I may have mentioned recently that since the beginning of the year I have lost 60 something pounds. And while this is great and comes with a whole plethora of health and psyche benefits, it has also reinvigorated my sex drive, which quite frankly, I could do without.
I was content with my utter lack of a sex life, it just didn't matter to me. Maybe I had low testosterone levels and my weight loss bumped them back up, I don't know. I DO know that it's really a fucking inconvenience at best and a curse at worst. I feel like I was more productive and happier with my lot in life when I wasn't craving pussy all day.
It's goddamn distracting, I tells ya.
So, like the absolutely moronic, glutton-for-punishment twat-groveler I am, I decided my job was the answer to my intercourse needs. And like the dichotomy that my occupation is, it is both the potential answer and definitely NOT THE ANSWER to my dilemma.
Let me explain, for in my shame and embarrassment I find humor and hope you will also.
I'll start by saying there are at least four girls at the club I could undoubtedly bang at will. Two out of four are junkies which takes them out of contention immediately. Of those two, one is actually still hot but the other junkie and the third chick are just gross to look at. And while I may be horny again, I still have some measure of pride, decency and common sense, at least enough not to stick my dick in a scatterbrained beehive full of needles.
So far...
The fourth gal is pretty and literally offered herself to me a couple of weeks back. The problem with this scenario is that I've watched her offer herself to a dozen other guys and these are just the ones I know about. Half the Floor Staff has banged her and I don't find dick-as-a-hobby girl's appealing, just not my thing. In addition to that she's really bony with ridiculous fake ta-ta's and has 4 children ranging in ages from 7-16, none of who's Fathers are around.
This smells like horrible judgement, the neighbor of crazy, and I just don't want to get involved. Fortunately a lifetime of experience has enabled me to exercise some sort of veto power over my spuzz-musket and for that I'm thankful. If I was still saddled with the slavery my penis held over me in my twenties, I could really fuck my life up even worse than it is now.
Small victories, people. Small victories...
Therefore in my infinite wisdom, I decided to break the Golden Rule. Rule Numero Uno if you will. I.e. dating strippers. Guess how that all worked out for me?
Let me preface this all by saying that my persona at the club is standoffish, not interested with idle chitchat or getting to know anyone at more than a superficial level. I'm the "mean" Floor Dude and since I'm the shuttle guy whenever I'm on the clock, I'm not around as much as the other Floor Bro's. I'm an angry mystery.
So many of the dancers I work with, unlike the other Floor Gripes, have never spoken more than a word or two with me. A lot of them don't even know my name and I don't remember theirs unless they've been around a while or they're good tippers. Other than that, I can't be bothered. My job description has narrowed down to keeping them safe on their way to their cars and that's frequently done without small talk. Or tips for that matter.
Now that I've covered that, there are a few strippers who like my gruff demeanor and who I've become friendly with over my time here. Most of them are half my age and I keep forgetting that there are only two reasons a young-twenties girl would date a mid forties guy who looks like me,
A) He has lots of money. Which I don't.
B) She has Daddy issues, which is a whole ball of wax I don't intend to stick my wick into.
Ergo, it was with misplaced enthusiasm and blatant delusion that I asked a couple of dancers I work with out. As in "Obviously I want to screw, but I'm gentleman enough to try to get a date or two in before I attempt to bump uglies with you."
My first mistake was the age gap, 22 and 24 were the respective ages of the girls in question, making me roughly twice their age. Oops. My only defense is that they're both tall, like me, and I find tall girls irresistible.
Also take into account that both of them made (what I mistakenly took to be) advances toward me. I'm not the sharpest guy at reading chick-speak, I'm really not. I prefer the direct approach, like dancer #4 from above, not coy and deceiving gestures that may or may not be construed as flirting with purpose.
The one girl came up behind me one day and grabbed my as and said, "Nice ass" in a very suggestive way. I've had innumerable strippers grab my ass and other bits over the years, but usually it's in an' annoy-the-big-guy' sorta way, not the 'I'm open to the possibility of boning' sorta style.
I thought I knew the difference, but like so many other things in life, I was wrong.
Long story short it was like being in Junior High again, I picked the right moment, gathered up my gumption and asked her out, like it was Prom or something. Fucking humiliating as anything. She said she was flattered but that she was seeing someone else. I wish I could covey what a total cunt I felt like at the time, but words don't really cut it. It was like being a crushed seventh grader who'd just been rejected for his first time, but with all the experience and mindset of a middle aged man to make everything that much worse.
What the fuck was I thinking?
The second one was even worser in my opinion and clearly illustrates the differing world views that my generation has compared to millennials.
It goes something like this:
I saw girl two outside of work one time. This clearly was NOT a date and both of us knew it. No sweat. Another day we're talking and I tell her about this annual camping trip I make with a bunch of my friends. She gets all excited because it sounds like a good time and she enjoys camping. So I invite her to it and she asks me if she can stay in my tent.
It was at this point that I made a generational error. I assumed she meant by 'staying in my tent' that she was maybe interested in some adult pokey-pokey time. My bad.
Allow me to justify my chauvinist standpoint before you rain SJW scorn down upon me.
Back in my day, and by that I mean when I was in my twenties and was even then attending the same camping trip, there was so much fucking going on that people tended to be more open about it, clearer in their intent, so to speak.
'Staying in your tent' meant you were gonna do naughty stuff with your dirty bits, unless otherwise stated in an unambiguous fashion. This became common practice, if you needed somewhere to crash for whatever reason, but didn't want to have sex, you asked to "Co-Somunate", or literally, sleep-together.
Not fuck. The term was very clear about that.
That being said, I don't expect someone who's never been to this thing to know the lingo, but again this illustrates the difference between two generations.
In my generation if you ask to sleep in someone's tent, there's a reasonable expectation of hanky-panky and if that's not your intent, it's on you to make it clear.
With the millennials, however, it's all different I guess. Which in my opinion, invites confusion and misunderstandings. Twenty-somethings today have the opposite mindset about the whole,situation. If they ask to crash in your tent than it means platonically, unless stated otherwise. I know this because I ran the situation by several other girls I'm friendly with, all of whom are the same generation.
Their opinions were ironclad. I was wrong it appeared.
I belong to a different people, of a different way of thinking. I failed to remember that.
And that, Dear Readers, ends my ill advised foray into attempting to date strippers from work. It didn't go well the first time, 16 years ago, and it utterly failed again, but in a much more emasculating fashion this time around.
Didn't even kiss one of them. What a fucking loser.
My degradation is your elation,
-The StripperHerder
