I skipped my grad school classes to go to a male strip club. One, because it’s long overdue and two, because it’s Friday and do I need to say more? So, with a couple of friends, I went. I did not know what to expect, but was not that naive to expect to see guys from Magic Mike or Chippendales. We entered the place, and I thought “hey cool, so it’s just like a small restaurant but a little darker and with lots of colorful light, cool, whatever.”
But see, it was not the type of club where you pay so much and see so little – it was the type of club where you pay so little and see so much. If you know what I mean.
Then the first pair of strippers went on stage. They were dancing to a cheesy song (and by dancing I mean grinding like they were being electrocuted slowly). But where are the cages, or harnesses, or firemen costumes?
Apparently, as the night deepened, so did the club’s “arsenal”; the better looking ones started to go on stage (oh boy, here we go). And before I knew it, I was sitting beside a live, breathing, handsome, ripped, barely clothed male stripper. He smelled like soap. He said he likes to choke women during sex.
Then, the clock struck midnight, and everyone on stage was just wearing a towel and an erection. The towels were dropped. Then, penis. Just everywhere. So many of them, penis. They walked around the club, waving their dicks in front of our faces and asking for tips — in return you can touch them (no, I didn’t touch them, I can barely look at them too closely).
It was an eye-opening experience. I swear that I felt like I wanted to make a thesis out of it. My main generalization: it’s hard for me to objectify men. I don’t see them as chunks of muscles, I see them as people with family, and kids and feelings. Yes, half-naked male strippers in front of me and this is what I realize. I’m a loser, I know.