My relationship with my boyfriend had been going downhill for months by the time I agreed to visit a strip club with him. I figured that going would make me more interesting and cool in his eyes, but I had no idea that it’d be the last evening we’d ever spend together.
I should’ve known right from the start what a bad idea it was.
I don’t personally have anything against strip clubs and I think they can actually be a lot of fun when visited for the right reasons. However, this particular visit occurred after an entire day that was spent doing things my ex wanted to do. All of my suggestions for activities that day went ignored because as my ex said, “You’re my girlfriend. Shouldn’t you want to do the same things I want to do?” By that evening, I got the message loud and clear that my needs didn’t matter to him. So, to the strip club we went.
I could see straight through the act; he couldn’t.
Strip clubs profit off of an illusion, a fantasy that they create for their customers. I thought the fact that it’s all just an act was common knowledge, but my ex seemed oblivious to this. I’ll never forget his smug face when a dancer first acknowledged him, as though he thought he was the hottest guy in the room. He also was under the impression that the dancers told him their real names and that he was somehow deemed special enough to be told the truth. Needless to say, I immediately lost some respect for him.
The way he treated the dancers was gross.
That night made me realize just how sexist my ex really was. He would wave money at them and then expect them to do literally whatever he wanted. He also frequently muttered judgmental statements about a dancer’s looks and whether or not she was paying him enough attention. Basically, he acted as though they were subhuman, and I was just not about it.
He started comparing me to the dancers.
Yes, a lot of girls’ worst nightmare became my reality. It didn’t take long for my ex to start commenting on how “in shape” and “sexy” a lot of the dancers were, while very obviously looking me up and down with some kind of disdain. It felt like my body suddenly wasn’t good enough for him, and both my self-esteem and my feelings for him took a big hit.
He even judged other customers.
Seriously, this guy is a special kind of stupid. Not only did he judge the dancers and then judge my body, but he also made numerous negative, hypocritical comments about our fellow customers. “Look at that fat guy, thinking he’s going to get some action looking like that,” he said. How he thought he was so much better than all the other customers there, I have no idea.
The dancers were more interested in me and he didn’t like it.
I know a few strippers, and from everything they’ve told me, female customers in the clubs are often seen as less threatening and “more fun” than their male counterparts. The dancers would approach me before they would him, and it quickly became obvious that he didn’t like not being the center of attention.
We got a private dance and it was just plain weird.
My ex really wanted us to get a private dance, so I pretended that I did as well. I won’t lie and say that there weren’t some fun aspects of it, but for the most part it was just really strange. The dancer spent most of her time with me, and my ex sat there most of the time with an unsettling, entranced look on his face. He then started using his hands on her and ended up going a little too far, but fortunately, it was right when the dance ended. Even so, yuck.
I spent way more money than he did, because he didn’t have enough.
Throughout our relationship, I was almost always the one who ended up paying for things. This particular evening was no exception. When we showed up, my ex quickly made it clear that he had enough money to cover his entrance fee… and nothing else. So, I shelled out a few hundred bucks after that in an attempt to help us both have fun. Yeah, I should have seen that one coming.
He got way too drunk.
We both got drinks while we were out, but my ex really didn’t know when to stop. He drank so much that he ended up blacking out the end of the evening, leaving me to have to be the adult and figure out how to get us home safely. For me, the whole situation served as yet another reminder of just how immature and irresponsible he often was.
We tried to have sex afterward and failed.
I know, I know. I shouldn’t have even gone home with the guy much less agreed to have sex with him after the awful night I had. But hey, hindsight is 20/20, and we often do dumb things when we’re in the final stages of a relationship. Besides, the sex was terrible and neither of us finished. I guess it was a fitting end. We broke up the next day.
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