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 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.