Strippers
So Mollie and I went to a strip club today. It was…..interesting. When we first got there, the man at the counter thought we were going to strip as well. Then two older ladies somehow recognized us??? We have no idea who they were, but they thought we had been there before apparently. I waved to them regardless.
We got downstairs and awkwardly sat for awhile watching a stripper go crazy at her pole. She was like a gymnast, I had never seen a pole dance that good before.
I suggested we move in closer to the action. (It was pretty much empty besides us)
Finally, after I handed one of them a few dollars she got down and talked with us. She turned out to be really nice. She also was hot, and leaned in close to me like she was going to kiss me. I actually enjoyed that a lot. :p
Mollie wanted to go but I think after we started talking to the strippers, she was ok with staying for a little longer. Unfortunately, after only three songs (really short and not stripper type songs by the way), the current stripper would leave for the next.
Out came a beautiful black woman. We both agreed she was the most attractive woman there. After talking with her a bit, she proceeded to rub her tits on our heads. It was truly….interesting? Ha.
Finally, I asked for a lap dance. I figured, why the hell not, this is going to be my only chance pretty much. It cost like twenty bucks. She brought me in the back room and started to do her thing. She made me put my hands far away, which was disappointing. (lol can you blame me?)
After butt thromping me and all that stripper stuff, it was over in one 2 minute song. I barely got into it. Her breath kinda smelled like alcohol (At least that’s what I think it was). My clothes still sort of smell like her. Wasn’t that pleasant.
We had spent all our money, so we decided to head home. Mollie and I agreed that going to a strip club was a “do once and never do again” kind of activity. I had a little bit of fun, and I can now say I went to a strip club. I feel worldly and sophisticated now!
I’m also broke. (sad laugh)
Super Mario Genderswaps! This was a super fun design challenge, and I’m pretty pleased with how they all turned out — especially Luigi. My favourite thing is how Waluigi just looks the usual design, but in drag.
Ok, so I met this nice girl at gay 90s. We danced and even kissed.
Then I find out she has a boyfriend.
Now I have an irrational hate for said boyfriend.
Screw you boyfriend. Screw you.
Well obviously my crush won’t date me because she’s a super hero and she knows it’d put me at too much risk.
pft, so obvious
Damage
This is not my usual post. But it’s something I had to share. As you read this, imagine how your reaction would differ if this story were being told by a woman, talking about how her husband treated her.
I have been separated from my wife for over a year, though we continue to share a house. We live on separate floors. We share the house because we need to parent our son together, and because we can’t afford to maintain two households.
I’d like to tell you a story, illustrating one reason why I am divorcing her. This is an example of the treatment I have received over the past fourteen years.
This evening, while she was drinking her wine, my estranged wife took exception to the fact that I wanted to talk about how tense she’s been. She said she didn’t want to talk about it.
I left the room (so as to comply with her request).
I went upstairs to use our tiny guest bathroom. She began to yell and throw things around the kitchen, then eventually charged up the stairs and into the bathroom, just as I was finishing and getting ready to leave. She confronted me there, holding her half-full wine glass in her hand. Her voice got louder, her gestures wilder.
She complained that I had upset her by wanting to talk when she had told me she didn’t want to talk. As I began to feel uncomfortable, I said, “You’re saying it’s my fault you can’t express your emotions responsibly like an adult?”
She said, “Yes!! It’s because you want to go off and take a vacation with your girlfriend!” Then she threw the contents of her glass in my face and smashed it against my bare chest.
The results are pictured here.
I stood there, with shattered glass at my feet, glass shards sticking in my skin, bleeding, for five minutes or so. I asked her to move so that I could leave. She waved the broken stem of the glass in the air and said, “Leave!! Who’s stopping you?”
I told her she was standing between me and the door. I felt threatened.
She laughed and said, “You’re 6 foot 3 and 250 pounds! You can’t feel threatened by me!”
I said, “You just broke a glass on my chest and cut me. You’re standing there with the stem in your hands. Yes. I feel threatened.”
She said, “No, you don’t.”
I asked her to move out of the way and let me pass. I didn’t want her to think I was pushing her or threatening her.
She held her ground, waved the broken stem and shouted, “Go on! Leave! I’m not stopping you!”
After I asked her repeatedly, she finally moved a bit and I left, carefully stepping over the broken glass.
I have posted this here as evidence, and to help those who may think that size and gender make a difference when abuse is concerned. People who, like my estranged, think some have permission to feel threatened and some don’t.
Abusers come in all sizes and genders.
She and I went to a half dozen therapists over the years. At each initial session, every therapist took a look at me, then at her (5’4” 150 lbs.). Then he or she would gravely ask my wife, “Do you feel safe?”
None ever thought to ask me.
Thanks for listening.
