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'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 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 Have a Fetish for Big Fake Boobs

In high school and beyond, I was extremely nerdy. I hardly had a date or a kiss until my mid-20s. At that point, I became reasonably successful with women, but some of the loneliness from those years remains with me. I am fortunate to have a wonderful fiancee, a great job, and an enviable life (I'm now in my mid-30s). But I still go to strip clubs from time to time on my own, and I have not been able to shake my compulsive porn viewing.

I have a fetish for big fake boobs. I'm not proud of it, but there it is. I don't know where it comes from. When I was a teenager and started finding porn, that's what I was drawn to. During my decade plus of enforced chastity, I disappeared farther into a fantasy life, and now it seems to be inextricably linked to my sexuality in some way. They don't have to be insanely huge - although I like that too - but fake in general is what I go for.

My fiancee is a knockout, and has a great body that I get plenty of enjoyment from, including a naturally fantastic chest on a slim figure. We have a healthy sex life. She considers herself more sexually adventurous than me, and in some ways that may be right. But of course I can't talk to her about the fake boobs thing. It's not that I would even want her to get them. And of course, that's not the type of fetish that she and I could enjoy in the privacy of our bedroom. It's an in your face kind of thing.

So, when the urge becomes uncontrollable, I go to strip clubs. I almost inevitably go for the girls who match that particular description (and there are plenty of them out there, so I know I'm not alone). At the club I go to most often (a few times a year), they are very liberal about the touching rules in the back room. So I play with them, talk to the girls about their implants, and generally indulge myself. I could care less about discussing my life or my problems. And I'm also not that interested in discussing their lives, although that depends on the girl and her personality. I'm there for one reason (well, two...haha), and the girls generally respect that. They see all kinds, and I'm definitely not the freakiest customer they'll come across.

There is a whole community online of people (mostly men, of course) who share this fetish. We share pictures and videos, and discuss porn stars' modifications the way sports fans discuss statistics. Unfortunately, this virtual experience isn't really enough, and sometimes I need the "real" thing. I have gotten better - a few years ago, when I was single, I was going to the clubs multiple nights a week - but I am doubtful if I'll ever get over it entirely. In some ways, I hope so, but in some ways, I don't. It's my little secret, I guess, and I can't really imagine myself without that side of me, sad as it sounds.

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.