The Unbearable Banishment: Pasties and a G-String

Monday, July 7, 2008

Pasties and a G-String

Mrs. Wife said that mother- and father-in-law asked what I wanted for my birthday. I told her that they should buy me a lap dance. I thought that was so funny but all I got was The Look. Truthfully, my in-laws lead fairly sedate lives and I don’t think they know what a lap dance is. And I wouldn’t really want one anyway. I’ve never frequented strip clubs and I’m not about to start now. When I lived in Phoenix, I lived right across the street from a very popular strip club but I never went. Not once! There’s nothing wrong with them. They’re just not for me. I’ve never enjoyed myself on the few occasions that I visited one. Strip clubs are like Las Vegas: they somehow manage to project an image of glamour and raw sexuality, but when you get up close and examine what’s under the rock, all you find are heartbroken and lonely people. And I mean the men and the women.

I could never buy into the fantasy. Most men (heck, probably ALL men except for me) have no problem imagining that these women—perfect physical specimens one and all—would like nothing more than to go home with them and head straight to the bedroom. No questions asked before, no obligations after. It's innocent enough. They know it’s all just a daydream, so they roll with it and have a good time. My experience has always been that as soon as my wallet was empty, I was persona non grata. It’s dating in New York all over again. I don’t need to pay someone to reject me because I ran out of cash. I’ve gotten PLENTY of that in the past for free and the less I dredge up those memories, the better.

I always end up feeling sorry for the girls. How detached do you need to be in order to be good at something like that? Have you seen what some of the men look like? They ain’t Richard Gere, although many of the girls are as beautiful as Julia Roberts. I listen to Howard Stern almost daily and he has an unending parade of strippers and porn actors on. He’s a master interviewer and in almost every instance, he’s able to extract some underlying sadness or tragedy that drove them to strip for a living.

M dated a stripper for a short time. Once, after he picked her up from work, they got into a terrible argument. She was sitting in the front passenger seat and kicked his windshield with the heel of her stiletto shoe so hard that it put a crack in it that slowly spread over the following months. So you have to be careful of strippers because they can have a volatile temper. Although, I hear the sex is phenomenal.


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