How — And Why — I Stripper-Proofed My Husband


My husband is quite popular with strippers, so I found a way to make him less popular.

My husband is a quiet guy. He prefers staying home to going out and would rather spend a night at the movies rather than at the bar with the guys. So when he admitted to having a preferred corner in a dark corner of a local strip club, I wasn't really surprised.

He's always liked boobs and women and strip clubs have always held this sort of mystical appeal to him. He's certainly not a regular but when he does go, he has a pattern. He sits in a back corner, orders a Coke to fulfill his one-drink minimum, and keeps a dollar in his hand for the ladies who make the effort to travel back to his secluded spot. Oh, and he never touches. There are even some dancers who know they can come sit with him if they're worn out by the drunk creeps. I mean, that's kind of adorable right?

He really likes to talk to strippers; he finds them fascinating and I've known him long enough to find this strange social habit of his endearing.

For a quiet guy who doesn't really appreciate small talk, he appreciates the unique social skills a successful stripper has to have in order to be really good at her job. "Sure, they want my money, but they're so easy to get along with," he told me.

He also admitted to indulging in a lap dance or two, which is when I realized there's a fine-line between what I'm comfortable with and what I'm not when it comes to my husband indulging in the occasional strip club visit. (His justification: "Hey, it's how they make their money.") So in the name of honesty, openness, and research we headed to his dark corner of Dancer's Royale.

My mission: to find out if my husband paying someone to grind up against his crotch would bother me as much as I thought it would.

(Sidenote: This wasn't my first visit to a strip club. The first time I went was with another friend and I held onto a five-dollar bill until I saw I girl on stage earn it. So many of them looked completely bored and annoyed that when a dancer finally got into what she was doing, you bet I was willing to tip her for her effort and dedication to the job. Strippers have strength in places I don't and DAMN if they don't make some good money. I couldn't do it, but I understand why many do.) 

Anyway, back to the story.

My husband and I sat down in his favorite dark corner and after a few minutes, it became blatantly obvious that with me at his side, my husband was suddenly ... stripper-repellent.

Seriously. The girls wouldn't come anywhere near him or even acknowledge his presence when I sat next to him. (Meanwhile I smiled at every one who passed by, garnered a few compliments on my hair and corset top, and even got a few tips on exfoliation and moisturizing.)

After telling another friend about this odd incident, she commented maybe it was "stripper code" not to acknowledge a client when they show up with a spouse or girlfriend.

Which makes sense.

If a throng of girls ran up to him the moment we sat down, I might wonder if his story of "sitting quietly in his dark corner" was really true. However, it's more likely he didn't actually know any of the strippers working that night — he had never been there that late on a Saturday — and plus, they had plenty of other clients without girls attached to them to cater to.

At first, I felt pretty good. Look at me, being cool with my husband as naked flesh bounced all around us. How many wives can claim they've gone to a strip club with their husband and left happily committed? However, after seeing tables of men surrounding us get attention, lap dances, and usherings into more private rooms for a more "intimate" experience, I began to feel like a giant wart on the side of my husband's face.

Was I actually ruining the strip club experience for him? Did he like having me there as proof he didn't have to pay for a warm body to grind up against him? 

As the awkwardness of naked girls surrounding us faded, we began to notice which strippers seemed to actually enjoy their job as opposed to the ones who rolled their eyes as soon as they were out of sight. I learned about something called the "teeter-twatter" (two ladies face each other and wrap their legs around a pole with a gentleman's head between their thighs as they rock back and forth) and realized that in the world of boobs, mine are, in fact, top-notch.

Overall, we had a good time — even though we didn't partake in any of the ladies' talents.

It was a bonding experience, a learning experience, and we learned that going to strip clubs together is probably not the best idea because of our disagreement over who deserves a tip. I'm still not convinced he should be accepting dollar dances from anyone who offers. He believes he should support everyone's effort; I believe in supporting the dancers who truly care. (Clearly he's more charitable than I am in regards to what goes into those garter belts.)

While I may have scared away girls who wanted to dance around — and on — my husband for a few dollars, I managed to keep the handful of bills we walked in with in his pocket.

So even though stripper-proofing my husband may have been a little boring for him, it turned out to be fiscally responsible for both of us.


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