August 25, 2008 by 8junebugs
Dear “Men of The Cave” Cave Men:
Listen, I’m all for a little naughtiness, and I appreciate that this is how you make money. But you guys give strippers a bad name.
I’m told it wasn’t always like this. I’ve heard that, long ago, in your old location, there was more dancing and less whoring. More “Whoa, that was a rather athletic move” and less “Hey, dude? Somethin’s peekin’…tuck in your junk, yo.”
I have to say, you did not get me excited. You didn’t not arouse any carnal tendencies or even inspire more than…well, I’ll just say it: disgust. And that was, I promise you, a sneer on my face when I saw what you tried to do to some women who had selected seats in the darkest corner of the room for a reason. (My camera may have obstructed your view of my sneer, but, I assure you, it was there.)
Reason being? Y’all ain’t our fantasy.
Let me give you a couple of tips for your future success:
- No means no. I don’t care what your “regulars” like, and I don’t care how many women you can lift with one hand tied behind your back. If you want my dollar bills tucked into your saggy red briefs, don’t molest the unwilling in your audience.
- A young lady will let you know if she likes having her hair pulled. If you are unsure, err on the side of not yanking her head back like you’re sexing up a Pez dispenser.
- Being mostly naked with your boots and socks still on is less hot than you might think. Is it a hygiene issue? If so, I have to admit I’m a little confused about your priorities.
- If your bartender and your dj are better looking than your performers, you may need to rethink your company’s roles and responsibilities.
- “Who wants to see some PENIS?!” is not all that enticing. Consider your audience — these are, typically, bachelorette parties and ladies out for a night of turning the tables on the usual stripper dynamic. You can be a little raunchier and substitute any of a number of X-rated nicknames for male genitalia. In fact, doing so might get you a better response than, “What? Penis? Oh, thanks anyway. I’ll be at the bar.”
Now, it’s true that I am 31 and I may not appreciate what you’re trying to transmit. But I’m having some difficulty with how we, the women in the audience, seemed to be the ones more likely to wind up in somewhat humiliating postures, even though you, the men, were in the submissive role of “person getting paid to show off his naughty bits.”
There’s a stereotype out there of female strippers being asked to do the kinds of things certain men wouldn’t dare ask of their wives. As often as not, these are games of power — the male dominating the female in a way that’s no longer culturally approved. A woman being paid to be a man’s fantasy can wind up in some positions that are…damaging, physically and emotionally. (And hey, I know that some of them can take care of themselves — I’m talking stereotypes. Guys don’t hire a stripper for a bachelor party to mimic the missionary position.)
But when the roles are reversed and it’s a man being paid to play a fantasy role, it’s amazing how the “fantasies” are still male-centered. You lift women to have their faces in another performer’s lap while you mime sex from behind. Far be it from me to deny any woman that fantasy, but I have a feeling that’s more your fantasy than hers. Ditto for when you push women’s faces into your own crotches.
And I mean really push.
You may well know more about this than I, but I have the hardest time imagining a female stripper performing for a group of men and doing her best to dominate and humiliate them; I find it hard to believe that more female strippers push faces into their crotches than have their faces pushed.
So, while I appreciate your brief nod to pleasing a woman without pleasing yourself — sticking your tongue out when you’re in the general vaginal vicinity is a nice, recognizable gesture — I find your overall program inadequate and basically lazy. Maybe you should take a lesson from your friendly bartender, whose memory of my beverage preference far outshone your knowledge of the female fantasy.
Frankly, you’re quite lucky that the bachelorette weekend was a smash hit in spite of you. Imagine the attitude I would have toward you if I did not, overall, have a fabulous time with a group of dynamic women. I’ll be honest with you…I derived far more pleasure from the omelet I had for brunch with them the next day than I did from any of your antics. Sad, perhaps, and maybe a testimony to 31-year-old tastes, but true.
All my best. Really.