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Strippers and stag nights

Strippers and stag nights

I’ve stumbled back from a stag weekend in London with an old University friend/flatmate – albeit one I haven’t seen for nigh-on 10 years. And of course, there’s an unwritten rule somewhere that all stag nights must end at a strip club.

Why that is, I don’t know. In the age of Page Three and Internet porn, naked women aren’t exactly hard to come by. To come in, well, that’s another story. Or fable, if you’re me. Besides which, to be a stag, presumably you’ve already found someone willing to strip for you. So why bother?

I’ve got nothing against strippers, prostitution, escort work, pornography or any other aspects of the commercialisation of sex. It’s just not for me. I’d much rather have a woman who was stripping because she liked or wanted me, as opposed to just the contents in my wallet. Or is that far too romantic a notion these days?

Mind you, the same attitude means that I think you should split costs on the first few dates (within reason) with someone so that they’re with you because they enjoy your company, as opposed to your wallet. Then again, I haven’t had a date for eons, and some former female dates say that’s precisely why I haven’t had a date.

So with this attitude in mind, I entered the strip club with the rest of the stag attendees with a certain amount of trepidation. The pranks with the stag (throwing ice down his pants etc.) were done with the usual aplomb. The group then peeled off as mates found a stripper they liked, and slapped down their £10 to watch as a woman dangled her breasts in front of him. While two security guards would watch for any signs of actual touchage. One of my friends paid for 8 dances…

As drunken male groups tend to do, they will notice the one pleb who’s “not enjoying himself” ie not partaking in it. Me. I’m just supping my drinks by the bar and chatting to my friends.

Said friends realised I wasn’t partaking in the fun of paying a woman to jiggle in front of me for 10 minutes. And so sent a stripper along to talk to me and persuade me. Now, given my usual preference isn’t for a stick-thin blonde, who do they send over? A stick-thin blonde.

Said woman then tries to cajole me into having a dance or a strip. I say no. She keeps cajoling. I say no, and change the topic of conversation. She changes it back. Back and forth. Back and forth. Bit like her breasts if she actually had any.

What’s the point in a stick-thin stripper anyway ?! Surely in order to strip, you have to have something to strip to!

Eventually, we appear to be having an almost-normal conversation. Then she asks why we’re all here, I point at the stag. And as the lightbulb goes off in my head, I reach down to my pocket to get £10 to give to her so the lucky stag can have another dance. No sooner has the money appeared, than she literally snatches it from my hand and goes off to give the stag another dance. Thereby encapsulating the money-greediness of the place, and the reason why I don’t like strip clubs.

(Having said that, if a busty redhead/brunette is in one, I might change my mind)

Other stag night(s) memories to come. Unless it bores you.

5 Comments

  • sounds like a hella weekend, buddy. i have a friend into the PVC/strip club thing and the last time i saw her, she really, really wanted to go to a strip club, and even more so when she learned i'd never been. cooler heads prevailed and i declined and since she was at my mercy the weekend she visited, we never did go.

    but yeah. a stick-thin blonde? no thank you. =)

  • I think we would rather you posted photos…

  • Must remember to blog about the BDSM/PVC strip thing I went to in St. Louis with some friends one night. Surprisingly boring.

    Alas, no photos were allowed. Although I did surreptiously take one of the cigarette machine – because it had a big warning about under-16s not being allowed to smoke. That is, of course, despite the fact that the strip club is for over-18s only and there were two bouncers on the door to make sure of this fact. But none of the strippers said "Gorgeous!" to me.

  • Been to one, in Stoke, for a mate's birthday. I can honestly say I didn't pay for any lapdances for myself – I got the birthday boy one. Admittedly, he then bought me one in return…

    One of the lads vanished for about an hour, Turns out he found a blonde he *really* liked and went for a "private session". I have no idea what that involved.

    You're right on the stick thin bit though. There was nobody above a size 8 at the one we went to, though the lass who got a load of business off us was a) very pretty and b) very nice to talk to.

    Whereas every single other lass in the places was "want a dance? No? Sure? Bye", she actually hung around and chatted sociably until someone suggested they quite liked the idea of her gyrating on their laps.

    Small, skinny, no boobs, but devastatingly pretty and (seemingly) a nice person. I didn't mind coughing up a few quid to help pay her course fees – at least she made us feel welcome.

  • bigtrak

    the 'come in' joke is a bit low for you, isn't it? Or am I very old-fashioned?

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