Naw I’m Good: Why I Won’t be Hitting the Strip Club Anytime Soon
Anyone who knows me knows that I have a high appreciation for the female form. Seriously, I’m a boob woman. They’re soft, life-sustaining and nurturing. I’ve even been known to rub my own in public places, at inappropriate times. I could go on and on about boobs, they’re the greatest.
In general, the female form is something to be admired. But admiring from a distance is as far as I think I can go. As much as I love boobs, the thought of another woman’s breasts touching me literally repulses me. Have you ever had a woman’s boobs accidentally graze your arm? Or has a woman ever hugged you too hard, forcing her boobs into your own chest? I can’t speak for anyone else but the sensation makes my skin crawl.
Why am I telling you all this?
Recently, I linked to a post from our partners at Your Tango, asking whether or not you’d be pissed if your man went to the strip club and didn’t tell you what went down while he was there. Surprisingly, when we posted the question on Facebook and Twitter, a lot of you mentioned the fact that you would have no problem whatsoever and would probably join the boo at the strip club, some of you even mentioned getting a lap dance of your own.
Hmm…I can’t say that I was surprised. Y’all have said freakier things. 😉 But I just couldn’t get with you all on that one. Call me prudish or puritanical or whatever you like, but it never occurred to me to go into a strip club for enjoyment or even pleasure. Sure, I’m heterosexual, but even that is not enough reason not to go. Plenty of hetero women hit female strip clubs all the time.
A friend and I recently asked our co-worker what she thought about the subject and she said women can do some amazing things on those poles and move their butt cheeks in downright acrobatic motions. Tis true and they are to be commended, but I can catch the pole work in a number of pole dancing classes and a booty clap certainly isn’t hard to come by, even after the days of BET’s Uncut. Being the germaphobe that I am, I’d probably watch the whole spectacle wondering how a woman could so comfortably grasp an object her co-worker had just held between her open a** cheeks? I just don’t understand why I would ever have a reason to venture into a female strip club…or really any strip club for that matter.
Years ago, I attended a bachelorette party with a male stripper. I knew there was going to be a stripper and he was going to be my first one, so I was excited. Unfortunately, the man that entered the room was none too attractive and by the end of his routine, I couldn’t help but think he was desperate and pathetic. Something about flaccid wang flopping in my face did anything but arouse me.
Maybe the wack stripper ruined me for all strippers, male and female alike. Or maybe, and I think this reason is far more plausible, something about the human form being overtly broadcast as a sexual object elicits disgust instead of arousal from me. Something about a stripper, male or female, seems so forced and unnatural in comparison to the way real life sexual encounters go down. When you think about it, even pornos try to create some semblance of normality, though they often fail.
At the end of the day, for me, it’s the little things that I find sexually appealing. Anything too in my face, even a pair of perfectly crafted, supple breasts, is just cheap.
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