The First Time I Went To An International Strip Club

And I got asked to leave the strip club

My Photo

I was wasting time at a pizza joint before my first strip club experience. This felt like a daunting task. The hot pizza had gotten cold with my neglect. I sank my teeth into the pepperoni slice. Chewing it while my mind played with the logistics of things. It became thick in my throat with the bubble of anxiety permeating all my senses.

The strip club opened at seven sharp. It was free entry until ten. I would arrive several minutes after seven. How desperate would it look to be the first person there? How weird would it be to be the only woman?

I knew I was doing it. When I set my mind to something I make a plan, see the variable outcomes, and get on doing it. The pizza shop was filled with families, couples, and I thought of the contrast. Soon enough I’d be in a place I saw in movies quite consistently throughout my lifetime. Where the idea of men lining the platform, leering at half-naked women is the image that comes to mind.

I chatted with a mother of two girls in the pizza shop. I also thought about asking the guy next to me what to expect in a strip club. I resisted, even my non-conformity to social norms knew I had to warm up before blurting that out.