I Was 15

I was fifteen when I saw my first naked woman in the flesh.  It occurred at a strip club in [redacted] ON. called the [redacted].  I didn’t actually enter the club, of course, being underage at the time.  Instead, I approached it from behind.  The bar was attached to a motel and a lot of the dancers, if they were from out of town, stayed there. The windows in the bathrooms were usually kept open an inch or two in the summer, and if you were lucky you could catch a glimpse of a dancer rinsing off before or after her set.  That’s what I did. I peered through that 1 or 2 inch crack and spied on the dancers showering.  I’m not proud of my behavior, but there you have it.  It can’t be taken back.  Judgmental types will be happy to know I’ve had worse done to me in my life.

I didn’t enter a strip club through the front door until I was a nineteen-year-old student living in [redacted].  It was a big deal for me the first time I went because I was in a new city where I didn’t know anybody and I was lonely.  I thought so many naked women in one place would cheer me up. All I remember of the night now is that I got a bit drunk, became very maudlin and fell in love with a 22 year old Sophie B. Hawkins look-alike who finished each set by disrobing to “Damn, I wish I was Your Lover.” To this day, I’m still moved by that song.

I went to the club about twice a week, usually with my roommate, [redacted].  He was a good-looking catalogue model and very free with his money.  The strippers loved him.  They’d sit on his knee, run their hands through his hair and say things like, “Oh, [redacted], you’ve got such beautiful eyes.”  All while they were emptying his wallet.  It was amusing to watch but after a while it just made me depressed.  Strippers will talk to you but every conversation leads to… So do you want a dance?  Pretty soon you realize that they aren’t even listening; they’re just looking for an opening to ask their question.

One night [redacted] bought me a dance.  To my surprise, I hated the experience.  It wasn’t at all what I expected.  Often you will hear about strippers experiencing a sense of power when they strip; often you will dismiss this as a load of horseshit – you will always be wrong when you do so.  Really, there is nothing more uncomfortable, nothing more emasculating than to be sitting fully clothed in a bar while a naked woman undulates in your lap. You can’t do anything.  You can’t touch her and you can’t kiss her. If she gives you a hard-on, she has you right where she wants you. 

And mentally there was so much I couldn’t get my head around.  My big-hearted roommate bought me a dance to watch me get turned on.  I had watched him get turned on numerous times. I got turned on watching him get turned on. Fuck, the whole bar was full of rugged, hockey-loving, macho men from Northern Ontario, all of them watching one another get turned on by women.  Is it weird that I find this weird? I’ve tried my entire life to get comfortable with these sorts of situations and I’m still not there.

I live in Toronto now.  I love the city, but it isn’t the type of place where I could visit strip clubs regularly.  It’s cold here.  The women won’t even make conversation with you, won’t even pretend to be interested in what you have to say.  It’s all hustle, hustle, hustle and move on.  Some of the women, if they are older, harder, more desperate, can be very persuasive.  They might grab you by the balls and remind you that the menu in the V.I.P. area is much more open than the menu downstairs.  You’re best just to drink your beer and leave.  But….

It isn’t all bad.  I remember once, years ago, in a place long since closed, I had a memorable experience.  It was a second floor club on [redacted] Street called [redacted], or possibly [redacted], I can’t remember.  It was Toronto’s non-alcoholic strip club.  You paid ten dollars at the door and could spend all night drinking orange juice and watching the girls.  No one bothered you to buy a six-dollar beer, no one hustled you for a lap dance. If you didn’t want to drink, you didn’t have to drink. The crowd was a quirkier, lower testosterone collection of older guys than you would find elsewhere. When I walked in the door, I knew I’d found my place.

The women were different, too. They ranged from young students to older housewives and no one had fake tits or walnut tans. They danced to odder, less commercial music. Some of them put on performances more burlesque in nature and some of them performances more … gynecological.  I had a great time watching. I even picked out a girl for a private dance. 

She led me down a hallway lined with small booths.  There were no doors on the booths, just acrylic bead curtains, and I could see that some of the activity going on wasn’t quite above the board.  I was nervous and I even started to shake a bit; part of me wanted to run out.  We entered a booth containing two small stools; she sat against the wall and I sat almost in the doorway the booth was so small.  When a new song began she started to move herself against the wall and run her hands slowly up and down her body.  I knew she must have been acting but it seemed real.  I shifted on my stool and tried to hide the fact that I was getting aroused. I wanted to look unimpressed and leave after one song. 

“It’s okay if you want to make yourself a little more comfortable.”

I ended up staying for four songs.  Afterwards, she shook my hand and said her name was [redacted], told me to come back some time and choose her again. I’d never been so excited by a woman in my life and I wanted to ask her out. I didn’t have the nerve to do it, though. How do you ask such a question after you’ve just paid $60 to jerk off with someone?  Maybe you just ask.

I’m forty-one now and I don’t go to strip clubs anymore.  I find them dreary places. I think I still have some things to work out but I’ll do the work elsewhere.           

I Was Playing Along

The first time I went to a strip club it was by accident. I shall explain. It was many years ago and we were trying to find a pub that was showing the England game. The game had already started and as we (myself and two mates) passed a fairly inconspicuous place the door opened and we heard the roar from a crowd that was in celebration of a goal. We dived in, bought some drinks and stood in a busy pub with a large screen with the football being projected onto it at the back. We’d missed most of the first half so the whistle for half time came quite quickly. The screen wound itself back up into the ceiling, some music came on and a very lovely olive skinned woman in her early twenties walked onto a small elevated area underneath the screen. The crowd respectfully quietened and the woman began to dance. At first I thought she may have been a stripper-gram but seeing as she wasn’t picking out anyone in particular from the crowd I remained unsure. She was an incredible dancer; someone with total control over her body and with a natural grace and repose. As her clothes came off the crowd certainly became a bit more animated but more with an air of encouragement rather than a ‘get’em off’ series of leers. When she was topless my friends and I exchanged looks of ‘blimey’ and when she became totally naked they became ones of ‘Jesus’. She did not stop there. Totally unabashed she showed off her body to everyone in the audience, smiling provocatively at times and cheerfully laughing at others. She was pretty with good skin and my guess was that she was a trained dancer. The music ended, everyone applauded and gave a few whistles, she collected her clothes and walked off behind the bar waving at us as she left.

It was the first time I had seen a naked woman in the flesh other than girlfriends. I was quite taken with the lady as she had displayed an assured and yet open and playful dance which was very sensual despite being incredibly pornographic. I was surprised that the pub wasn’t seedy and equally amazed that the clientele weren’t knuckle dragging yobs or sleazy city boys. This seemed to be a decent pub (with a pool table) that just happened to have young women stripping.

Please forgive the lengthy preamble but I felt it was key in setting up why I have often frequented places that have strippers. For me, that first dance was the quintessence of what a strip should be; feminine, erotic, slightly mischievous and impressive. As it was also completely unexpected it made the experience all the more wonderful.

I was working in the City of London at the time and soon came to realise that there were quite a few of these places to be found. This was back in 96-97 just before the lap dancing craze really took off and the McStrip clubs emerged. I was single at the time so would be out most evenings enjoying my bachelorhood. When I started to go to these places fairly regularly (once or twice a week) it was not because it replaced going out to talk with/meet members of the opposite sex. Rather, it was more like respite that gave me and my chums an excuse to forget about trying to ‘get off’ with someone and just enjoy a decent pub where very attractive women took their clothes off twice an hour.

The reason that the first strip was important is also that it was not typical. Often, the woman dancing was clearly not interested, rather unattractive, overly anxious to get your money and then even more eager to get off the stage entirely. These were not enjoyable experiences. In one of the places I went to I clearly saw track marks on one of the dancers and had to leave. Please do not think me a coward with delicate sensibilities. I tried to talk to one such young woman who clearly wasn’t having a good time and was brushed aside by her enormous minder. For every good, fun, energetic and seductive strip there are at least five that are the antithesis. Once I realised this I began to choose when and where to go with more care. By now I had found two or three places where the dancers were pretty, well treated, enthusiastic and polite. It never got to the stage where they knew my name but I certainly had my favourite performers. These visits did not preclude any amorous liaisons with women I met socially. Patronising these pubs and clubs never became a fixation for me. They were simply entertainment.

I have never visited a prostitute but always, naively, wondered if I would have if they were all like the dreamlike Le Chabanais of Paris or others of its ilk. If one could be involved romantically with one of the girls and whilst there meet authors and artists and languidly drink absinthe then perhaps I would. From what I have seen, read and heard it is much more likely to be a visit to a small apartment where an ill-looking Eastern European woman jadedly entertains you. So, after I had found the places and dancers that I did want to see I began to see the romantic side to some of the strip clubs. This might sound very different to what many people associate with the now ubiquitous, coked up, besuited city boys leering at silicone crammed Barbie dolls coated in slap. But these experiences of mine are not through rose tinted specs. On many occasions talking to the dancer after a strip or a lap dance would prove just as exciting as the kit-offery itself. I did not delude myself into believing they were as infatuated with me as I was momentarily with them. I was playing along as they were. But watching a woman knowingly trying to seduce you at a distance with a very certain boundary between the two of you, prohibiting any long lasting emotional bond, is exhilarating. Sometimes, it is also not about you, the customer. One dancer I remember vividly seemed to lose herself entirely in the dance. She wasn’t trying to please me or anyone else. She was just concentrating on the dance and enjoying herself. That is equally as sexy for me. On another evening I had three lap dances with one young lady as she was simply exquisite. I am quite a flirty chap and I enjoyed the eye contact, the knowing smiles and frankly her simply perfect naked body flowing inches around mine. We talked during her second dance and she asked why I had seen her again. I pointed to her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror behind me (the décor was not always subtle) and told her that she already knew why. She laughed. We talked quite a lot that evening so when I had the third and final dance with her it seemed even more sensuous and intimate as the barriers had been broken down by then.

As above, I have seen dancers and places that I wish I hadn’t. Sometimes it feels exploitative and that does not sit well with me. But when it is done well it can be about many different things. Yes, it can be a turn-on but that goes for the dancer as well as the customer. But, most importantly, and most often overlooked, it is fun. To watch a healthy, athletic, curvy woman act seductively knowing that it is the seduction itself and not the end result that is the exciting act (journey not the destination) is fun.

I would add to this that I believe myself to be a polite bloke and a generous customer. As with a kiss it can only ever be good if both parties enjoy it. I wouldn’t ‘perv’ as I saw other men do. I would be courteous and not overly questioning or personal. I knew it was unrealistic to expect a relationship to blossom with any of the dancers and I also had my fair share of regular relationships that allowed me the luxury of not fixating on any of them the way I saw other lads do.

I went to these places regularly for about three or four years. I even took one girlfriend to a couple of them at her behest a few times. I only really stopped going as I moved. When I was back in London I revisited them but they had soon changed into big doormen/money in/collagen bloated doll type places.

For me the thrill is all about the ephemeral intensity. In a few minutes you have witnessed a pretty woman dance for you whilst undressing and if you are receiving a lap dance you also get to smell her skin, her hair, feel her breath and look into her eyes. Let’s not overlook or shy away from the fact that one also sees her genitalia. Sometimes it is in a coy manner, other times blatant. Either way, it is incongruous with daily life and as such fantastical. It is rude and naughty but it’s okay because for those few minutes you are allowed to look. You are allowed to peek. You are allowed to have fun.

I Am in a Fantasy World

I go to Strip Clubs because it's about control. Isn't it always about control? In the world we live in control is simply measured by the almighty Benjamin. I have a few hours and few Benjamin's to pretend I am in a fantasy world where men dictate the rules. As men, we have always been a slave to this desire for control. Would a strip club even exist if it wasn't for this false promise? In the end strip clubs are just this false promise because even through men like to think we have control, we really don't.

Perversely I also like strip clubs because I like woman who are in control. A confident woman, comfortable with who they are, playing the game allowing me to think that I might matter in their little world that evening is worth the price of admission. It's like being in high school again. Trying to get into a girl's pants but this time you have the Benjamin that says this is my night. This is probably what I most like about strip clubs and that is this give and take. Women pretend you matter and men pretend they matter.

While most Feminist would say that a strip clubs demean and objectify women, I believe any woman who has the ultimate control in this situation, really, has the upper hand. Does it bring them self confidence? Perhaps this is just a slimy justification on my part. I imagine most women dance; not because they enjoy it, but because they have to feed their families or something else. This is the cold reality of strip clubs but I prefer to think they dance for the pleasure of making me poorer. Regardless of what I think; I will pass along my Benjamin's, and when that Benjamin is passed along there is always that look in the girl's eyes that says I got you sucker...

I probably put way too much thought into a strip club. I'm a married man. My wife fulfills me in the bedroom and engages in my fantasies by wearing stripper like clothes. I have no complaints. So why then would I want to go to a strip club? Bottom line - it is helluva a lot easier to pay someone to dance for you then to go through the marital minefield of give and take to wrangle some time to get your significant other into a mood to fulfill those fantasies. It's like walking on eggshells sometimes around the house just to get the stars aligned and feel like for once I am dictating the bedroom. Therefore when a guys only weekend to Vegas is on the horizon, the desire to be someone else and have that control is worth every dime. Two to three hours of fantasy, to forget your mortgage, your day job, and feel like a player. Relive those days when you thought you always had a chance. It is a kind of pathetic but it's nice not to have to wash dishes or mow the lawn to get a woman willing to grind in your lap and make you feel like a man. In today's PC world it is nice not to have to think about playing the game and just sit back and have a few tits thrown your way.

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 Felt Alive

I'm not sure why I'm writing this. Maybe because Valentine's day is tomorrow and I'm in that kind of a mood.

I've never been much of a ladies' man. The first kiss I ever had was from a stripper I met when I visited a club at age 19. I went with a group of guys who were all older than I, and it was more of a novelty to them. I'd never seen a naked woman before, let alone touched one.

My first visit to a strip club was like a religious experience. Everything I had ever hoped and dreamed possible was right there in front of me, on stage. The very idea that I could make eye contact with a naked woman was nothing short of astounding. I never would have attempted eye contact with a fully clothed woman out in the "real world".

It was as if the entire world was upside down inside the four walls of the club. Women were expected to make the first move, not men. Women flirted with men. Women were dominant. My loneliness and insecurity were not liabilities here. They were seen as cute, quaint, even desirable traits for a man to have. When I got my first lapdance, I felt like I was on a higher plane of existence occupied only by the two of us. The music faded out, the lights dimmed, and all I could feel was the warmth of her soft skin and tight body rubbing against me.

After that first trip, I begged any reason I could think of to talk "the guys" into going. We visited a few more times, but the rest of them quickly lost interest. To them, the teasing and titillation they received from the strippers was seen as a bad thing. To me, it was like a drug. It wasn't long after that I started going by myself.

Years came and went, and I turned into a regular. Still ever the virgin, I sought refuge within that club. The cold, hostile, rejection-filled world of dating lived outside. When I was there, I could relax, be myself, and women loved me for me. Even though I knew none of the affection was real, I was able to feel normal, even if it was only for one night, and only for a few hours. During that time, I felt alive.

And then that affection became real to me. I fell in love with a stripper named Nikki; a beautiful, petite blonde. I somehow managed to fool myself into thinking that some how, some way, her affection was real. I spent all my time and money with her when I went, and it felt like pure bliss. Eventually, I came to my senses and quit coming to the club out of shame. I realized I'd crossed a line that I once promised myself I would never cross.

Back in the real world, my love life was still non-existent. I wanted more than anything in the world to have a real emotional connection with a real woman. But I was lucky to get one date a year in the real world. I finally lost my virginity at age 25, when a friend introduced me to a girl he worked with. She used me for a few weeks and then stopped returning my calls when the novelty of having sex with a virgin wore off.

Reluctantly, I returned to the world of strip clubs - this time at a new club. Sometime in my mid-20s, I slowly started to lose any hope that I would ever know what it felt like to be in a relationship with a real woman. All my friends got married and had kids, which I wanted desperately to experience for myself. I wasn't holding out for a stripper-quality girlfriend. Not by a longshot. I just never learned how to meet women. I never learned how to get a woman to like me. Once in a great while, I would meet a woman and even have a date or two. I would get excited that maybe things were finally going to happen. But invariably, she would lose interest in me and move on. It always followed that pattern. She would think the world of me, but didn't feel "that way" about me..

I'm 35 now, and it hurts me more than anything I can put into words how lonely I am, and how utterly ashamed I am that I have never managed to so much as even have a relationship with a woman. I've never had a woman in my life that I could call "my girlfriend". Every night I go to bed and cry myself to sleep out of loneliness. This is not the life I wanted, and I would do anything to change it. Every night I dream about what it would be like to be truly accepted by a woman. I fantasize about what it would feel like for a woman to choose to be with me. Eventually I fall asleep, the tears drying on my pillow.

In 16 years, I have spent $44,500 at strip clubs. I'll probably go again soon, the next time I feel lonely.

And tomorrow is Valentine's day.

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'm Going to Find Refuge Where I Can

19 years in a loveless marriage with no passion, care, or concern was a deciding factor. Needless to say, going didn't solve the problem; a divorce did. Yes, there is a cost, but for $40 someone gives you a lap dance and listens to you. Granted, the ladies do it for the money. But when you provide a home, appliances, car, and what-not for a wife and get the cold shoulder night after night, plus the demand, "What are you making for supper?" when I get home from work, I'm going to find refuge where I can.

I have noticed that the church is very vocal on what people should NOT do when it comes to adultery. The church needs to be more vocal about what couples should ALSO do to promote peace and harmony and intimacy inside the marriage. As I read the letters posted, I get the feeling that guys just didn't go for the fun as much as to escape the hell their marriages had become. Yes, it takes two to make a marriage work, but I got to the point where I seemed to make all the effort and got squat in return.

Also, I never had a dancer sexually molest me as my wife did. My ex-wife attacked my genitals on a frequent basis. She inflicted pain. There was very little sex and very little intimacy. I slept on the couch the last seven years of the marriage for self-protection. I probably would have left sooner if my son wasn't in the picture.

I Am Very Much an Introvert

When I was about 13 years old, I had a crush on a girl (my first big crush). She was pretty and popular; I was shy, chubby, and nerdy. Her family was fairly well off; mine lived in a trailer. I never planned to ask her out because of my certainty of rejection. I did, however, make a huge mistake in admitting my crush to a friend. He gossiped about it and eventually the news of my crush made it back to the girl.

I had anticipated rejection were I to ask her out - I never anticipated the cruelty she would show if she merely knew I thought she was cute. She openly and loudly mocked me on a long bus trip. She hugged me and sat on my lap. I had no chance to seek respite from the humiliation - I just sat in stunned silence. I thought she wasn't going to stop stomping until I was dead.

That moment stunted my romantic pursuits for the next decade of my life. I am very much an introvert and social interaction has carried a high cost for me for as long as I can remember. Asking someone on a date added not only carried the fear of rejection, but also a much greater fear of humiliation. I didn't date much. I wasn't very successful when I did, maintaining both physical and emotional distance. With every failure, I reinforced my previous fears and added new ones.

Enter strip clubs, providing a different kind of therapy where my visits to counselors had failed.

I first started going to strip clubs at the behest of my friends, with promises that you can't have a bad night at a strip club. They certainly were entertaining - that combination of drinking, smoking, and nude women was thrilling, in the way breaking social taboos can be.

I kept going once the initial thrill faded, though. Over the following two years after my first visit, I went as frequently as my grad school stipend would allow. I had read about sexual surrogates extensively online and slowly devised my own plan without the high up-front costs. The clear-cut social rules and monetary exchange of strip clubs created a safety zone for me to work through my issues and to work on some of my weaknesses. Things that would cause enormous emotional turmoil previously began to come more easily. I could let someone touch me and there was no mocking that followed; the expectation that it might be used against me faded. Telling someone that they're attractive ceased to carry an emotional cost for me. I worked on other social skills that had never come easily to me, too - making small talk, for instance. I'm still not good at it, but much better than I was before.

I stopped going to strip clubs a number of years ago. As my old fears were assuaged, I found myself capable of pursuing relationships without the self-imposed barriers that had plagued my earlier attempts.

I Am Gay

I only attend strip clubs as one of a group. One birthday party thrown by the dude's girlfriend, some bachelor parties for the soon-to-be married, and one all-male business group after business was done. In all cases, I've been explicitly invited, and while I am happy enough to go and mingle in the group, I never go by myself. I find there is too often a worrisome undercurrent that makes me feel that I am enjoying the event at the expense of others.

Most importantly, I am gay. The number of women I have been deeply attracted to is a single digit percentage of my crushes overall, so all the dancework and acrobatics performance at a club is just a skillful show where I am concerned. I can appreciate a heartfelt performance as much as any human, but that's all I am appreciating. Likewise, there is little attraction in spending the extra money for a private performance or even a public personal performance. I can appreciate the stripper's work as easily above a nearby friend as I can above myself. Moreover, in a party group, I can be giving a gift to the birthday boy or groom or business colleague all at once for the same price. Meanwhile, I can also chat up the bartender, talk to friends, enjoy the buffet, and seriously inquire with the ladies as to which drinks are actually worth the price of the drink minimum.

Usually, this is all pleasant fun. I'm not spending too terribly much, and most of what I am spending is a gift for a friend or colleague. Meanwhile, I get to people watch. No one minds if I take in the ladies, and no one notices that I take in the gents at the same time. Gay with friends at the strip club means near-perfect detachment from a sea of constant but unthreatening heterosexuality. Safe as houses.

The only problem is when I witness real vulnerability.

One of my friends declined a lapdance offer because he didn't have a girlfriend at the time and didn't want to go home with blue balls. One of the businessmen was obviously lonely more than he was admiring, as naked as the woman talking with him. One groomsman was obviously far too admiring, and his apathy toward his current relationship was suddenly and vividly apparent. One stripper was obviously very keen for private performances, clearly needing the higher payout with some sense of urgency.

All of that is uncomfortable to witness, because none of it can be commented on nor helped without becoming far too intimate far too fast. The club creates the illusion of heterosexual intimacy, a coy game of it, but it refuses to actually allow or engage the real thing. So long as everyone involved simply enjoys the game, all is well; but the moment someone needs more than the game, they absolutely cannot have it, and so they stand there, open and raw and unable to share. Most of the other dudes are too engaged to notice, but the detached strippers and the detached gay man notice.

It is profoundly uncomfortable. It is the price of a fun outing, the price of not being entranced by the ladies. I see cute straight men letting their guard down and baring themselves, and there's rarely a thing I can do about it beyond sending a stripper their way. I get to feel generous and thoughtful, but I do so fundamentally at their expense.

I Know They Don't Care About My Life

Every guy has their reason for going to a strip club. Poor guys who want to feel powerful. You see them sweat as their carefully hoarded dollar bills dwindle. Bald guys who can't get a date. Insecure types who never learned how to talk to a girl. Lonely guys who have nothing else to do and nowhere else to go.

Why do I end up in a strip club every couple of months?

In a word; therapy. The girls there will listen. I know they don't care about my life. That's not the point. A girl is sitting next you totally naked. You don't worry if she is judging you. You can say anything.

Who else can you talk to?

Your business partner? Can't afford to show weakness.

A friend? His wife is friends with your wife so you have to be careful.

A therapist? I've been trained to walk off a heart attack. I never go to a doctor much less a therapist.

But the pressure builds and builds. You lose a big contract. Your foreman gets arrested for drug possession. Your wife keeps pointing out how all her friends went on a ski vacation. The roof decides to leak. Whatever. You have to unwind or you start punching holes in the drywall.

That's where a strip club helps. Of course it's all fake. The saccharine smiles. The fake boobs. Watered down scotch.

But on another level it's as honest as can be. You pay a fee. For this a naked girl sits on your lap and listens.

It's ludicrous. I'm forty, drive a Cadillac, have traveled the world and am fully clothed. The girl is half my age, drove her mothers Hyundai to work, hasn't been out of the state since a trip to Disney World when she was ten and is stark naked.

But she listens for a bit and all is right with the world. That's why I go.

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 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 Honestly Believe Some of Them Find Me Charming

Strip clubs are different here.

Portland, Oregon has at least forty five strip clubs in the metropolitan area. It's rumored to have the highest strip club per capita than any other U.S. city. This, coupled with an already liberal culture, leads to a very relaxed strip club experience. I've yet to be charged an entrance fee. I've yet to see one that is not fully nude. The drinks and food are reasonably priced. It feels like a regular bar that has the luxurious benefit of having (usually) tattooed nude gymnasts performing onstage. It is awesome.

I frequent a handful of clubs around town. If I like the dancer's taste in music, I'll sit at the rack and fork over my cash. If she's not appealing to me, I won't watch the show. I've been told it's unpolite to stare without tipping. I've stopped buying lap dances, however, after getting married. The image of a strange nude woman grinding on me in a secluded booth makes my wife uncomfortable. Although my wife's allowed to buy as many lap dances as she wants for herself. She's even considered being a dancer before but has body-image confidence problems.

It's a legitimate occupation, stripping. These women are not desperate whores. They are providing a merciful service. An inspired pole-dance by a competent performer has turned a despondent, irritated mood into a piqued and playful mood on many many occasions. The really good ones have me completely convinced that they genuinely like me. I honestly believe some of them find me charming and interesting and attractive.

It is pure fantasy,of course and the blissful escapism is precisely what I'm paying for. A dimly-lit, dizzying microcosm peopled by impossibly vivid sexual virtuosos who entice and enthrall your basest nature in exchange for American dollars or free Long Island ice teas. Everyone is happy. No one gets hurt.

Strip clubs in the rest of the country are deafening dens of despair where over-scented men with doomed marriages and sheepishly hidden erections are relentlessly hounded by fake-tittied harpies who sniff them for money then chafe their upper thighs with a Victoria Secret catalogue. And it costs twenty five dollars to get in.

I Was and Am Far Too Serious

I frequented strip clubs for a brief period between 2007 and 2009. I quickly became tired of paying for nothing but attention.

My first foray in 2007 was quite pleasant. The music was loud, but not at a level you couldn't speak to the girls (and quiet enough that the girls could "game" you out of your cash). The drinks were expensive - $9 simply for a water, coke or beer and there was a 2 drink minimum.

The first girl to give me a lap dance was from central Virginia and well endowed in the rear; not so much in the chest (she was shy about taking off her shirt for some reason). Pleasant to speak to and fairly intelligent - I was and am far too serious for the empty headed "party girls" to gravitate towards. I gathered from talking with the dancers that shy fellows were the best tippers.

The times I returned after that I was typically "gamed" by short, busty Hispanic dancers (exotic and curvy is my type). However, lap dances quickly became more restricted - no touching or grinding unless you paid a ridiculous price ($100) for a "private" dance behind a curtain with 5 other men getting the same. I paid for one or two - admittedly entertaining, but pointless. Before I left this was raised for $200 for a private/topless dance which was even more ridiculous (I was never dumb enough to pay this).

The music level was also turned up to ear-damaging volume, which was fine for the screaming partiers, but not for the shyer folks like me (and the dancers good at getting tips and dance money out of them). One positive change- free buffett with decent food, at least on weekends.

A co-worker of mine dated one of the dancers briefly and attempted to set me up with the dancer's cousin. The final time I entered a strip club I met with the dancer (not the cousin). The music level was deafening. I barely said anything to her. The next day I was told I was "creepy" for not attempting to speak when I could not be heard.

I have not had the money to return since my loss of employment in 2009, and would not bother to return to that establishment even if they turned their music down. I enjoy the scantily clad dancing (pasties and thongs are required in VA) but the atmosphere got steadily worse. I also realized that the solitude is the nice thing about celibacy; the not-so-nice thing is...not getting laid.

I'm a Reporter

I only go to strip clubs when I know the feature performer.

I'm a reporter and journalist in the adult industry. I spend my workday watching and writing about adult material: DVDs, sex toys, websites. When I go to a strip club, it's because I know the feature performer, or I'm writing a story about her appearance, or both,

My middle-aged grey-haired appearance usually gets the attention of the house dancers, and there will be one or two who offer me a lap dance. I always refuse, politely, saying that I'm a journalist and I'm here to see the feature performer. Reactions are mixed. Some politely thank me anyway and move on, some engage me in conversation (I had one offer me professional services that she could perform at her office during her day job) and others have offered to go backstage and tell the feature I'm here.

When the feature takes the stage, I usually sit away from ringside unless there are empty seats. I don't want to shut out a fan who might spend real money. I will toss a few dollar bills on the stage to blend in but I don't go overboard. When the feature heads off to pose for pictures and do autographs I wait until all the fans have had their turn before I walk up. I may wind up talking to her for a while and, again, I don't want to take time away from a fan.

I don't go to strip clubs for fun. I spend my entire day watching adult material, so I don't have a need to see more when my day is through.

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.

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 May Not Know Anyone

The primary reason that I go to strip clubs is #7 on your list: loneliness. In the dead of night, alone at home, the loneliness sometimes becomes unbearable. There aren't many places to go in the middle of the night, and most of those choices don't necessarily ensure any kind of reasonable human interaction.

I like to think I hold up my end of the bargain; I spend money, tip well, and am clean and polite. In exchange, women talk to me and there is usually light non-sexual touching which I find very comforting. Sometimes I will calm down enough to find parts of it arousing

This can be particularly exacerbated on business trips; in a strange city where I may not know anyone or speak the language, in the blandness of a hotel room, strip clubs are places where I know I'll be chatted up.

I Was a Teenager

My going to strip clubs had two distinct phases.

The first was when I was a teenager at an all boys boarding in England (we used to say: "Better to have a sister in a whorehouse than a brother at an English boarding school").  The motivation was curiosity, desire to find sex (for the first time) - basically general horniness.  Didn't do much to alliviate the problems, but sure spent a big part of my allowance.

As a grownup, I found myself at strip clubs in New Orleans and Las Vegas.  Went because that is where my buddies wanted to go.  Disappointing and expensive.  Found that my girlfriends were open to anything (and more) that the strippers provided, plus my girlfriends liked my jokes.  Bottom line, didn't get anything that I didn't get better at home.  Also, I like my intimacy in private.

The friends who wanted to go, were typically the ones who were not happily married, or who (as far as could be determined from conversations) had sexual needs that their partners were not willing/able to meet.

Bottom line, for me a strip club is far more interesting in concept than in reality.