I Hate Normal

I’ve visited a strip club nearly every month for the last five years, sometimes more often, sometimes skipping a few, but that’s the average.

The first time I went was three weeks after my 21st birthday. I went by myself, to a place I drove by on my way to the shit job I had then. That’s nearly 30 years ago, but I remember being surprised that the women were cute and the customers were not all drooling perverts. Up until I hit my 40s, my visits were sporadic and always with a group of guys. We went, we looked, we tipped. Boys night out. It was always fun, but it left a kind of hangover; I’d be unbearably horny for days afterward.

In the meantime, I got married and had two children. And yes, one’s a girl, in case you’re wondering. It’s been a durable marriage, the sex was wonderful for years and isn’t bad now. In the meantime, my wife’s put on weight and isn’t as attractive to me sexually as she was. Normal.

But I hate normal.

Then for the first time in my life, I got a deadly dull gig, a full-on Dilbert middle management job for a big-ass corporation. Cube land. I think the daily sensory deprivation contributes to the strip club habit.

Beyond that, it gets complicated, with a simple core.

The simple answer is that the girls are beautiful and naked. No matter how often I go, I’m always struck by the rough magic of it all. You enter a kind of Ali Baba’s porn cave. All the women are cute, they pretend to like you, and for not that much money, they will slither their naked and lithe bodies over you. Sometimes, they’ll do more. I don’t ask for or expect extras, but if a dancer’s going to put her hand down my Levis, I’m not going to interfere.

Even though it’s only for money, it’s still amazing to go into an atmosphere where everything is reversed. You, the guy, are pursued. If you make eye contact with a stripper, chances are, she’ll come right on over. Rejection doesn’t really enter in to it. I don’t think women really understand or appreciate that. Sure, women get rejected, but unless you as a male are ready to be cut up, you won’t be in the game at all. So, it’s nice to have the tables turned.

And you can flirt. The dancers will pretend to like that, at least, and sometimes they seem to sincerely appreciate it. How many other places can you flirt now? Not the office. Not socially, not in this country, anyway, and not if you’re married. I’ve had completely innocent compliments about, oh, a nice sweater or how an exercise program is paying off be taken completely in wrong way. I swear, I’m not a skeezy old fart who’s leering away. (At least, not outside the club). Flirting’s fun. I like to flirt.

They tell you stories. Sometimes you can tell they’re practiced. Sometimes, they come as revelations to both of us. You end up talking about everything that matters -- love, God, art, music, relationships, men, women and the fucked up things they do to each other.

Some of the dancers are walking, or rather, strutting, train wrecks. And that sucks. Others are as in control of their lives as any of us are. Both types seem to have an extra bit of juice, a little crazy, a bit larger than life. I’ve met women from all over the country and the world. Teachers, nurses, “students.” One said she was the daughter of a mafiya guy in Siberia, and had enough colorful and gory stories to go along with the claim that I ended up believing her. One girl was working her way through law school to get her brother out of prison. On any given night, I can meet a Brazilian, a Frenchwoman, a Russian or an American girl who’s been to more states than I have. I’ve made . . . not friends, but acquaintances, anyway, who will invite me to a party or a birthday.

I often tip for the conversation. They’re on the clock. Sometimes, I don’t. Maybe it sounds kind of fake and horrible to pay to talk to a woman, knowing that the camaraderie is likely bought. So what? My daily life is filled with small hypocrisies, of pretending to be interested in a family member’s story or politely laughing at the boss’s joke.

Beyond that, and even taking into account the money that grinds away in the background, you make a connection. She seems impossibly beautiful, and she’s eager to sit with you, to listen to you, to spill her stories. It’s helped along by alcohol and drugs; maybe she’s rolling on E, I don’t know. But she knows I desire her and sometimes it really seems she likes me back under the transaction. Not enough for it to be real, but enough for it to offer a genuine illusion. We’ll go to the VIP, and, fuck it, it can be sexy as hell, the perfume, the glitter, that ass, those legs, those tits dancing in front of your eyes, teasing, sometimes more than a tease, and you feel swept up, caught in desire that’s as real as the faux leather you’re sitting on, and she’ll offer up something, a taste, a kiss, a breast, her pussy, maybe guide your finger to her pussy, or slip a hand or a mouth on your cock. And you forget all the bullshit that’s waiting for you beyond the doors.

Even though you know better.

I'm Happier in Life

I’m married, in my 40’s and have been going to strip clubs for the past 8 months, never having gone to one prior to that. The first time I went I was lucky to have gone to one of the top clubs in the country. I had an amazing experience and was floating for days. I couldn’t believe it – all I did was sit there, and gorgeous girls would come sit on my lap, and talk to me for a bit, then try to sell me a dance. Oh my god, that was incredible just by itself!

Needless to say I bought a bunch of dances – and learned what a lap dance was. Some girls were better at it than others, but again I enjoyed it immensely. I knew that the girls really only had a relationship with my wallet, but that’s fine! In fact, that is part of the beauty of strip clubs, is that you can be there, observe beautiful women, tip, get dances, talk to them, and then when you leave, it’s done – over, no commitments, nothing.

I now go to a couple of different clubs in my hometown every now and then. I love to see beautiful women, scantily clad and then naked on stage. It’s just the truth. Sometimes I laugh at how amazing it is to be able to just show up and be in the company of almost naked women, and all I have to do is tip them.

There are a few girls who I see regularly, they are fun to talk to and they are genuinely interested in me. I think of them as friends, even though there won’t likely be any relationship outside of the club.

So why do I go to strip clubs? Beautiful girls who get naked. Talking to them. Getting dances from them. I’m happier in life. I love others more. It’s all good. I think of myself as a nice guy. I’m successful in my career. People like me. I like them. I love my wife and she loves me.

There’s a lot more I could expand upon here and how I ended up at this point in my life. I’ll just say that I’ve been through some major life experiences that ultimately resulted in breaking free from shackles imposed by self and others. A number of the other letters on this blog are quite sad. It doesn’t have to be that way. Decide what change you want in your life and then work hard towards achieving that. Easier said than done I know, but life is here to be experienced and enjoyed.

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 Respect What Those Ladies Do

I respect what those ladies do, not just keep in shape (a natural breeding drive that the strongest women don't die in child birth) but that acrobatics, the individualistic acts (there are cookie cut acts, but very rare) that show a sensual display with a sense of humor.

Not a lap guy, air at times been surprized with a lap but not why I was there. I like the view and expression and beauty, almost like a flower blooming in human form.

It's also a place where it is not a lawsuit risk to say how pretty a woman is. I am not a bottomless or tassle guy, I find all to the bar give them more respect when they go full, plus what is the fear someone might see a nipple or vag? It's a strip club, not someone crossing the street.

As a comedian I respect the creation of a personal act too.

You ever notice that? Even on TV or something the whole breast is in view, except the nipple, like I'm so daft I can't know what's under it.

Some family that did it too. Not even a hinderence to life growing up when the unsaid member(s) of the family did it. It's how I know they aren't all a bunch of coked up whores. Resent the blanket "adult entertainment" and "sex worker" labels it's not right to wrap the sensual display with a sexual sale or even a sold attention of any kind. To the behaviour modification level, better than psychiatry.

I Like to Think This Is My Revenge

Oh, boy, do I ever like to go to strip clubs. I’ve been going for years, and now that I can afford it, I think it really gives value for the money – I go to an upscale club, where the girls are beautiful, and get five dances in a row from some pretty thing for $100. Here in Mike Bloomberg’s New York, they’re not really “dances” – you sit there and the girls more or less lie on top of you, grinding and bouncing. Typically I have to tell them to slow down and lean back a little so that I can look at their beautiful faces and bodies. When else do I get to do that? (Well, when I go to prostitutes, but you closed that blog.) I love their hair and their lips and their eyes and their smiles – they do like you, for that moment, for that dance. I wish they’d wear perfume, so it would fill my senses completely, but of course they don’t, because most men can’t go home smelling of tarts! I’m old in years – 61 – even though I’m an 18-year-old at heart, and I like to think this is my revenge for all the beautiful women in the world whom I can’t approach, whom I can’t get, this idea that I can have some young beauty dance and smile at me any time I want. I like to talk to them, get them to talk dirty, ask them about what kind of sex they have, and tell them about my own kinky desires. I try to keep it sexy, I don’t want to take the edge off by asking them any questions about their “real” life – and usually this erotic dialogue it ends up with me asking them to marry me. Then the music is over and I tell them to say, “I want to but I can’t,” and then they walk away – what a perfect relationship.

I Had Become Bored

The last person to ask me that question was a twenty-four year old woman sitting on my lap with only a bikini on (the least amount of clothing allowable in that sort of club in the State where I lived). I had gone to strip clubs for years, beginning with an office sponsored event and then during a mostly drunken auto racing weekend with neighborhood friends. Curiosity and the desire for sexual arousal or even satisfaction (as much as that is possible while staying clothed) had led me on a veritable tour of practically every strip club in my area over the course of nearly 10 years. So I had had many excuses and reasons, but the woman who was sitting on my lap was the only reason that I had at that moment.

I first met her on a football Sunday when dances are relatively easy to get because the clubs are typically filled with men more interested in football than dances--perhaps because the financial implications of the games might impact their ability to finance a dance. She could have done body double work for Gwyneth Paltrow but while I was first attracted to her beauty it was her intelligence and sophistication that intensified our relationship. Over about a year we saw each other at least once and often twice a week for an hour or more, and though we never met outside the club we often called each other and texted. The dances I paid for were not really dances: the club she was at had remarkably private rooms in the back of an upstairs smoking lounge, with no camera monitors and only a small glass window on the door. Over time our sessions were more cuddling than anything else. She would often fall asleep as I massaged her back. We talked about everything. She looked at pictures of my wife, daughters and pets. I commiserated with her when her sister was sick; coached her on training a dog she adopted; and listened as she told me about her boyfriend, her pets and about how she eventually wanted to go to medical school. When I joked that her intolerance of the sight of blood did not seem to bode well for her in that role, she quickly responded: “I am going to be a radiologist.” Obviously she had thought things out. She loved poetry and would save my voicemails when I would recite poems to her--not sappy stuff: she preferred Greek, Latin and Russian poetry, especially Anna Akhmatova, whether in the original or translated.

But back to the question: my answer to her was not so much dishonest as incomplete. Even so my answer to her did not come quickly or easily. I told her that after more than 20 years of marriage I had become bored and that I enjoyed being able to have a relationship, even if not fully consummated, with another woman. She was bothered by that answer in part because she could imagine what it would be like for her in another 20 years when her future husband would make excuses for being out. She had never been as comfortable with the club as the other dancers. When I once referred to her as an angel she quietly said “then why am I here?” Not long afterwards she told me she was taking herself off the schedule and a few days later I got a “leave me alone” text. It has been years since that happened and only gradually have I come to appreciate that the question as to why I went to strip clubs related to a desire to escape not any one person or any one thing, but rather everything. What a strip club had come to mean for me was a sort of false eternity where a game was always on, the beer was always cold and the women were always young. So behind it all was not so much desire as fear, the fear of change and ultimately dying. The future radiologist may not have appreciated all of that then but with her question and how I answered it seems she saw through our relationship and saw something irreparable in it and the place it existed in. I had lots of reasons to go to strip clubs. She left me with a very good reason not to: she would not be there.

I Like to Look at Naked Women

I have been hanging out at strip clubs for well over ten years now. Some my reasons for going to strip clubs has evolved over time but my biggest reasons are I like to drink and I like to look at naked women. I'd like to think I'm more sophisticated than that but I'm not. Around 1997 I changed my career path and went from design engineering to sales and marketing. Sales folks typically spend a lot more time in strip clubs than engineers.

It took me a little bit to get used to going to strip clubs. I had a very conservative upbringing and felt like I was doing something wrong. I got over that. I first started going to the clubs for affection. Its nice to be greeted by a beautiful women who (at least seems to) be happy to see you. After a while it turned into a social scene for me. Many of the dancers I've known for five years or more. A few have become friends outside the club.