Archive for the ‘Strippers’ Category
The following is yet another paraphrased, embellished, or otherwise, vastly improved iteration of an actual conversation between two women at a Houston wine bar.
S: They never see you coming, do they?
GD: These men want a fix; a higher high. A faster car. A more expensive home. They want it all because they think they deserve it all. I’m just the facilitator.
S: Meaning you con them under the pretense of what? Love?
GD: They don’t see it that way. They like the chase; pretense or no pretense.
S: My customers get exactly what they pay for because they know what I’m selling.
GD: Maybe that’s all your customers can afford. Rich, powerful men like a challenge. They like to imagine that they have you…even if they don’t. That’s the hook. The fantasy makes them feel alive. For that, I get my needs met; all without having to pole dance.
S: Let me see if I understand this: You’re saying that men are fully aware of your motives, but go along with the game because it turns them on; which in turn makes you feel validated for lying?
GD: When you dance for your customers, you pander to their fantasies in some way. But in the end, you don’t give a shit about anything but their money.
S: I’m not a prostitute. I don’t turn tricks for cash. I don’t pretend to be something I’m not. The men who come in to see me know exactly what they’re getting into.
GD: A bit self-righteous of you to think that stripping has more dignity than marrying for money. At least the guy gets something back; which is more than I can say for your twenty dollar lap-dances…not to mention the fact giving birth is often a sacrifice I have to make for keeping the money coming in.
S: When my clients pay twenty dollars for a lap dance, they get a lap dance. Not a baby. That’s my job. At least I’m upfront about it.
GD: It’s all the same. Everyone has to make a living one way or another. Our approaches are different, that’s all.
S: You know it’s interesting the way you spin this conversation into a referendum on moral relativism. There’s a distinction between telling a wealthy man that you’re in love with him, and telling him that what you’re referring to is his money.
GD: You do exactly the same thing.
S: In a strip club! As opposed to some country club you don’t belong to; but somehow manage to frequent.
COMMENT: There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to admitted to by wealthy men. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination delusion fueled by pathological narcissism. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.