Divorce, Single Parenting, Dating, Sex, & Self-Recovery

Posts tagged “stripper

We Ran Into Her First Ex-Husband At a Titty Bar

Hitting the strip clubs and finding my ex-wife's ex-husband #1[Note: I’m her second ex-husband.]

There’s that fantasy that has something about two girls and a guy. I think it’s a universal male erotic obsession. I know I HAD it for a while. Not to say I don’t enjoy a bit of voyeuristic girl-on-girl pic or vid from time to time.

But the time my ex-y and I went to a titty bar together and ran into her FIRST ex-husband, it was a bit too much. I mean, seeing the ex-husband there was kinda funny, and my ex-y was fun about it. We sent him a lap dance.

And then we got my ex-y a couple lap dances herself. A hot, very pierced and very young working girl who clearly enjoyed making my ex-y’s muff moist, was all over playing the role for us.

But the scene was uncomfortable for several reasons. My ex-y sort of “got into it” a bit much. I could see her flushed cheeks. I could imagine… Wait, I didn’t want to imagine it. And here’s why: something at that time told me that the switch would be fairly easy for my ex-y. The fantasy is fine until the dude is left cold. I mean, what more do I have to offer, once they are hooked up, so to speak?

So we paid her a couple times, back and forth, in a ménage à trois ala stripper club. And the girl’s perfume was heavy with her scent. She was “working” pretty hard. And not just at our table.

We never went back. And I’m pretty sure, the idea, while somewhat interesting on paper, became more of a “not really” for me. The fragility of our intimacy was close enough that any, [any] alternative sexual energy was a threat rather than a turn-on.

It’s a shame. Or maybe not.

Hey, it looks like that stripper club is having a special tonight. Steak and lobster for $15.95. A pocket full of ones a few twenties, and… Nah, not tonight.

Sincerely,

The Off Parent

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Picture This: A Beautiful Deaf Girl, 29, Working In a Titty Bar

Talking to a StripperShe sits on my lap and we exchange some hellos and she begins to sign. I know how to say “I love you.” I say. She lip reads. We laugh.

She pulls out a pen and paper and we carry on an amazing conversation. I don’t want to be at a titty bar with her. She wants to do a table dance, but she’s just working for a living. I am amused.

She let’s me pick the set of music she will dance to. She says she has been a “dancer” for ten years. Not titty dancing, mind you, real dancing. Says she was a cheerleader.

And what I notice is her perfume. Spicy and different. It’s all a haze now, I have come down. The hamburger was terrific and the company was fun as well.

For some reason I believe her. But I warn you, never believe anything a titty dancer tells you. They lie for a living. They lie to make you give up another $20 bucks. They lie about everything, most importantly, their name. It’s like something from T. S. Elliot, where the “real” name of a titty dancer might give you some power over them. Probably cuts down on the stalking.

Any way, Katy, I named her Mary Moon due to the quarter moon on her back, is 29, she says. And she is amazingly funny and articulate, in her writing. And she continues to sit on my lap. Asks if I will buy her a beer. Yes, of course.

So she dances to Foo Fighers’ Pretender, Black Hole Sun, and Name by the Goo Goo Dolls. A set made in my little moment of heaven. She is pretty, trim, petite and better looking than she is a dancer. She is moving to the thud of the music, of course she doesn’t know the words. I pay her some more dollars and buy her another beer when she’s done.

I tell her I can help her set up a website for her business. She takes my email and phone number, dutifully. (I don’t imagine she will ever really call me. But might as well put it out there.) Fill my own little portion of the fantasy.

And what I notice is her perfume. Spicy and different. It’s all a haze now, I have come down. The hamburger was terrific and the company was fun as well. She devoured my french fries when I was done.

So Mary Moon, I hope your night picks up. When I left there was one of three other paying patrons. It was Tuesday after all. And if you DO call, well, that will be another story.

Sincerely,

The Off Parent
@theoffparent

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