>>> Primal Urges
By staff writer Nathan DeGraaf
August 31, 2005
Kevin: Can you believe it? She likes cocaine, marijuana, other women and she’s a stripper.
Nathan: What are the odds?
I have been in two long-termish, steady relationships with strippers. These relationships were founded on dishonesty, sexual energy and a complete disregard for sobriety in all its many troubling forms. Unfortunately, neither of these beautiful women and I could make anything click. The first relationship ended with me getting my ass kicked by a room full of metal heads. The second ended when a thrown vase missed my head by about three inches…while I was sleeping. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s take a look at my two failed relationships with strippers (all names have been changed to protect me).
Laura and I dated for three months. I met her while she was on stage in a Catholic school girl outfit. I remember being completely taken by her beauty. After she determined that she knew me through some mutual friends, she offered me a free lap dance. Not to use a cliché, but if that lap dance had been a flag it would have been redder than a cherry in grenadine. We walked out of the club, arm in arm, at roughly seven in the morning. From there we went to her Illinois apartment and fucked each other’s brains out.
Some sex is just insane. Some sex scars you, exhausts you and just plain astonishes you. Sex with Laura was insane sex. Every time we made love, furniture broke, angry screaming could be heard, and the dog hid. I’m not kidding when I say, going into her apartment with her was like preparing to go to war. I used to joke that I should have worn a cup.
It sounds so perfect doesn’t it? I had great sex and a party girl who, incidentally, never let me pay for anything and always knew somewhere to have a good time.Well, here’s the catch: strippers have lots of guy friends who want to sleep with them. And I mean, lots. Laura was no different. Anyway, these poor bastards really hated seeing me go from unknown status straight into boyfriend status with Laura. Like many strippers, Laura had met a lot of guys who gave her money, and the ones who gave the most ended up as a part of her circle of friends (she teased them along just enough to keep them shelling out the cash), and this circle was comprised entirely of men who wanted me out of the picture. So, while my buddy Sean was doing well with another stripper at a party, and Laura was at work, somehow, for whatever reason, I was hit in the back of the head with a forty ounce bottle. Later, after they broke his nose and threw him down a flight of wooden stairs, Sean was consoled by his girlfriend (despite the fact that he was about twenty minutes from cheating on her before he got jumped by a long-hair) and I broke up with mine. I remember our last conversation.
Laura: So you’re gonna break up with me just because a bunch of my regulars kicked your ass. Quit being such a baby.
Me: The only reason I’m talking right now is because I think you should get to hear my voice before I hang up the phone for the last time.
And that was that. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson, but I didn’t. Seven months later I started dating Kristin (yeah…like, that’s her name).
I’ve mentioned before that almost all strippers favor illicit drugs. Kristin got wasted too much even for a stripper. She was stoned every morning (early evening), on coke every work day (late night), and drunk every night (early morning). Her mood swings had mood swings. One time, she hit me square on the jaw for, and I quote, “That shit you always pull.” Are you hearing this? She hit me for being me, and she was my girlfriend at the time.
Anyway, the relationship was more like a one-girl freak show with me thrown in as a role player in that month’s “Something to get Dramatic About” episodes. I didn’t mind the biting, the weird guys and weird chemicals that showed up all the time at her apartment, or even the time her brother took me hunting and threatened to kill me (pissed off guys with guns are never fun), but her freaking out really got to me.
And then one morning (early evening) while I was sleeping the sleep of the sleepy, I heard a crash and felt shards of ceramic all over me. I awoke to discover a broken vase near my head and her standing at the foot of the bed, brandishing a butcher knife. Seven minutes later I was out the door with most of my clothes, my car keys, and a heart beat so crazy that I actually went to the doctor for a checkup. Two weeks later she called and apologized for her actions and asked if we could get together. “Oh sure,” I said. “Let me call you right back.”
I then called the phone company and changed my number.
Now, all women are crazy to some degree, much like all men are jerks to some degree. And I don’t know if there is a class of men filled with more jerks than any other class (though I’m betting yuppie fraternity boys would have this market cornered), but strippers are definitely more insane than most women. And sure, the sex usually is very good, the parties usually are very wild, and the feeling you get when you walk out of that strip club with your girl (which isn’t usually allowed) is a really good one. However, it also feels good to keep your head on your body, your eyes in your head, and your body out of a hospital. Please keep in mind, this is one man’s opinion. I don’t think all the words in the English language could keep a man from trying to go home with a stripper, but still guys, a relationship with a stripper is not something you want to get into. Trust me.
You’ve been warned.
Nate's Strip Club Series – Turning boys into men, and girls away from stripping.
Part 1: Interview and Intro
Part 2: Classing the Strip Clubs
Part 3: Staging the Strippers
Part 4: My Two Stripper Girlfriends
Part 5: The End-All Love Story