A Step-by-Step Guide to the Time of Your Life
I n the wee hours of many tequila-scented mornings, through the soft haze of vape smoke and that infamous neon glow, I have grinded on my fair share of girlfriends, bachelorettes, wives, side pieces, sisters and moms. Hell, I’ve even twerked for Grandma. From girls’ nights and family reunions to swinger, poly, queer and mostly hetero couples, I am proud to live in the eternal spank bank of women around the world.
Nothing has filled my stripper heart with more joy than witnessing couples discover kinks they never knew they had and leave our champagne room eager to go home and bang like it’s their first date. Or seeing initially skeptical women experience how lap dances can extend beyond a one-size-fits-all formula. I have learned that when women claim strip clubs as an erotic space for themselves, the effects can be transformative. For both patrons and workers.
Yet strip joints continue to be marketed exclusively to men. The “gentleman’s club” is a relic and a social construct that perpetuates stigmas and keeps women from feeling empowered about their sexuality. Show me a woman with an ego and a bit of cash, and I’ll show you someone who is happy to exercise her spending power in exchange for gratuitous flattery, personalized attention and chicken wings. Which is why nothing has broken my stripper heart more than knowing these positive experiences can be counted in the minority. For as long as I’ve professionally shaken my ass, the majority of my time spent with women—especially women as part of a couple—has been cringeworthy at best.
That’s right. My most problematic customer isn’t the Fireball-swigging college kid on spring break. It’s his middle- to upper-class parents, the kind of parents who probably spent the past 23 years raising their offspring to be kind, respectful and good tippers. Yet the moment they enter a private room, they adopt an aggressively entitled persona and are quick to tell you they’re putting a kid through college, which is why they won’t be tipping the standard 20%. True story.
From awkward to atrocious, I’ve seen some shit, none of which is ever excusable. Though after the umpteenth woman attempts to lick your asshole without so much as a hello, let alone consent, it makes you wonder, is it them, the system or both? I’m willing to bet my flawlessly lasered asshole that in her real life, Joanne would never attempt nonconsensual rimjobs on strangers. Nor would her husband Dave obnoxiously cheer her on.
