So, Why Don't We Talk About Strippers??

The ***** club can be a pretty significant experience – how is it this is the first story on the subject? Come on, guys!

***** clubs are high in the top-ten list of things that divide men’s from women’s thinking. I’ve got a sort of obsession with them, something that makes me wonder if it would be worth being two different people in EP, one who cries about things the ladies can sympathize with and one that just lets it all hang out. Since I’m coming close to giving up on the site, anyway, I’m going to tell my whole ugly truth and hope for some honest responses – with a bit of sympathy for the devil from those I’ve offended or disgusted.

I can’t be truly myself and deny my excessive interest with everything about women: I’m infinitely curious about their thought processes… and I’m fascinated by their forms, the smooth skin, the curve of the waist, the wonderful plumpness, so different from men’s bodies, of the breast and butt and, of course, that magical source of ultimate pleasure hidden as far as physically possible from sight.

I’m intrigued by what some women choose to hide and some to show. What, for instance, is the deal with cleavage? It draws the male eye like a candle calls the moth – and, yet, aren’t women supposed to dislike being ogled? (I know, I know, different women feel different ways – but how’s a guy to know when what’s ok?) All that goes away in the “gentlemen’s club,” however.

I’ve got mixed feelings about ***** joints. On one hand I periodically develop an irresistible need to visit them, on the other, I’m almost always – and go in knowing I probably will be – bored and disappointed by them. I think I would really enjoy the old-school burlesque, with an actual dancer coming out fully dressed, doing a performance with actual (dare I say it) artistic – or at least entertainment – value while gradually, with building suspense, unveiling the lovely secrets women usually share only with their lovers. The modern version, however, is a girl in a bikini wiggling about for the duration of a song, turning her back to drop her top, than writhing about for the duration of another song.

Nowadays, of course, the main attraction at most ***** clubs is not what passes for striptease, but the lap dances. When I pay my cover fee (almost nothing in Arizona, but pretty damn steep in San Francisco, where I come from) to watch a show, I don’t want to be aggressively hustled for services I don’t want… often, to my disgust, for long periods of nothing whatsoever happening on stage. Most places I’ve been, a lap dance consists of nothing but a young lady squirming about in one’s lap for two-three minutes, perhaps allowing the customer to stroke her legs and waist… for a cost of anywhere from $10 to $60. I won’t deny that it’s a pleasant experience, and perhaps if one were highly aroused and had a good salary it could be worth it. I’m almost never more than nominally excited by such things, however, and am about as poorly paid as a supposedly “skilled” white-collar worker can be.

As a sidebar: one of the very, very few “nude” clubs in the Phoenix area is the Blue Moon. Their version of a “lap dance” is an unabashed hand-job, not necessarily with any pretext of dance (on lap or otherwise) at all. Whether or not that sounds good to you – the Blue Moon specializes is the most ghastly females imaginable. All are significantly overweight; most make you want to avert your eyes while they’re onstage.

Lap dancing is also, depending on the club and dancer, I suppose, either an incredible windfall or shocking exploitation for the strippers. On one hand, it’s not unusual for a top performer in a popular club to take home a couple grand in an evening. On the other – it blew my mind when I first learned this – strippers are no longer actually paid by the clubs; THEY must, in fact, pay for the privilege of performing, and I’ve read of cases where some have actually lost money on the transaction.

Furthermore, most of the strippers in the Phoenix area are shockingly unattractive. The Blue Moon is by no means unique. Far less than half of the dancers I’ve seen here are worth watching at all; better than half of that percentage are so grossly over-weight that I want to look away. Most places will mix a few reasonably attractive ladies in with the hounds, a few – the cellulite hell called “Bandaids” is another – seem to cater to some ghastly “ugly” fetish. How I miss San Francisco! NO ******** I ever saw there was less than “pretty.”

There’s just one place in this area, part of the nation-wide “Christy’s” chain, to which the above doesn’t apply. Aside from a few whose figures are too boyish for my taste, all the dancers are Playmate-gorgeous and – varying a bit from one pro to another – they put no restrictions on the hands-on part of their private dances. There’s one magnificent Amazon who goes by the nom de ***** of “Mustang” (claiming her real name is Cher) who gives a $10 “table dance” that – aside from some modesty in the groin-to-groin contact – as good as the actual sex I got from my wife in the last years such a thing was available. (This is a whole other topic, but, Christy’s lighting is groovy like a Grateful Dead concert and on a couple of occasions, under the influence of a sort-of-legal synthetic intoxicant, I had experiences there that – aside from the insane amount of money I spent – was pretty much all I could ask of a good acid trip.)

Cher is also very nice and interesting to talk to, and – except when pretending that she desperately wants to “jump (my) bones” – seems to be willing to chat quite frankly with me. Which leads to another of my mixed feelings: strippers can no longer be simply stage performers. To earn their money, they also have to be professional companions. The experienced ones won’t come up and ask, “Would you like a dance?” They must engage in several minutes of conversation first, acting as though a customer’s civil service job is REALLY INERESTING. Starved as I am for companionship, I might like that if I could take it seriously. Most of the tyme, however – when they act fascinated by details of my life that bore ME to tears, or pretend that I, a balding, 15-pound-overweight middle aged man who didn’t have more than moderate success with the ladies as a young stud turn them ON, or tell me almost certain lies about how they LOVE talking with the guys in their club or are nymphomaniacs – I just feel degraded by it. As, I’m sure, do they. I’ve heard and read a lot to the effect that strippers’ attitude towards clients ranges from contempt to borderline hatred. It definitely puts me on edge, and makes me skeptical about anything any of them say. When it DOES happen that one, like Mustang/Cher, actually talks about something probably true, such as studying Italian or befriending the neighbors’ daughters, I feel as though I’m NOT, in fact, a pathetic dirty old pervert wasting valuable tyme and money because I have no friends and no life and no will power.

I’ve only ever had one male friend I could talk with frankly about this kind of experience. I’d really like to hear some other guys’ take on it. I’d LOVE to hear what women think. Given the comparative disinterest (most) women have in men’s bodies, I’m sure the whole obsession with naked females generally raises a range of emotions from mystification to disgust. There’s that issue of sexual “objectification” – which, because we’d usually be delighted to be on the receiving end – is very difficult for men to fully comprehend, but which seems to be a terrible issue for a lot of women. I wonder if any women have any empathy for men plagued with such obsessions and unable, short of engaging actual prostitutes, to get any other physical intimacy with a woman. And how do women feel about strippers? Most probably like to know their looks are admired – so, would you feel that it would be degrading to be admired in the nude? If you could make a thousand bucks for four hours of stripping and wiggling on laps, would, you do it? I’ve read two books by former strippers (one of whom went on to become a high-powered Hollywood screenwriter & producer): neither had any hesitation about performing nude, but one was psychologically unable to deal with lap dancing. Most women, even with acceptable bodies, probably don’t want to be seen in less than a bikini. What, I wonder, explains the range of feelings? Are women more likely to be supportive or contemptuous of their sisters who make their living this way?

Please show me it’s worth giving The Experience Project another chance, after all. Let’s talk about strippers.
Tainic Tainic
51-55, M
Dec 15, 2012