My husband and I have been married for five years. We have two children, respectable jobs, and are deeply in love. Neither of us has ever cheated, and – while we haven’t made it through every twist and turn in the Kama Sutra bible – our sex life is great.
Last month, we managed to offload the brood for a dirty weekend away interstate. After a boozy dinner, my husband suggested we go to a strip club..
Why in the world would any professional woman want to crash a strip club, I hear you ask. The last bastion of hope and sanctuary for lonely blokes and horny husbands.
Are boys’ nights sexist? We discuss on Mamamia Outloud. (Post continues after audio.)
Look — I totally get that. I’m a feminist and I vehemently oppose any objectification and exploitation of women. And while I’m no prude, I have never had any real desire to frequent a testosterone fuelled vice den either.
But what can I say? On this particular night, I had an open mind. Ever the businessman, my husband suggested it was nothing more than a cash transaction between consenting adults. And to his delight and surprise, I agreed.
In hindsight, I probably went in blind and unprepared. I was completely oblivious to strip club etiquette and the protocol for women. I wasn’t equipped with notes for tipping, I was taken aback by the preferential treatment from the bouncers, and I didn’t realise the dancers would zero in on me (who knew the prospect of a girl-on-girl show was so lucrative?).
It took ten minutes to get over the initial awkwardness of being the only fully clothed female in the club. But when I finally did, it was worth it.
The energy was electric, the drinks were free flowing, and the ass shaking music was contagious. And boy were those booties moving.
The music was banging, the booties were shaking.
Aside from the cohort of creepers in the corner, the patrons seemed pretty normal. Like my hubby... or your hubby.
We took a seat in front of the stage and before long a gorgeous young dancer introduced herself to us.
She said her name was Hope (yep, sure), and that she too was from interstate. Sensing I was new to the game, she heaped attention on the more experienced one among us. And I was OK with that. In fact, far from being weird, there was something electrifying about watching a half naked girl dance for my husband. It wasn't a sexual thing. I don't swing that way at all. But the whole experience seemed to transcend sexuality. Bizarrely, it was liberating. Even empowering. It was fun to share and flirt with someone else, while still staying focused on each other. There was definitely an element of voyeurism (of the non-creepy variety). And while it didn't bring on the warm and fuzzies... it was a fun step away from the mundane, and definitely a way to raise the temperature.
