BedWench's Alter Ego who only thinks she half as hot as me had a few things to say about strip clubs prior to getting her stripper pole cherry popped in Vegas. . .enjoy!
So, Strip Clubs: thumbs up or thumbs down? I'm guessing this is going to break down along gender lines--duh. Strip clubs for MEN feature topless, mostly attractive women who take turns gyrating around the pole, accepting carefully folded dollars in their g-strings, making new friends so that when it's their turn on the floor, as it were, they have solidified their connections and can provide further services, based on on the rules and parameters of the venue.
Most men view this as harmless fun, sort of like a game of golf (unless you're Tiger Woods with a nasty pre-nup). Their new friend will bump 'n grind on them, while they laugh with their buddies and yell to be heard over Motley Crue songs, giving no thought to the amount of dough they are in the process of spending. They leave the joint much lighter of heart and of wallet. No biggie. The lovely ladies in question are making a living and are not looking for marriage proposals in most cases, just to make enough to cover what they have to pay out to the club and take a bit home for their plastic surgery fund or college tuition or whatever.
The Wench got her first look at this--all in the name of research you understand-- while in Vegas and the jury is out on whether or not she thinks women not there for the income potential belong in these places. Don't get me wrong--it was a blast, although I will never, ever be able to drink vodka and Red Bull again without smelling the faintly baby-powderish/cheap lotion-y aura of The Spearmint Rhino (Yeah, we did it up right). Honestly, I have NO idea how much was spent in the name of research and of showing the Wench a hot first time. It was a lot--that I know--and I wonder how anyone could justify it more than about three times a year, based on what it costs.
When I'd tell people I was going to experience "my first strip club" I kept hearing things like: Oh, you'll really be a hit there, honey, they will llloooooovvee you there. And they did, I guess. Although I do realize what they llloooooovvveed was Mr. Wench's wallet and the way he kept reaching for it in order to show me a good time. We did it all, tucked bucks, made new friends on stage and off, the whole ten yards. Hell we had barely walked in the door of the place before a couple of girls latched onto us, and mine looked like Sandra Bullock, only without a shirt on. Weird.
I could not help but observe that the women who deemed themselves my new BFFs based on Mr. W's generosity seemed like well trained actresses, ready to assert that any stupid statement that came from my (highly drunken) mouth was an amazing Pulitzer-worthy bon mot:
"wow--that's really deep, do you always talk like this?"
"No, only when I'm completely fucking annihilated on vodka and caffeine infused sugar water but keep talking honey 'cause you are really making me feel smart! But, um, could you stop grinding on my lap 'cause I'll never get the glitter out of these trousers."
And is it really our place as spouses/girlfriends to impinge on this fantasy? I mean, men at their very cores seem to need this sort of boost--the reinforcement from an "objective" observer that they ARE all of the above (hot,virile,clever,smart,hot,desirable,amazing and hot).
Perhaps we women are less needy this way? I don't know. You all know that The Wench Herself is in constant need of flattery of all sorts just to maintain, but ultimately, there is such a huge amount of money made at strip clubs for MEN that has not translated in the reverse (C'mon, you know all those guys at "Chippendales" are gay) it just stands to economic reason of supply and demand that men need it more than we do. We (significant others) can tell them until the cows come home how fabulous they are but when it comes from someone else (with no shirt on and covered in glitter) it takes on a new meaning.
Hey, women are no better you know. Our own Misters tell us how great we are but what do we say? "Yes, but my ass is still too big" or "Sure but I should lose 20 more pounds" or (my fav) "You're just SAYING that." Well, yeah, of course he is--he loves you, wants you feel good about yourself and would really really like to get lucky tonight. Take the compliment ladies--make it your own, and send him out with his pals every now and again for a bit of bonding over a chick in a g-string just looking to make a buck or two from the gawkers.
Now don't get me wrong--I will go again, but for the spectacle--I love the spotlight (surely you have figured that out by now) so I like to show how effing hot I am by tucking bucks and sharing the odd illicit smooch with one of my be-glittered expensive new friends in front of a bunch of tired businessmen who all immediately become insanely jealous of Mr. W (and just wait until we tell them I sell BEER!). But ultimately, it's all about the dudes and I just love to watch them get all ga-ga and throw cash and plastic just to get that fleeting feeling of awesomeness these places provide.
I have no qualms surrendering the Mister to this type of expensive field trip occasionally. I am not threatened by it in the slightest especially now that I've seen it first-hand. I am The Wench and none of those posers will ever be. I won't give in to the "objectification of women and therefore evil" argument either. Human males like to look, nothing will ever change that, and for the most part, that is what these places are--an opportunity to look-not-touch and be flattered by a hot girl who's not your significant other for a few hours. It makes them all the more prepared to cope with the amazing reality of US--Fellow Wenches!
ADORABLE! The Wench's Passel of Beefcake!
Of course, if I could figure out a way to make some real dough peddling hot beefcake in a similar fashion I would do it in a heartbeat with no qualms about objectification. If you read an earlier post you will know that our peculiar American tendencies towards sexual nature hypocrisy really piss me off. And I'm willing to bet 9.5 men out of 10 have no intention of anything more than a bit of buddy-bonding by ogling and "chatting up" a girl who is on the clock--when the money's out she is somebody else's BFF dude.
Get a grip, ladies--it's cool. Let 'em have their fun and don't try and prove how cool you are by insisting you accompany him every time either. Go once--with an open mind and wallet, they will lllloooooovvvee you there--they are experts at making you feel welcome, and hot, and a few Benjamin's poorer.
But trying to go with him every time? That's a drag. Just call me and we'll go have martinis and chat up a hot bartender or three.
Here's to American enterprise--providing a demand with a supply! But you can keep the vodka and Red Bull--I cannot take that hangover again!
