On Naked Ladies Dancing

On Naked Ladies Dancing

Figure 1. These are not naked ladies, FYI

Figure 1. These are not naked ladies, FYI

I’ve been in a strip club two times. I think. Not more than two times. Don’t ask why. I can’t remember. Alcohol was involved and it was not my idea. But I went along with it. So.

Anyhoo. The point was I read this article: Lap Dances Are Awful.

Found it sort of interesting how the writer took several years to get the gist of the situation – that the transactional nature of the event is far from sexy. If by ‘sexy’ you mean, the energy flows in both directions.

Otherwise, as one commenter on the article suggests, lap dances and strippers are just ‘porn that can see you.’

(You could gasp in dismay about the objectification of females in that statement, how shocking and mean and shitty it is. But, again, we’re talking about stripping, a form of visual entertainment. And we don’t live in some post-patriarchy world where our sexual identities romp full of consent and awareness in some la-la-la naked garden of eden. So. Let us all get over ourselves.)

Mostly, if the porn can see you, then it’s ruined, right? Because that’s always been my problem. If it’s a fantasy, the fantasy object shouldn’t be able to see you all slack-jawed and desperate, right? See you, looking like a giant loser with no skills or game to speak of.  See you, in all your shoddy weakness, cleaning out the ATM to get to see some flesh. Cos that ruins it.

I mean, I get that some men might have OCD or some other issue driving them into strip clubs to pay some woman they don’t know to rub their nude selves all over them. They are not getting what they want sexually for a variety of reasons – crappy relationship or poor social skills or a hunchback or whatever. So, paying to get a glimpse of the body is what they do and they are fine with having erections that go nowhere all night long. Whatever. This pays one person’s bills while giving another person something they want. That’s not what I mean to discuss. I think.

Watching the men in the strip clubs I went to was more interesting to me than the naked women. Not just because I’ve seen naked women throughout the locker rooms and bedrooms of my life as a girl, obviously. And not just because I’m heterosexual. But mainly, because the men, with their wide, laser-like eyes, their stringent concentration, their slavish focus, seemed more naked to me than the women.

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