Why I like strip clubs

Best and most quintessentially JAP threat of my NY trip: "If you do that, I will wear sneakers to your wedding."

This is not as good as my previous trip's top quote,  a man in Queens shouting "Nigga, I will put a cap in yo' ass!" Not to me, thankfully.

Speaking ofNew York things, my friend and I had a decadent excursion last night in which I received four - four! - lap dances. Three from the same ridiculously hot woman. Like a good feminist, I spent a fair amount of timing considering the gender implications of the venue.

I like strip clubs. I like any scenario in which a smoking hot woman invests time in making herself look and smell amazing and then gyrates around on my lap. In my years of gaying it up with various fantastic women, I have encountered only two who wear sexy lingerie and only one who could put on the kittenish aggression of a lap dancer, albeit not very convincingly. I have met exactly zero who were as tasty-smelling and flawlessly made-up as a girl in a club. Real life girlfriends just don't manage that, myself included. I think I go farther than most in my quest to be a fantasy girl around my partner, but I really can't be bothered to put on make-up if I'm not going out and my Reed College Renn Fayre Softball t-shirt is often irresistibly more comfortable than lingerie.

Plus, women aren't generally attracted to me. So if I want a girl on my lap, $20 is a hell of a lot easier (and actually cheaper) than the epic endeavor of finding someone who'll do the same for free. More importantly, I want a girl on my lap. If she wanted to be on my face as well, so much the better - but what I don't want is a relationship. I have one. One is enough.

Now, I used to think I wasn't the kind of person who would lead someone on or misrepresent what they wanted. Then I met a woman so attractive I selfishly stayed mum about my intentions and dodged her attempts at relationship talk because I knew it would harm my chances of continuing to sleep with her. After about two weeks we did talk about it and I am no longer pouncing her, but my point is that lust can breed dishonesty and when all we want is sex it's hard to be honest about it - especially with women, as women have been taught that nice girls don't have sex-based relationships. One solution is to try to change the stigmatisation of casual sluttery; another is to condone aspects of the sex industry. I like to do both.

I think if I could pay a non-coerced professional prostitute to have sex with me that would be more ethical, and just as enjoyable, as having sex with a woman I knew I was screwing metaphorically as well as physically be implying a forthcoming relationship I knew I would never follow through with.

As that's illegal in the places I live and visit, the next best thing is lap dances. I could go to a gay bar and chat up a mediocre-looking girl in horrifically sensible shoes and

A) explain that I have a boyfriend and just want to grind up to her and have her on my lap (that would go down well, I'm sure) or

B) imply I am actually interested in her as a person and want to see her again and lie my way into her pants

Or I could have a straightforward financial transaction in which everyone is clear about what they are getting and giving.

The transactional situation is perhaps more balanced for me because I could, I assume, become a stripper myself and would be perfectly happy to provide her with the same service for the same price. So I mentally put myself in her six-inch-high shoes and behave as I would want a client to behave were I her.

The honest fantasy of strip clubs is great. And I enjoy receiving the attention of women who are out of my league. For me, hot women are mainly inaccessible because most women are straight, I have hang-ups about bisexuals, and a large number of lesbians seem to view such basics as razors, lace g-strings, and anti-frizz hair serum as unacceptable tools of the patriarchy. For me, I am consoled by being bisexual and professionally hot - two men asked me out on my way to the strip club so I could have consoled myself with them had I been so inclined. But some strip club patrons aren't interested in men and yet pretty much all hot women are out of their league. I like that such people can occasionally buy the hot-girl experience the same way a poor guy with an '88 Volvo can save his pennies and rent an Aston Martin for the day.

Strip clubs are not, however, entirely forced for good, and I'll end with just one of the things I don't like. While the club I went to had a range of heights, races and chest sizes, all the women were between skinny and slim. I find it hard to believe clients would object to someone with at least an average amount of fat. Even aside from the disappointment I feel as someone whose ideal is a 12-petite and who sees only sizes 6 to 8 in a club, the implications of this are grim. In restricting its performers to a certain body size, the club commodifies thinness and implies that other body types are literally worthless.