Last Friday was my first foray into the stereotypical straight man’s playground otherwise known as the Strip Club. My friend, M. planned this evening in honor of her birthday. She had never been to one and I decided I’d use this gathering as my excuse to see what all the fuss was about.
About ten of us, mostly lesbians, took the nervous/excited walk from a nearby bar to the club. As we walked farther east—almost no-man’s land by this West Sider’s standards—some of us made dirty jokes to keep our minds occupied while others smoked hurriedly in the thirty-degree cold.
Soon, we found ourselves at the foot of our own Troy. With topless girls. We were going in.
Full disclosure: I made the initial notes for this article on a scrap piece of paper while still at the club.