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 Terrified of Women

My visits to strip clubs started out as aversion therapy. I was terrified of women and in my early thirties I was not only single, but had never even had a relationship. I think perhaps that this should be explained in more depth because it will make things clearer for you.  I think I first asked out a girl when I was about 20 and only after an immense amount of soul searching and terror. She turned me down and I have to say, so did the rest of the girls that I asked out subsequently. So after ten years of rejection I decided to try counseling, which didn't work, largely because I didn't want to admit to myself what the real root cause of the problem was. Dating agencies got me on dates, but I tended to freeze up and run out of things to talk about, so people tended not to want to see me again. I had a problem without a solution. 

As I said, I suffered a crippling fear of women and this was due to a schoolteacher I was unfortunate to have when I was about 6 years old. Always shy and a little afraid of things and with an abiding fear of being 'told off', the teacher had an unfortunate tendency to interpret lack of understanding on the part of her pupils as a disciplinary issue. I distinctly remember her trying to teach me to tell the time, but I could not grasp the hour-minute duality of the clock face. In the end she gave up and made me stand outside the classroom for the rest of the day. In my year with this person she physically assaulted me, screamed at me everyday and I was thrown around and out of classroom on a weekly basis. I can still see her face clearly today. 

All of this left me with an abiding fear of women and also asking questions, largely because I had learned to be afraid of the consequences. I developed self esteem issues as well and became socially isolated. Most of this I conquered, but getting a girlfriend was always the final thing to be overcome. But first I had to overcome my fear of women. I then had a brilliant idea. I reasoned that if I was too scared to even speak to a girl in a normal bar, if I could muster the courage to speak to a stripper in a club it would be like aversion therapy. Strippers were very frightening to me, but it was a controlled environment so nothing could go wrong. Also as attractive girls were there all of the time, I could try as many times as I liked....

It took me a year of visiting clubs on a weekly basis before I actually managed to strike up a conversation with a stripper. Slowly my fear started to recede. My first ever date was with a stripper, although it wasn't exactly a date, she said she was hungry and I blurted out that maybe we could get something to eat. She agreed and after carefully leaving the venue separately, I had my first time out in a restaurant with a women. 

If you are thinking that this is a happy ending story, it is and it isn't. You see, the issue was that I started to get a reputation as being a 'nice' person to talk to for the dancers, so soon I was never short of people to talk to and sometimes I even asked them out and by and large I was successful. I ended up living with a dancer for 18 months and despite breaking up, we are still friends. Later I tried to transfer my new found confidence and skill to the outside world and sadly I failed again and failed repeatedly. You see, I overcame my fear of women, but only if they are strippers. 

In recent years, now I am well into my 40s I have decided to be content as I am. I still visit clubs, but for different reasons now. They are a good place to be alone or have company when I want it. I could't really care less about private dances and most times don't even look at the stage. I know most of the male customers and it works for me. Its like 'Cheers' with tits. Its a community that I like to be part of. When things in the rest of my life are bad, I know that I can escape from the problems for a couple of hours in a club and its the best therapy ever (cheaper than a therapist as well).

So going to clubs turned me into a better person. I soon stopped harbouring thoughts of revenge on that awful school teacher. I remember her and at times I wonder who else she may have damaged, but that's the extent of it. The one thing I do know is that the respect I showed the dancers was mostly returned to me 10 times over and without the clubs, I dread to think what would have become of me. So my initial purpose  for going to clubs no longer exists and to some extent the whole thing is running on inertia.  One day I know I will stop and not return, but for the time being, that's always next year.

I found peace with myself and that is priceless.

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 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 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.