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 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.