|Written by AnDroid|
|Thursday, 13 August 2009 16:20|
I remember that first time walking into Mary's Club – a naked woman dancing on the stage, a crowd of Japanese businessmen huddled around shouting and throwing dollar bills, sober women threading their way through the mass with trays of drinks, collecting money, feeding the chaos . . . The scene grabbed me by the balls and shook me in a way I hadn't thought possible. I'd seen all the horrible things pornography had to offer. I'd done things privately that many have fantasized about but few have ever accomplished. I'd performed the legendary autofellatio. I'd snorted, smoked, and fucked my way through high school, cheated on girls, had my heart broken multiple times, endured a relationship that lasted longer than most marriages, and had survived the collapse of that relationship. I'd been the assistant editor of a “masturbation resource” website that was mentioned in Penthouse Magazine.
Nothing had prepared me for the strange ritual of the strip club.
When I was in seventh grade my ma took me to see A Midsummer Night's Dream at the local Shakespeare Festival. At one point during the play a ridiculously attractive woman in a dress appeared next to me in the audience, whispered something in my ear, pulled me up by my arm, and, giggling, lead me onto the stage where I was surrounded by beautiful women who put donkey ears on my head and took turns stroking my hair and cooing in my ear. That moment helped to shape my initial abstract ideas about sex and relationships. Women on a stage, performing, then breaking the fourth wall and dragging you into the play, putting donkey ears on your head and turning you on while the audience laughs at you.
Two years later: Autofellatio.
At Mary's Club the lead ingénue was squatting at the edge of the stage, tugging the skin on her inner thighs to cause her vagina to gape open, and staring directly at me. I blushed so hard a little bit of pee came out. To do normal things like find a table, take a seat, and order a drink seemed utterly absurd while a lady was squatting there doing that. For a moment, I thought I was going to lose it and either start crying or throw up all over myself. Such is the power of truly magnificent theater.
But nothing horrible happened. Our group ordered drinks, we drank, we stared, we took part in a strange ritual that would become a regular event in our lives, but one which we would never be able to truly understand, one which would always maintain a kind of mystique that would keep us coming back and eventually drive me to create this website. Yes, I did end up yelling at the Japanese businessmen, and yes, it got a bit ugly, but the moral of the story is nobody got stabbed.