My Naked Truth

I went through a very small period of time where I liked to pretend that I was one of those hip, cool sex-positive feminists who had no beef with strip clubs. It's a lie. I fucking hate those places. I have nothing against the women who work there - it's a living, like the job or not, whatever reason they have for taking that line of employment.

Men who go to strip clubs, on the other hand, have a special ring in the black part of my heart. Most cultures entitle men to sexual titillation while insisting that women need none and in fact, shun it. I get that. But the need to watch women in various states of undress perform for you, as if your sexual entertainment is not to be denied, is degrading. Sure, there's no touching. Most men would never, ever find it acceptable to have the tables turned on them, and that to me means that they know they ultimately have the power in the audience, not the women on the stage.

Further, there is an air of pathetic-ness that stinks up the whole enterprise. Groups of men sitting around watching their buddies get turned on and cum in their pants is creepy. I don't understand how so many men can be homophobic and then witness their pals to get boners while they whoop and hoot and holler encouragement during lap dances or whatever. Worse are the men who use every damn friend who gets engaged as an excuse to go to strip clubs, even when the groom himself is not so into it. (Worse than that are the lame grooms who don't want to disappoint their friends and who agree to go and then have a miserable time and leave their own bachelor parties early while their friends stay behind. Seriously, this is what my own stupid husband did instead of resist the peer pressure or disappoint his horny friends and tell them he would rather hang out at a bar or gamble. Does the mere idea of strip clubs divert all the blood from one's backbone into another?)

Strip clubs are adolescent in every way. I say grow the fuck up, boys.