The Mystique of Strip Clubs

So, as a female, I have long wondered about the appeal of strip clubs, and why some men are so obsessed with them. From what I could tell, going to a strip club meant that a hot stripper was just going to turn you on and leave you with blue balls. And charge you for this? By this logic, I should have been getting paid all through high school.

Trying to expand my boundaries, I went to a burlesque club with my then-boyfriend and L this past summer, having heard a lot of hype about the NY burlesque shows. And to be honest, I think I had a far better than either of them. I loved the costumes, the glittery makeup, the nipple tassels, the blatant showmanship of the whole event. It was entirely entertaining. But that still didn't clear up the strip club question in my mind.

Then last week, I was out grabbing drinks with L when my girlfriend K called me and said, "Would you be willing to go to a strip club tonight?"

I laughed, not sure if she was kidding, and asked what the occasion was.

"Nothing," she replied, "I've never been to one, and all the guys are going to go, and I don't want to be the only girl there, but I'm totally curious!"

And that was how I wound up at Larry Flynt's Hustler Club at midnight on a Wednesday.

K and I were joined by a handful of our good-looking guy friends, and literally the second we sat down, we were surrounded by a hoard of beautiful women, swooning over the guys and offering up lapdances as the guys pulled out the wads of twenties they had just taken out of the ATM.

I was pretty entertained watching all the boys get lapdances and eavesdropping on the conversations they were having.

During a lull, I turned to one of the guys and asked him what the point of the whole thing was. They obviously weren't going to take any of these girls home, so the entire thing seemed like a waste to me.

"Look S," he told me, "You walk in here and all of a sudden all these hot girls are all over you, giving you attention, wanting to talk to you, willing to take their clothes off. It doesn't matter that they're paid to do it, or that you're not going to get to have sex with them, it's the illusion that you could. Where else could you walk in somewhere and have hot women all over you like that?"

I thought about it for a second and said, "I'm trying to picture a place where I walk in and guys are all over me, and it doesn't seem that appealing to me."

He laughed at me and said, "Well, S, that's because the place you're describing is called a bar. Or anywhere else that you go where there are single guys looking to hook up, which is pretty much everywhere."

True fact. I suppose as a girl I'm used to going places where it's just a given that guys are going to hit on you, and you quickly develop the instincts to give the cold shoulder and rebuff their advances. Most guys who aren't Brad Pitt/Tom Brady/someone equally gorgeous probably don't experience that too often.

I guess that solves the mystery. Not that I plan on ceasing my field trips any time soon.