July 2017

This isn’t going to be what you think. Or maybe it will be…keep reading.

Once upon a time I dated a pro football player that I met in a strip club. I was 24.

After a few weeks of talking it was time for a visit. He came to my house, brought me flowers and took me out for dinner.

He was not the quickest bunny in the forest but he was chivalrous and HUGE.  Big fan of huge.

We got back to my house and cracked a couple beers whilst sitting on the couch, an attempt at extended foreplay I guess. We were both a little shy.

The subject of blowies came up as it often does, and he said “I can’t wait for that part, you must be really good at it. “

I said “Ya, I am but why do you think that?”

He replied “Well you’re a stripper so you must have had a lot of practice.”

I choked on my beer, not on his dick.

Wait, what now?

There’s a few things wrong with this story.

Number one, it was the 90’s in Ontario there was no contact, it was all air dances. He was from Buffalo and again not the sharpest knife in the drawer so I can understand not being well versed in geographically specific bi-laws, but still. You professed to care about me in spite of the fact that you think I’m sucking off random dudes in the back room 5 nights a week?

I still don’t get it.

Mind you I hadn’t thought about him in a decade and a half until it came time to sit down and write this, so there’s that then.

I was friends with a few porn stars back in the day and realized they are human and need love too. So that I get.

I could not wrap my head around him not asking me about it, just assuming. Head pun intended.

I showed him the door and never talked to him again.

333 words into this and I haven’t come close to saying what I want to say. You might want to grab a coffee, this is going to take a while.

That lil anecdote was put there for 3 reasons.
To keep you interested in what I have to say.
Admittance that I have indeed dated men I met at work.
And to point out the stereotypes that exist.

If I meet someone new and divulge that I am a dancer, as long as they don’t assume that I am some kind of mega whore because of my vocation, the first thing out of their mouth is usually ‘you must meet a lot of creeps’.

No, I actually don’t. There a few for sure, but there’s creeps at the coffee shop, the bus, the bar, the post office, the laundromat and I don’t have bouncers within 50 feet at those places. I feel safer in a strip club to be totally honest. I have been aggressively groped more waitressing at a regular bar than in my 19 years in strip clubs.

For the record my mega whoredom is my own and has nothing to do with work. But we’ll get to that.

Last night I was the one girl that approached the ‘hot’ guy that wandered into the bar. I asked if I could sit, he said yes and we talked about physics, the universe and a few conspiracy theories for about an hour. Which of course sent all the other girls into a fit because not only was he cute, he smelled good and had a brain. Personally, he didn’t seem that hot to me but it was nice to have an intellectual conversation to pass the time between shows.

The creeps are almost always the Brock Turner high school jock types that don’t understand the word no. They tend to come in on Fridays in packs of douchebaggery and Affliction t shirts. Not the older guys or the blue collar dudes who just want a beer a chat and to look at some boobs after work. I have met a ton of nice young ones too. Wolfling for one. Giant and Black 19 too.

I’ve also had a man say to me that the appeal of stiletto shoes is because “Y’all can’t run away.” Creepy.

My point here is you never can tell. Strip club patrons and their reasons for being in the bar are as varied as strippers and our reasons for being there. Which is to say very.

So moving on.

I have a group chat going with 7 of my best girls. It is my happy place, except for the googly eyed dick pic which I am probably gonna have nightmares about, thanks a lot.

The subject of butt stuff came up.

Actually it went from big dicks preferences and how to handle them (or not) to butt stuff.

One of the girls expressed concern for stretching out her little pink starfish and getting shit on her man’s dick. Legitimate fears.
But…and here is where the title is finally going to make sense men don’t care.

Me: I’m seeing a lot of sexual insecurity in here

PIC: Guys aren’t complaining they’re happy they’re gettin some

Me: PREACH.
Guys don’t care if your panties match or if your eyebrows look right or if you have a pot belly or get shit on their dick because you let them in the back door.

They want Pussy and peace. Bring those things to the table and you’re golden. Well…Pussy Peace and some butt stuff

We worry about how we look. They don’t. End of discussion. Sex without giving a fuck is bliss. No fucks. No rules. Smell nice and be nice. Anything beyond that you’re doing for yourself.

This is the gospel truth.

I get dances because I ask guys how their day was and I listen to their answers. Not because of how I look or dress. I wear t-shirts and boy shorts for fuck sakes.

I’ll tell you a secret, guys don’t care. I have seen women with atypical body types kill it at clubs because they are approachable and kind.
Me? I am 43 with crooked tits and a body full of tattoos. I am not everyone’s cup of tea. I am not blonde and blue eyed, my stage show isn’t anything special, but I still make money…with my mouth.

No, not like that, see the beginning of the article.

I used my words.

I get guys for the same reason.

I give good relationship advice because I realize the fundamental truth about the majority of men. They are simple. If they are hungry feed them, if they are horny fuck them, if they are sleepy let them sleep.

Your girlfriends are the ones to vent to, ask advice about butt stuff etc.

I have realized also, with this last thing I’ve been in. He’s not perfect, but my eyes gloss over the occasional pimple or neck scruff because he is more than those things. I am happy if he smells good and is being nice.

We live in a world with showers, get a little shit somewhere? Wash it off and move on.

Stop overthinking, I can guarantee he isn’t.

He wants pussy and peace, and maybe a sammich.