I’m in a new city. And I’m going out to bars regularly. And I’m starting to fall for the go-go dancer at the bar. He dances there every weekend. He has been hitting me up wanting to do stuff together. He is so fine. I know it is stupid to think this is going anywhere. But he makes me feel so good. What do you think I should do?
-Seduced by a Stripper
Dear Seduced by a Stripper,
Run. I was in love with a stripper and didn’t know it. I went to a New York bar called The Hangar—hanging to every word from someone I had known for five minutes—until I saw Jake. He stood by the pool table in his leather jacket. “I’m working tonight at this club in Chelsea,” he said. “You should come it’s free before 12.”
I obliged. It would be irresponsible to turn down a popping party with a cute crowd. I arrived on the eve of Halloween at Slate nightclub. Jake greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the neck. He looked amazing in his blue underwear. I knew then that I liked him.
He tugged on my kilt and groped me. We were drunk. It was awkward to have a friend dance on you in a g-string, and even more so placing a dollar in his crotch.
Then, he took me to new heights by lifting me up in the air. I soared like a virgin, exploring the outer reaches of the sexual galaxy. I came down spinning in white boots. Then he kissed me. I was overwhelmed. I was drunk on love like Rihanna. Yet, finding love in a hopeless place didn’t spawn the best results.
Could this lap dance turn into romance?
I took a sip from his cup and scurried off to the bathroom. I had to let him go because he had a live-in boyfriend. Yet, his kiss still lingered on my lips like a smile. I left the bathroom looking for a less crowded place to dance. There he was, dressed in jeans, staring at me. It was a change imperceptible to me until I saw tears. I didn’t know what ailed him, and he wouldn’t say why. “I love you,” he said. “I really do.” I didn’t know what to say so I said it back.
And just like that, we went from friends to potential lovers.
From just dance to bad romance, We held hands while walking to the subway. He laid on my lap throughout the entire train ride, only getting up to kiss me on the cheek or neck. He said those three little words again, closing it with a kiss this time on the lips.
We stumbled to my place—the three blocks felt like three miles in our inebriated state. He fell down on the bed as I got undressed.
“I’m going to take off my clothes,” he said.
He smiled while taking off his jacket and jeans. We slept together without sleeping together and that was the best part.
“I really do love you,” he said while grabbing me by the waist, pulling me closer to him. “I know you do,” I said.
In the light of day, we both were exposed. He couldn’t remember much, so I filled in some blanks. While getting dressed, his man called.
“What should I do?” He asked.
“Answer the phone, and tell him that you got really drunk and that you needed to crash on a friend’s couch,” I said.
I walked him to the subway and never brought up those three little words again.
What I realized was that I was seduced by the fantasy. There was no way this drunken romp would turn into a relationship. I was drawn in by my inability to have him. It was like self sabotage. And I was the ultimate saboteur.
Thinking this stripper will give you a ring after doing a few rounds on the pole is like a slutty fairly tale with two happy endings. How do you handle your man being groped with cost of a cocktail?
I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t advise it.
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