I saw him; staring me in the face with all his holiness and purity.  Immediately I felt guilty and my shaft went soft.

A few years back, my friend and I got together at a strip club in Orange County.  We were “those strip club” type of guys – Muscular, tattooed, attractive, with somewhat sordid morals.  Overall, the type of guys strippers wanted to meet in the club when they weren’t looking to make money.  No, I’m not proud of that statement, I’m simply stating a fact for the context of this story.

At this point in my life, I was making a living as an unlicensed, alternative-market pharmacist (to put it nicely).  I had all the free time in the world, but my friends had to work.  Instead of learning and bettering myself, I spent my days hanging out at strip clubs: eating steaks, drinking and meeting strippers.  Yes, the food is delicious at some strip clubs, especially the filet.

I felt comfortable in strip clubs.  Like I belonged.  I always made friends with the people who worked there.  Everyone from the bathroom attendants to the owners.  It’s cliche for someone in my previous line of work to date a stripper, but it was easy for me.  They liked me; and not in the “It’s their job to like everyone” sense.

I clicked with strippers.  There were numerous commonalities: loads of free time,  partying, promiscuity, daddy issues, a taste for nice things and bad relationships.

I got off track; back to the story.  My friend and I were at the club for maybe 30 minutes when two girls approached us, sat down and started to chat.  Twenty minutes later she asked if I’d like a lap dance.  Normally I say no.  Even though I’ve spent so much time in strip clubs, I rarely get lap dances.  They make me uncomfortable and feel bad about myself.  Everyone getting a lap dance looks like the world’s saddest perv. (more…)