She's a woman on a mission. Mary Taylor, an exotic dancer-turned- entrepreneur, says she can teach women young and old, firm and jiggly, how to take it all off like a pro. From a studio in a Toronto industrial park, she runs "peel-and-play" workshops on the essentials of stripping: how to move, how to accessorize, and when and where to surprise your partner. "It's like a Tupperware party without the Tupperware," she says.

But she and Bob-named after a favourite client-will also come to you. They do home parties, and hope to provide some relief from spring's succession of deadly dull bridal showers.

Women who despise jellied salad and word-association games can now look
forward to a bit of fun. At a recent Toronto bridal show, almost 600 women asked to be sent Taylor's information package. Taylor insists that what she's really selling, however, is confidence to women who otherwise wouldn't dream of stripping because they're worried their bodies aren't good enough, or they'll look silly. "They're afraid of what their partner will think," she explains.

She realized there was a market for her expertise two years ago, when women in her office started asking for advice. She'd landed that job after 21 years as a stripper, a career that ended when the arrival of lap dancing
started to wear her down. "It gets to you after a while," she says.

But she grew to hate her office job, and after a stint on unemployment insurance, wound up in a five-day Human Resources Development Canada program to help assess her career prospects. "I'm thinking, 'Wow, all I know how to do is take my clothes off.' " Her only qualification, she says, was Miss Nude Eastern Ontario 1983-84. Then she took another federally funded program, a three-month entrepreneurship course, and last December, Live Girl Productions Inc. was born.

Now, the 43-year-old Taylor is a one-woman industry. She has her own Web site and is working on a how-to-strip
video, a novel about her life, and a documentary on the history of stripping in Canada. She's also the communications director for the Ontario-based Exotic Dancers' Alliance. Given her career transition, Taylor is a
big fan of overcoming fear, and that's why her workshops begin with a psychology lesson. At a session last week, some women arrived with definite goals in mind ("It's my husband's birthday next month, and I always like to keep things interesting," said one), but most said they hadn't worked up the courage to strip, even after guzzling drinks.

Stretch marks, cellulite, wrinkles, things that wobble-Taylor writes these on a board as they're called out. Then she tells the women to get over them. But, she adds, women also have to understand why it is that men go to strippers, hookers, and dominatrices. "What is a man getting when he goes to see these professionals?" she asks. "Excitement, risk, anything else?"

"Maybe he's just a bastard," pipes up one woman. Hmm, says Taylor. After years of listening to thousands of men drone on, she figures the problem is a lack of communication at home, especially about sex. "One of the main
reasons men go to strip clubs is they feel they can tell strippers anything," she asserts. Neuroses banished, Taylor gets down to business. First, there's brainstorming on roles the women can play: patient, hooker, teacher, maid, schoolgirl, secretary. "Policewomen, those are fun," she says. "My girlfriend used to do a mailman show." What about accessories? Whips, feather dusters, high heels, handcuffs, shout out the women. "A vegetable?" asks one.

Then clothing. "This is a don't," says Taylor, holding up a pair of giant underwear. She recommends checking out sex shops, but also suggests ways to dress on the cheap, such as buying a corset at the Sally Ann for $5, then adding rhinestones and Velcro. For those worried about cellulite, she suggests crotchless pantyhose. Timing, advises Taylor, is crucial. "You don't want to be doing something like this in the middle of a hockey or football game. You won't get a great response." And take care about location, as well. You can strip at the office, but you'll have to deal with nosy secretaries and doors that don't lock. "If you're going to do it at his office, make sure you've got a few things covered," she warns, suggesting the class start off practising at home.

"How about a heated garage?" asks the vegetable woman. Now it's time for Bob. Taylor throws on Madonna's version of Fever and starts dancing. "Feel free to add your own little wiggles," she says. She circles Bob, tosses her hair, drops an ice cube down his pants, and puts a foot behind his ear while she takes a stocking off, all while stripping down to a negligee and dispensing advice. If you get nervous, she says, just keep eye contact. If he starts grabbing, tie him up. Don't sing along, because it doesn't look good, and above all, don't turn the lights out. Just learn how to show him your best attributes. "You don't have to stick your butt in his face," she says.

Then it's everyone else's turn. The students have to get up and dance around Bob, just to get comfortable. Then, they have to balance their hands on his knees, stick their legs out, and grind down to the floor. The reporter present falls flat on her face. Next, everyone has to sit on a chair facing Bob, put their legs on his lap, and slide off his belt.

A round of cheers greets each effort. But the women want more practice. "What else can you do on the chair?" one wants to know. "Show us some floor moves," says another. Taylor obliges, then announces she's teaching an advanced course in March-three full hours of dancing. At the end, Taylor gets hugs. She also gets peppered with the kind of idle questions the women always would have liked to ask, if they'd only known someone who could answer. Was Demi Moore's performance in Striptease really authentic? Taylor waves her hand dismissively. "My movie's going to be a good one," she says.

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