Strippers

Every time you go to a male strip show you inevitably end up with a cock in your face.

I have always been weary of them and nervous whenever I have been to one. It's like comedy shows, I always worry that they will pick on me and so have never really liked them.

I suppose to say I don't like them is a little harsh, it's more like I find them cringeworthy. There are always women who take it a step to far and turn in to wild beasts, crazed with the sight of a naked man dancing to 'its raining men'. They scream and leer at them, pulling at items of clothing or fighting for the chance to rub baby oil on a bum cheek. It's like they have never seen a man before, it's embarrassing. There is always that one drunk hen who yells out 'gerrem off' like a mental banshee. If your that excited to see another man naked perhaps you should rethink your marriage?

The dance routines are always to the same cheesy old music, you know at some point Barry white or the Weather Girls are going to rear their overplayed heads. I have an idea, why don't you do a provocative dance to 'I'm too sexy', or even better 'You can leave your hat on' but the twist at the end is covering your other head with the hat? Or even better dress in a white suit and do the officer and a gentleman routine to 'love lifts us up'. It's not just the music though the choreography is made up of awful steps that are nothing better that the moves made up by a teenager in their bedroom. There is always one that has no rhythm and is clearly there purely for his looks and an old one arthritic ally thrusting about.

All this animosity may have arisen at my first experience of a strip show. I was sixteen and my friends mum decided to take us to her girls night out, at a grotty old mans club. The carpets were stained with old alcohol, peanuts were strewn all over the floor, the tables thick with dirt, the whole place smelt of stale beer and don't even get me started on the toilets. As we approached you could see them hanging out of, not only their dresses, but the front doors smoking and yelling at the top of their voices, stumbling about on their stiletto heels, the drunk women. When we entered it got worse, women bashing tables and stamping their feet like a hoard of wilder beasts, tone deaf screeches resembling the words "get your cocks out, get your cocks out, get your cocks out for the girls". Maybe it was the fact we weren't drinking - not that we didn't at that age we were no angels- but we were with a mum, or maybe it was my reserved upbringing but I felt fearful for the men and utterly embarrassed.

Out they came, like the characters from YMCA, all in some form of uniform. The women turned in to creatures of the night frothing at the mouth grabbing, leering, screaming, jumping about, I was half expecting them to rub themselves across the floor leaving snail trails. But this wasn't the worst bit. The strippers, one called 'warrior' with the biggest penis I have ever seen started whacking the women across the face with their bits and rubbing themselves on them like stray dogs leaving their scent. To my surprise instead of the women being appalled by having a strangers shlong shoved in their face, seemed to revel in it some grabbing it, some trying to milk it and others trying to eat it.

As if this want bad enough during every break I snuck out for a sneaky ciggi and every time I did I noticed a car, the same one every time, with steamed up windows bouncing about. Each time a different woman got out pulling down their skirts followed by the 'warrior'. Well done ladies, you just got, at best, ghonoreah! This made the whole experience worse I feared him coming near me knowing where it had been.

'The warrior' was in his late fourties, even early fifties, his muscles clearly still defined were starting to look sinewy and stringy. His face was haggard and skin looked like old boot leather even when covered in oil and the colour of a mahogany table. The limp shaggy hair that fell to his shoulders was thinning at the top and the black dye was growing out showing shades of grey. He wore a constant smarmy, greasy smile and walked around with his chest puffed out like a pigeon as well as a constant hard on. The only way I can think that he could have 'pleasured' all those women was with a serious dose of Viagra and a lot of fake orgasms - I do have a male mate who fully admitted to faking orgasms so it does happen.

When I got older I went to a friends gay hen night and so of course we went to a female strip show. It was the seediest place I think I have ever been. There were seats all around a stage, dirty old men sitting in the back rows in the darkness licking their lips at the sight of a girl completely naked rubbing her vagina on a pole and opening her legs and pointing it at them. I decided to foursquare my location to shock my followers and noticed the stripper pointing at me. Then I got berated by a bouncer for 'taking photos' "I'm foursquaring" I yelled and showed him my phone, bloody vain woman, why would I want her picture on my phone? Ok maybe I took one to send to a guy I was sort of seeing...but it's not like I'm going to Facebook a vagina is it?

Anyway about three minuets in I decided I needed the toilet and as it was a mans establishment the only female toilets were those in the strippers changing rooms. So off I went to be faced with a crying stripper, coked out of her head, who was yelling about how awful her life was. I got her some tissue from the side and sat there comforting her, she repaid the favour when I realised there was no toilet roll. Later when I made my way back to my seat I must have taken the wrong turn in my drunken stupor because as I went through the doors I found myself on the stage. To my horror the music started playing so I slowly and as seductively as I could, backed up back through the doors and was escorted off the property.

The last two I went to were better. One was a straight hen night and the other a surprise birthday party. I had fun at both, I suppose they were more, well, classy with a drag act. Both were still attended by crazy drunk women but there was fencing protecting the men. The only things that I didn't like was firstly the singer coming up to me and singing in my face and the last act flinging his cock about close enough to my face for my to get baby oil splash back. Both of these nights turned in to a club after and of course we stayed to party. What I didn't like was the way the strippers came out like they were gods gift and the women flocked to them. They surrounded them like a pack of hungry wolves eating their prey and it annoyed me that they acted like putty in their hands. One girl followed one of the strippers around and cried when he left her side, she acted like a needy clingy little girl throwing herself at him and it made me feel physically sick.

Anyway I like magic mike so I can't totally hate them all right? Bit less of Matthew Mcghona-putitaway though next time...thanks.