I'm a Single Heterosexual Man with a Sex Drive

Why do I go to strip clubs? To be honest, and at the risk of coming off as pretentious, it’s a bit complicated.

I suppose the first and most straightforward honest answer to that is that I’m a single heterosexual man with a sex drive, I consequently enjoy seeing women naked, and strip clubs offer me a chance to do so. Ergo, I go to strip clubs to fulfill these urges. There are, of course, other ways to do this, some perhaps cheaper, or more satisfying, or perhaps more morally, socially and ethically justifiable. But I find strip clubs have an appeal that some of these lack.

A more complex answer is that I go to strip clubs to at least partly fill the void that is my completely non-existent sex life. The obvious question here is, of course, ‘why not get a girlfriend’? Unfortunately, in my case at least, that’s easier said than done. To be honest, I have self-esteem issues, and I’m rather shy and uncomfortable in social settings. While some of my closest ever friends have been women, I’m not very confident or assertive in bridging the friendship-romantic partner divide; I was actually in love with one of these women but found myself unable to express my feelings to her before she moved out of my life, something which I think is still affecting my ability to establish romantic and sexual relationships.

Outside of these friendships I find approaching women romantically or sexually difficult and embarrassing, to the point where I am on the point of entering my thirties and remain a virgin. I'm not automatically opposed to one-night stands, but I'm hardly a player and women don't seem to be that in to me. Strip clubs, then, offer an environment where this isn’t really a problem -- and where women, in fact, are approaching me, although I’m not naive enough to believe that this is for any other reason than me being a potential customer (although, while I'm hardly an Adonis, I do flatter myself that I'm not completely repulsive to these ladies, and do at least try to make an effort and be presentable for them).

Despite the above, however, I honestly wouldn’t say I was incredibly or painfully lonely, at least not to the degree that some have described on the blog; in fact, I’m naturally a quite solitary person and quite comfortable being on my own for long periods. But I still have needs. Besides the obvious lack of sex, I’m not very happy being single, and the lack of a girlfriend or partner in my life is a cause of some depression (particularly when I consider those around me and the fact that I’m getting older). I want to make a connection with someone and with a stripper I am at least able to temporarily do so, even if it is artificial and ultimately meaningless.

Furthermore, while I watch pornography to satisfy these urges more often than I go to a club -- I'm a bit of a homebug and it's cheaper and less hassle to load up a site rather than go out for the evening -- I much prefer the strip club experience over pornography. Porn is unrealistic and exaggerated, it puts you at a distance, whereas in a strip club it's all happening there, right in front of you. There's a tangibility and reality to the experience that is lacking in porn. Besides which, I often feel uncomfortable, depressed and unfulfilled after watching porn, while an evening at a strip club will, conversely, often cheer me up and boost my confidence and spirits for a while afterwards.

At the other end of the scale, prostitution does not really appeal -- in my most depressive or sexually frustrated moments I’ve considered it, but I’m concerned about issues regarding consent, exploitation, disease and legality which are conversely not part of the strip club experience, or at least not to what seems like the same degree. While it’s certainly not unproblematic, stripping and even lap-dancing seems less objectionable than prostitution; there are limits there. It might not be a complete sexual experience, but least after visiting a strip club I can look myself in the mirror afterwards, which I’m not sure I could do if I engaged the services of a prostitute.

Strip clubs offer me something of a half-way point between these; it might not be 'full' sex, but it is nevertheless a sexually-charged experience I find more-or-less satisfying. While I’m happy to just watch the main performances, I will usually get a lap-dance (sometimes more than one) if it’s offered. To be honest, I love them. I find them exhilarating; not just because of the obvious ‘tits and ass’ on offer (although I can’t honestly claim to be above those visceral pleasures), but it’s the little things I tend to enjoy and take most out of the experience; the weight of a woman sitting on my lap, her breath in my ear, the scent of her perfume in my nose or, in the case of one establishment which permitted contact between the dancer and the patron (within obvious limits), the feel of her skin under my hands.

After my first few experiences, once I’d gotten over the immediate embarrassment and awkwardness I found I enjoyed the company of the ladies; even if they were just viewing me as a customer, in the few establishments I’ve visited they have, at least for the most part, been pleasant, charming and friendly about it. I also find that strip clubs provide a ‘safe’ environment to practice my flirting techniques; I’m not very good, and after saying something I often feel embarrassed and sheepish and worry that I sound like an idiot, but I at least try not to be crude and the women at least tend to respond in good humour. I’ve never got the sense that I’ve upset or offended any of them, at least. So, another reason why I go to them; I find I enjoy the company.

All this said, I’m conscious that strip clubs are problematic. While I might enjoy the experience, I’m not proud of myself for visiting them, and afterwards tend to feel a bit guilty. I don’t go to clubs often -- a handful of times a year at most. I find I've gone years without going to a club, although since my main social circles have dissipated of late I’ve found I’ve recently started going to them more often. I’ve been doing this a few years, and even now I often have to build my courage up for even weeks at a time before I can work up the nerve to go out and I still get paranoid about bumping in to someone I know or something terrible happening that reveals my secret. Sometimes, I can’t even enter the door if there happens to be other people out on the street.

There’s a few reasons behind this; I was raised Catholic, but to be honest religion hasn’t been a bit part of my life since I was a teenager, and I find many religious teachings on sexuality absurd and outdated. I’d say it was more political; I was raised to respect women, and have studied and worked in environments which stress feminist values and women’s rights. Visiting strip clubs and getting lap-dances is, in many ways, contrary to what I have been taught about this, and I can’t help but feel that I’m doing something wrong, that I’m making these women’s lives worse and contributing to the oppression of women and such by doing so. I’m also a bit awkward and uncomfortable with my sexuality, and ‘repressed’ isn’t an entirely unfair word to describe me, which doesn’t make things easier. I can’t help but feel that I’m to a degree objectifying and judging the women involved, and then feel bad for doing so.

When I do go to a club, then, I at least try to be respectful and polite; these women might make their money taking their clothes off for men, but that’s no reason to treat them like objects or possessions. If I flirt with the ladies, I try to do so in a way that’s not offensive or crude, and I tend to let them take charge, make the first move and defer to them. I’m not great with alcohol, and I don’t drink much anyway, but I tend to strictly stick to water or soft-drinks. I make sure to strictly observe the rules and limits of the establishment and those the ladies set down on top of this. I also try to control my reactions to the women themselves; I’m pretty socially awkward anyway, and I’m self-conscious of not appearing like a creep or a lech. Nevertheless, I like to think the ladies I’ve encountered have gone away from the encounter considering me a gentleman -- or as much as is possible for me to be in an environment where a half-naked woman has her breasts right in my face, at least.

I Met a Dancer Last Night

Last night I made one of my twice-annual trips to the strip club. Some of your other letters have described the obvious reasons for why I go – loneliness, basic companionship, touch. I’m very lonely, 40 years old and stuck for now in school with 20 year old coeds who look impossibly hot, many of them do talk to me but they won’t go out with me, I need hair to pull that off. I met a dancer last night just the same age as my schoolmates. She’s a single mom with a two year old girl. She has her baby’s footprint from when she was born tattooed on her back beneath her name, Isabella. She’s only been dancing for 2 weeks and confesses she’s still nervous. She won’t do all nude and says “I don’t know if I’ll ever be that kind of girl.” I get a private dance with her and though I can’t touch her (others will let you) having her lissome body pressed against mine feels great. It’s the only touch I’ve had with a woman in a long time. And yes, the fact that I’m having to pay for it does come into play. It makes it feel less substantial, like I’m trying to embrace her form in front of me but keep closing my arms around empty air. It’s not backed up by the meaningfulness of intimacy with someone you love (or at least really like). Still, it starts to fill me up even as it awakens more unmet desires.

She asks me if I have kids and I say no but I wish I did and it’s then that she confesses she has a beautiful little girl at home. I can see her stretch marks, she’s such a skinny thing. “I’m a single mom,” she tells me proudly with audible currents of courage and risk. She seems to be asking “Can I make it?” and I’m touched emotionally even as she grinds a little diffidently against my crotch. This is what I came for, too. I want to talk to a girl, and it’s a thrill to do it in a sexual setting, where she’s wearing nothing but lingerie or a minidress. I only talk about regular things. Again, I know I’m paying for the conversation but the girls I always pick out are genuine if restrained in their talk about their normal lives. One girl a few years ago, we got along so well, and she did end up going out with me for a time. We had connected genuinely despite the monetary obligations of the club situation. That’s why I just talk about normal stuff. If I tried treating them like a princess or searching for sexual dialogue then the spell would be broken because I’d know they were only telling me what they thought I wanted to hear, what I was paying for. No one discusses their actual personal love lives with strange men at a strip club.

As far as the money goes, I treat my visits like a big potlatch event, the ceremonies performed by the Native Americans from the great Northwest. I save up singles and new crisp $5 bills to give out in abundance, feeling better and better the more I give to the ladies. They’re working hard, and I’m in the service industry too working for tips, so I can identify with them. I give my dance partner $50 for a $30 lapdance and it just feels good knowing she’ll use the money for her baby girl. I give the $5’s to the girls on stage. I’m not showing off in a mid-level joint where singles rule the tip register, it just feels good to do something special, and it makes the girls happy.

I only go like I say about twice a year, and it’s a special event for me. I know I’m paying for sexualized contact with a hot skinny girl. But I always feel I’ve made a brief, not deep but genuine, just normal connection with a luminous creature, soft-skinned and slender, legs velveteen and long. I come away conflicted between exacerbated desire unrequited and a sweet, thrilled, treasured, focused satisfaction and completeness. For now, when the real thing isn’t available to me, paying for contact with an attractive girl postpones the pain of loneliness as well as tickles a lustfulness activated by the sight of so many girls walking around barely clothed, long legs and tight asses, bare shoulder and curvy chests on display. It’s an intoxication I keep as a special event, not for everyday.

I Like Being in the Company of the Other Guys

It’s not primarily for women that I go to stripjoints; it’s for the men. Sure, I enjoy watching naked women dance and getting a little sexual thrill. But mostly, I like being in the company of the other guys at the club—or maybe I should say, being a member of the club.

I think I’m a fairly normal, outgoing, heterosexual male. There have been times in my life, though, when I have seriously lacked for men friends. I met the woman I married early in college and started living with her in my junior year. That was wonderful in itself, but it probably didn’t do much to teach me to forge friendships with men once my years of schooling were over. I found it easier to talk to women then and never really developed a comfortable grammar of adult male friendship. I’m not a sports fan, which was probably a huge handicap in that area.

At stripjoints, though, I feel part of the company of men. Except at the extreme upper and lower ends of the business, stripjoints attract guys from all walks of life. I recall a club in Washington DC whose clientele appeared to be about one third bureaucrats, one third tradesmen and one third bikers. At my local favorite in the Midwest, I see doctors, students, mechanics, businessmen, carpenters, teachers, lawyers, auto workers, politicians, laborers, and men of just about every other occupation. Maybe this is just my experience, but I also think stripjoints tend to be more racially integrated than many ordinary bars. I feel more comfortable in this mix than I do among men of all one type.

I find it easier to talk to men in stripjoints than in other venues. If I were to go to a sports bar, I’d probably have to know something about sports to strike up a conversation. At a neighborhood bar or a biker bar, I’d have to be a member of the group to join in. But at stripjoints, the conversational gambits are dancing naked on the stage right in front of us. We can talk about beauty, we can talk about sex, we can talk about other women. There are no conversational prerequisites. And even if the music is too loud for easy conversation, I still feel a kind of camaraderie that I don’t feel in other gatherings of men.

The male behavior I see at stripjoints make me proud to be a man. The guys there seem more polite, more thoughtful, and less like macho men stereotypes than guys at other bars or gatherings. Maybe the strippers cast a spell on us all. I regularly see girls who are absolute knockouts leave the stage with only small handful of singles to show for their set; at the same time, I see strippers who are really very ordinary looking clean up a hundred dollars or more. Guys are voting with their wallets and they tend to vote not on looks but on attitude and personality. To me, this is a pleasing blow to the stereotype that all men really want is a nice big pair of tits and a scrumptious ass. Men treat women better at stripjoints than at other bars. Strange though it seems, I see guys treat the female staff at other bars far more crudely than they treat women at strip clubs.

Sometimes I go to stripjoints with my wife. While I do enjoy the extra attention that the strippers pay me when I’m accompanied by another woman and the erotic thrill of seeing my wife being aroused, I have to admit that I enjoy the envious attention of the men as well. In effect, I’m broadcasting that my wife is so sexually adventuresome that she’ll come out to strip clubs with me and even enjoy the sexual attention of the performers: I’m gonna get royally laid tonight. That’s obnoxious, I know, but it’s one of the rare times that I feel advantaged over other guys. Again, though, my focus is more on what I imagine the reactions, thoughts and behaviors of the other male customers are than on the strippers themselves.

Maybe this sounds like an I-read-Playboy-for-the-articles dodge. It’s not. I love looking at naked women and I’m unashamed of that. I am a little ashamed, though, that there have been times in my life when I have felt so disconnected from other guys that I’ve felt more connected to them at stripjoints than anywhere else.

I'm a 24-Year-Old Drone

I've gone to strip clubs because my life lacks intimacy.

There we go. Might as well just come out with it. Nobody talks to me, nobody cares what I say. I'm a 24-year-old drone who wastes his days sitting at a computer reviewing spreadsheets that don't really matter. Oh, I'm told to believe that they matter, sure. But they don't.

I get there at 8am. I leave at 6pm, and often times I find myself sitting in the parking lot wondering just where the hell to go. My family's far away, I have no friends to speak of; nothing awaits me at my apartment except Netflix and a couple of cold beers. Despite the overall pointlessness of my life, though, I do feel the basic human need to talk to someone. Not even necessarily to vent about how much I hate where I've ended up (especially compared to my childhood dreams of being an astronaut), but just to have someone who listens. Perhaps that's why I'm writing this e-mail, even.

I know the girls at the strip club don't truly listen, don't truly care. I know why they're nice to me, and they know I know it. But they pretend. Most of them pretend to care pretty damn well. When I think about it, that's enough to satisfy that basic human need. I'm sure they're not interested in hearing about my day, or my troubles, or my general dissatisfaction with the state of things, but they'll smile at me, giggle at my not-at-all-funny jokes, and give me some artificial sense of being cared for.

I'm probably the least common denominator; I bet most men go to strip clubs to look at asses, but I don't really talk to the men that much at these clubs. That's one thing I also find interesting about the strip-club scene. It's not at all like the bar scene. At the bar, you talk to the guy next to you; if he's a good guy, you buy him a drink. If he's not, you talk to the other guy. Rinse and repeat till you find someone who deserves a drink. At the strip club, it's not like that. If you didn't come in with a friend, you're not talking to anyone except the bartender and the dancers. It's not a social engagement, it's a spectacle.

I don't even really watch the girls when they're dancing. Sure, I'll tune in when they're pulling off something magnificently acrobatic or abnormally impressive, but most of the time I'm either watching whatever sporting event is being broadcast or pretending to care about whatever impending doom is being vehemently discussed on the news. It's when the girls come around to talk to you that gets me.

They almost always begin by asking why I'm all alone, or why I look "sad". I see what they're doing here; it's all part of their pitch. It's the used car salesman telling you that you look like a busy person who couldn't help but pull into their lot because you were so enticed by their spectacular deals. They know you came for a reason. Everyone's sad. Especially men at strip clubs. The patrons know it. The strippers know it. The guy out on the highway who couldn't afford the cover charge knows it. When you're a stripper, this knowledge of the target market can yield great profits. Appeal personally to the customer's emotions and you're sure to receive great return.

After feeding them whatever lie I come up with about how my friends are busy, or at a birthday party, or otherwise indisposed (to avoid the appearance of being friendless, of course. Who wants the 80%-naked lady to think they're a loser?) they either move on to the next customer or stay a while and talk. The reason I go to places like this is for those moments when they stay and talk. That's all I wanted. They don't have to be naked. They could be wearing a suit of armor for all I care; I just want to talk to someone who cares, and $1 every 3 minutes is a lot less than $250 an hour for a therapist.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I have some awful mental aberration that needs fixing from professional help. I just want to talk to someone. I'm fully aware that these dancing girls do not give half a care about my life or my situation, but they pretend. And they pretend very, very well. It's their job to pretend. That's why they all have fake names.

Strippers provide inauthentic care and concern in an authentic enough manner to satisfy my need to talk to someone, at a reasonable price.