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.