My Life as a Male Stripper Groupie
One night, while I was in college, my best friend and I were cruising the strip in Houston, Texas, looking for something different to do. She was visiting from San Francisco and she had tired of dance clubs. As we were becoming frustrated with the limited choices before us, we both turned to our left and saw a strip club. Now, if you are at all familiar with Houston, you know that it houses about a million strip clubs. But only a couple feature men as the entertainers. Without saying a word and with only a sly look between us, my friend and I had decided what we were doing that night. Thus began my short, exciting and somewhat humorous life as a male stripper groupie.
When my friend and I first entered the club, we were in awe of what we saw. It wasn’t just the beautiful, muscle-clad men dancing around in nothing more than a G-string and boots, but the women in the audience who were absolutely losing their minds over these guys. It almost seemed silly. As soon as a guy would come out on stage, these women would push and shove each other out of the way to be the first to stick a dollar in his underwear. Well, this type of behavior just wasn’t us. I suppose you could say that she and I were the kind of women who made it a prerogative to always be cool, calm and collected, even when a guy was shaking his penis in our faces.
So, we ordered a couple of drinks, lit up some clove cigarettes and sat back to watch the action. After a while, we were surprised to find that the dancers were paying more attention to us than we were paying to them. It seemed they were intrigued by the two attractive ladies at the front table who were the only females in the place not drooling and screaming over the guys’ perfect physiques.
Eventually, one dancer motioned for the two of us to come up to the stage. Acting disinterested, we made our way to him. Although the guy looked incredible, we informed him that we didn’t have any money to give him. We were lying, of course, but it just seemed ridiculous to pay a guy to thrust his pelvis, especially when most men would do it for free. Apparently he didn’t care that we weren’t going to give him money. He reached down to me and, before I knew it, he was sticking his tongue down my throat and grabbing my ass. I am not making this up. Then he kissed my friend. She and I looked at each other in utter confusion and went back to sit down. I asked her if he had slipped her the tongue and she said no. Now I was really confused. Granted, I was pretty good looking in college. I have since bore two children, so memories are all I have of the great figure I once had. But what reason would this guy have for hitting on me when he could have any woman he wanted?
As the club was closing, he approached us and asked if we would like to go to breakfast (it was two in the morning). We told him we couldn’t, but that we would try to visit the club again before my friend went back to San Francisco.
We went to the club the next weekend, but that particular dancer wasn’t working. So we just hung out and again acted disinterested in the guys on stage. After my friend went back home, I continued to go to the club every weekend, bringing girls from school who I felt needed to be enlightened. Our school was located in a small town quite far from the city and many of my friends were pretty naive about such things.
The third time I went to the club, the dancer who had propositioned me a couple of weeks before was there. We talked and such throughout the night and then he told me that he would like to take me somewhere to further our relationship, if you know what I mean. Well, I was pretty wild (and pretty stupid) back then, so I told him that I would meet him at a nearby motel. I got a room for us and a room for my friend, and he and I spent a pretty crazy night together. I won’t get into details, but I will say that he was really into spanking, which was new to me. Anyway, what surprised me the most about this guy (besides him unusually well-endowed anatomy) was how truly sweet he was. After we were finished, he laid there in bed with me and told me how attractive I was. I mean, we were done doing the deed, he already got what he wanted, and we was still complimenting me. That was something I would have never expected from an incredibly gorgeous male stripper. I figured he would be arrogant to the point of being obnoxious.
Anyway, I spent the night with him one other time a couple of weeks later and then he left for California to pursue an acting career. It was nice while it lasted, but, surprisingly enough, it wasn’t anywhere near the best sex I ever had. There is a common belief that the better looking someone is, the better he or she is in bed. This guy proved that to be a fallacy.
By this time, I had been going to the club every weekend for a couple of months and I had actually started becoming friends with the dancers. I found out that several were working their way through college, some were single fathers and others were just complete jerks. There was one guy, in particular, who I developed a strange lust-hate relationship with. Unlike the dancer with whom I had had relations, this guy was arrogant and obnoxious. Granted, he was extremely attractive, but the fact that he knew how gorgeous he was really turned me off. One night, I brought a friend to the club who was quite a bit overweight. It was the strippers’ job to make women feel better, so I thought it might boost her self-esteem a little. I bought her a lap dance with this guy and all he did the whole time was look at me. It was disgusting. Later that night, he called me over to him when he was on one of the small stages and told me that, among other things, I had great eyelashes. What the hell was that? I just rolled my eyes at him (lashes and all) and walked away.
Most of the dancers were pretty cool, but it was really the waiters who you had to watch out for. There were rules that the dancers had to stay on a stage (main or otherwise) unless they were doing a lap dance, and they couldn’t hit on the ladies unless it was for the sake of money. The waiters, on the other hand, had free reign. I remember one time when I brought a friend along who didn’t drink, so I told her that she was my designated driver. Well, I should have asked her to be my designated bodyguard because, after a few too many, I ended up pretty disoriented and when I snapped out of it, a waiter had his tongue down my throat. My friend told me that he had seen that I was about to pass out and thought he would take advantage of it. That was truly, truly scary.
Going to the club actually got really boring after awhile. I pretty much just went to entertain my friends. When I started dating the guy who is now my husband, I promised I wouldn’t go anymore. He knew about the dancer I had slept with and, even though that particular dancer was gone, he felt uncomfortable about the situation.
The last time I went to the club, my boyfriend and I had gotten into a huge fight. All we had been doing for the past few weeks was staying at home and watching TV and I wanted to go out. He refused and I became infuriated. So, I stormed out without telling him where I was going and drove over to the club. (By this time, I was living in Houston and the club was conveniently located only blocks away from my apartment). When I got there, I drank myself into oblivion and cried the entire time. It was pitiful. All of these dancers were trying to cheer me up and I just kept crying and telling them to go away. By the time the club closed, I was a mess. I went outside and sat down on the ground outside of the club. I knew I couldn’t drive home in my condition. The club’s manager saw me and asked if I was okay. He invited me in and told me he would call a cab, but I told him that I didn’t have any money to pay for one. So, he gave me some coffee and I ended up surrounded by dancers who joined me in my pity party. We sat around for a good hour complaining about our significant others. It was hilarious.
And so ended my stint as a male stripper groupie. It was a good time, but it seems like another lifetime. Now I am a happily married mother of two who hasn’t had a drink in almost two years and would never dream of sleeping with anyone other than my husband.
What’s the moral to this story? Well, there isn’t one. Except maybe this: If you want to get the attention of male strippers and possibly get the opportunity to sleep with one or more of them, treat them like the most average men on Earth. Apparently, it turns them on.


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