer. She must be an actress, as well. 'Ah, yes,' said a man. Suddenly in my dance it seemed I was a virgin, reluctant and fearful, terrified in the reality in which she found herself, but knowing she must respond to the music, to those heady, sensuous rhythms, to the wild cries of the flute, to the beating of the drum. I then danced timidity, and reluctance and inhibition, but yet reflecting, as one would, in such a situation, the commands of the music. I examined in dismay the beads about my neck, the cords at my waist, my barbarically adorned ankles and wrists. I touched my thighs, and lifted my arms, looking at them, and put my hands upon my body, as though I could not believe that it was unclothed. I pretended to shrink down within myself, to desire to crouch down, and conceal and cover my nudity, but then I straightened up, fearfully, as though I had heard commands to desist in such absurdities, and then I extended my hands to the sides, to various sides, as though pleading for mercy, to be released from the imperatives of the music, but then reacted, drawing back, as though I had seen the sight of whips or weapons. The kaska player, alert to this, reduced the volume of his drumming, and then, five times, smote hard upon the taut skin, almost like the cracking of a whip, to which I reacted, turning to one side and another, as though such a disciplinary device had been sounded menacingly, on all sides, in my vicinity, and then I continued to dance, helpless before the will of masters. Then, as the dance continued, I signified by expression and movement my curiosity and fascination with what I was being forced to do, and the responses of my body, reconciled now to its reality, helplessly obedient now to the music. I am a basically shy person. But now I was dancing such things as shyness, and timidity, and fear, and curiosity, and fascination, as roles. Like many shy persons I can find myself in roles, and blossom forth in them. I suddenly by expression and movement, an almost involuntary contortion of my belly, seemingly startling me, and frightening me, appeared to suddenly sense, or glimpse, my sexuality. 'Ah,' said a man, appreciatively. I approached him in the dance, and then others, my belly seeming to register, with its jangling accouterments, their presence. Each time I would draw back from them, but my belly, my hips, would seem to propel me again toward them, or toward yet another. I then felt my hips, and thighs, and breasts, and belly, as these seemed to come alive in the music. And then, throwing my head back, I danced unabashedly as an acknowledged, aroused slave, much as I had before, taunting them, teasing them, delighting in my power, but then, suddenly, as though I sensed my ultimate helplessness, my ultimate inability to achieve total fulfillment without the wholeness of sexuality, without the master and the yielding, which gave meaning to the incipient passions within me, I danced the aroused slave who is the property of the master and begs his touch. 'Good,' said a fellow. 'The slut is excellent,' said another. Then I realized suddenly that I was actually aroused. The interior of my thighs were hot. My belly, hot and burning, seemed to beg to be touched. I do not know, really, whether I had done this to myself in the dance, which is possible, or if my arousal had merely came upon me in the course of the dance, but I was aroused. I was a helpless, aroused slave! This now was no role. It was what I was. I returned to the back of the dancing floor, piteously, that I might sway before my master, he in the back, by the beaded curtain, gross, loathsome Hendow. He, I felt, of all those in the tavern, would understand what was now within me. I felt I could keep no secrets from him. It seemed he had a way of looking through me, and seeing whatever was within me, no matter how I might try to hide it. But I did not want to hide this from him. Rather I wanted his understanding. I wanted him to offer me comfort, or perhaps even rescue me from the floor. In my fears it was natural that I should seek him out, gross and loathsome though he might be. He was the one who owned me. He was my master. Hendow nodded to me, almost imperceptibly. Then, pointing to me, and lifting his finger twice, he indicated I should turn away, and return to my dance, in the center of the floor, facing the crowd. I knew the music was approaching climax, and the dance must be concluded. I then, in the coda of my performance, danced helplessness and beauty, and submission, surrendering myself as I, in my collar, must, into the hands and mercies of masters. As, the music concluded I performed floor movements, and the eyes of the men blazed, and fists pounded on the tables, and then the music was done and I lay before them on my back, my breasts rising and falling as I fought for breath, my body sheened with sweat, my hands beside me, palms up, my knees lifted slightly, my right knee highest, a slave before masters. I heard roars of triumph, shouts of pleasure. I was frightened. The men were on their feet. There was a thunder of applause, the striking of the shoulders in the Gorean fashion, and, too, the crashing of goblets on the tables." Book 20, Players of Gor, pages 190 - 196

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