Strippers, Strippers Everywhere. No Tingle in Site

I have only been in strip clubs two times.

Day and night.

Just kidding.

The first time my redhead sent me to one. I was stressed out and she figured an evning in a strip club lokking at nekkid women would get my mind off things (and I think she liked the idea of me coming home ready to go.)

But it wasn’t the horn-dog fest I thought it would be.

First, no redheaded strippers.

Second, I haven’t learned how to make women–no matter how naked–into objects. That is a serious handicap in a strip club.

So I spent the evening not ogling, not getting my lap danced, not having sexualized conversations with naked girls young enough to be my daughter.

Instead I asked them about their families, their kids, showed them pictures of my kids, found out their hobbies. Pretty much the same thing I would be with a waitress at Denny’s.

I’m not saying that to somehow look “good” to you readers. That’s not the case. It was kind of embarrassing. Like most men I had a fantasy about what goes on inside where eye level meets ankle level. I wanted to get on my inner letch.

Instead I paid waaaay to much for watered down drinks and had to tip young ladies for sitting with me and NOT giving me a lap dance (I couldn’t take up their time without tipping, but there was no way I was getting a dance.)

Not a naughty tingle all night.

The second time was when I was on a fishing trip with some of my buds. One of the Mike’s had just gotten divorced so we were going out to celebrate. (Again I had my redhead’s OK–she’s cool like that.) This was better because we kept buying Mike lap dances. He just stayed back in the champagne room and girls would come out and send another one back. He must have had 10 consecutive lap dances–and at least one involved two young ladies.

That was a lot more fun, but still no personal tingles—though I think Mike had a few.