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I Can’t Believe I… Went to a gay strip club

Published: Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Updated: Monday, January 18, 2010

When a close friend of mine told me one day that he found a great new place he knew I would love, I don’t think I could have prepared myself for the kind of place he was talking about. He wanted to let the destination be a surprise and mystery so that I wouldn’t know where we were going until we got there. Though I knew of his bisexual orientation, I had a bit of a crush on him and got myself very excited. The anticipation of not knowing where we were going was killing me. He kept egging me on, telling me that it certainly wasn’t a kind of date place I had ever been before and that I would have a lot of fun there.

My instant guess was, “Is it a drag queen show?” More times I asked the question, the more certain I became that it must have something to do with drag queens. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I am a “fag hag”, but I definitely am a fan of the gay culture. Drag queens have been of strong interest to me for as long as I can remember.

The point that my friend made about this being a “kind of place that you have never been to before,” kept it rolling around in my head that perhaps it wasn’t a drag show after all. He knew of my tiny obsession with them, so that couldn’t have been it. Either way, my hyper excitement became overwhelming. I went out to my favorite store and bought a new stylish shirt and gold earrings. The night of the surprise, I dolled up my hair and wore my sexiest jeans and heels. On my way to meet with my friend, he gave me one more hint: “Be sure to bring lots of single one dollar bills with you!” So, I went to the local Burger King, bought a $1.99 cheeseburger and handed them a $20 bill, asking if they could give me all my change back in ones. Apparently, I must have really been excited because when the lady had handed me back the eighteen ones, I completely forgot to grab the burger and left.

As I arrived to meet my friend at 11p.m., he instantly complimented me on how great I looked. This just helped build my anticipation up. The next clue given was that the location was approximately 30 minutes away. As we were driving, he asked me if I had any more guesses as to where we were going. I really couldn’t think of any. This amused my friend.

As we pulled into the parking lot of the place all I could see were female silhouettes painted on the exterior walls. I became instantly confused. Were we going to a female strip club? That didn’t bother me so much, but it disappointed me a bit in thinking, “Well there certainly won’t be any drag queens here.” The place was dark, a limo in the front, and when we entered we met the cashier guy before being able to see in to the real part of the club. Naively, I was still uncertain of what type of place we were at exactly. Up front they told me that I would have to join a timely membership. I asked my friend how long of a membership should we get? One month, three months, six, a year? We decided three months would be sufficient and we could always renew it later if I really liked the place.

Sure enough, as the doors opened I became automatically aware of where we were. It definitely was not anything I could have imagined. Like I said before, even though I’ve had a pretty open upbringing, the media certainly doesn’t advertise places like this. It was in fact a gay strip club.

Very few times in my life can I recall ever having a real culture shock. This was certainly one of those times. Men were dancing buck naked on a horizontal strip pole. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen men from that angle before.

We quickly took a seat at an empty table near the stage. Needless to say I was pretty much the only female in the club. My friend and I started analyzing the dancers, determining which ones we liked best. When there was a guy with long blonde hair up there who resembled Kurt Cobain, I told my friend I wanted to give my ones to the guy on stage. My friend told me that if I wanted to do that, I would have to go up and sit at the seats that were directly at the stage so the guy would come to me. I felt completely awkward. Did he care that I was a woman up there? As the blonde started making his rounds, pleasing the audience, he started his little dance for me. Like a pro, I took my one dollar bill, folded it vertically and stuck it right there in between my cleavage and made him get the dollar out with his teeth. The bold move on my part melted down my sense of awkwardness in the place, and I immediately started having a lot of fun.

In the end that night, I left with two of the dancers having come up to me telling me they did shows for women too, and where I could find them. One even gave me his number. I have only been once more to the place. Once the “culture shock” wore off, that type of place became not as amusing as it first was. The second time we went I took effort to get to know the dancers more and they started telling me about their guy problems and asking about who the hottie was that I was with. There even was a drag queen that hosted the show the second night. The surprise was something that I’m very grateful that my friend let me in on. I don’t think I’ll be getting a membership again any time soon, but hey, maybe we can host my bachelorette party there?

I Can’t Believe I… is a continuing feature that allows UNCG students to tell a funny story, describe an extreme adventure, or just write about an odd experience they’ve had. Submissions or ideas for an I Can’t Believe I… can be submitted to: [email protected]

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