Tests
Being every curious as to whether I was as harmless as I perceived or merely acting out of fear of incarceration, many years later I put the above understanding to a test. I liked the young girl "look" and I liked cheerleader uniforms, not the skimpy things worn by the women working for professional teams, but the more modest ones worn by junior high cheerleaders. A local Pop Warner team needed a Cheerleading Advisor, a post usually held by one of the mothers, but the politics had prevented any of them from taking it on. The position was offered to me and I accepted, finding two very capable coaches to train the girls. I discovered that instead of being sexually attracted to the girls, an incredibly strong incest taboo immediately developed. These kids were in my charge and I felt compelled to do everything in my power to prevent anything untoward from happening to them. A strong sensation of responsibility for their protection precluded me from even considering any hanky panky.
More years go by and my company decides to ship me around the country for months on end. I get to go home on weekends, although there is really very little incentive to do so. My relationship with my wife had considerably soured and she decided to team up with a marriage counselor in condemning me by accepting his "diagnosis" that I am a pedophile and, given the opportunity, possibly a potential child molester. It was patently obvious to me that this was both impossible and totally unsupported by the evidence available to either of them. At one point she suggested that I do whatever I wanted to on the road, as long as I didn't "bring anything home," implying that it was perfectly acceptable for me to have an affair or begin supporting a mistress while I was on the road.
I felt betrayed, untrusted, mistrusted, rejected, dejected, extremely lonely and had no one to turn to or talk to, either at home or while I was on the road. I was flat-out uninterested in having an affair under any circumstances, even if it was tacitly condoned by my wife. She might offer up platitudes implying that it was acceptable, but my principles, strongly influenced by those summers with the Holy Rollers many years ago, simply would not permit such a breach of trust. I had been tempted several times in the past to nibble at infidelity, even once with an absolute temptress, the preteen described above, but I had never jumped at the bait and was unwilling to do so now. The idea of becoming unfaithful, even once, was absolutely abhorrent and my reasoning was simple: My wife might not know (or, more likely, might choose not to know), but I would and I would have to see that untrustworthy individual every day, every time I looked into a mirror.
Since a strip club was right next to the hotel I was staying in, I thought, "Why not go look at nekkid wimmin?" This could be a safe alternative, without the emotional damage attendant with an affair, since clubs were supposed to be well chaperoned. It said so on the web. The next-door club, while convenient, was cold, devoid of real emotion, smoke-filled and populated by a group of women I found absolutely unattractive. What I observed were all of the trappings of what other men consider to be turn-ons: large breasts (either real or artificially inflated), permed or bleached hair, tattoos, piercings of every description, very skimpy costumes, high heeled shoes, and overt displays of sexuality.
The net effect on me was exactly the opposite of what the dancers were attempting to arouse. I was severely turned off. Hoping that all clubs were not alike, I went to another club nearby several weeks later and discovered, to my surprise, an unbelievably attractive dancer. She was diminutive, cute and playful in an innocent, child-like way. We played peek-a-boo for most of the evening, each uncertain about the other's interest, culminating in a "table dance." For the unaware, this consists of a much closer, one-on-one, nude dance (she nude, me clothed) whilst separated from the dancer by a low partition. Hubba hubba! I was in heaven, or at least pretty close to it...
Here we had all of the appearance of sexuality with no physical contact. What could possibly be wrong with that? Perhaps, principle? Have we forgotten that, like the Spanish Inquisition, it lies in wait and then inserts itself into one's consciousness when least expected? Suffice it to say that over the next several months, I attempted to create a relationship with this marvelous person, let's call her "Precious" to preserve her anonymity. However, the relationship had to be compatible with my remaining faithfully monogamous (both in reality and perception) and yet provide me with an outlet for emotions. My wife was apparently content to grow old, expecting me to go along with her decision, forgetting about sex and encouraging me to become a virtual monk. I was not content with this scenario at all and needed to talk about it, and my future in general, with someone. That someone had to be an individual whom could relate to me without preconceptions or prejudgment. It would be most helpful if that person could teach me how to re-establish the warm and wonderful relationship I once had with my wife all over again, although I had serious doubts that this was possible. For obvious reasons, I was extremely reluctant to discuss it with office friends or even professionals since the one I had previously met with had decided I was a pervert without any supporting evidence. Yes, Virginia, there are clueless therapists...
Precious was precisely the one I needed and I was prepared to invest whatever it took, short of compromising my principles. She had a compassionate heart, a soft voice, beautiful eyes and an essentially furless body which was perfection in the flesh. Forget the fact that she considered herself underdeveloped and thought she needed plastic surgery to increase her bust. I needed to dissuade her from this as I knew she was already perfect. The question was how do I turn a once-a-week encounter in a strip club, where I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable seeing her naked, (that incest taboo kicking in again) into a permanent, emotionally mutually supportive relationship outside of the club. We moved from the standard nude table dances during which every part of her anatomy was visible (and quite beautiful indeed, I must say), to very emotional, fully clothed, hugging sessions, not much more than a snug, sheltering and nurturing embrace into which all of my cares would dissolve and tears bottled up for years would flow freely. This was sufficiently unusual in a strip club that she would have to quickly peel her clothes off when the chaperone or management came around, lest they suspect some hanky panky! Pretty bizarre, yes?
My desire, by the way, was exactly the opposite of what most men expect of or want from a strip club dancer, and the confusion I visited upon Precious was understandable. They are looking for "mileage," defined as the level of sexual stimulation received during a lap or table dance. Nonetheless, I was looking for ever decreasing mileage and, in its place, an ever increasing emotional commitment, a bond based upon a shared understanding. From my perspective, I not making very much headway toward the true and enduring friendship I wanted so desperately, but was being offered more of what I didn't want. For example, because men normally like lap dances as opposed to their less physically stimulating table dances, Precious insisted on a lap dance, twice. In both instances, I terminated the dance before it was over in frustration and annoyance. The dynamics of the club was working against me, trapping us in a customer and dancer relationship. The longer I kept seeing her in the club, the lower the probability my goal would ever be achieved.
[N.B.: A lively discussion of mileage levels can be found in alt.sex.strip-clubs, although one has to wade through a huge number of "Want Sex Now?" posts to get to the more appropriate material. For convenience, most of the regulars to ASSC include "ASSC" in the subject of their posts to set them apart from the spam.]
Last Update: 12/28/2003
Web Author: Taffy@Cheerful.Com
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