Women are way more perverted than men, they just don't realize it until a tanned cowboy starts windmilling his meat lasso on stage. Sure most women may say they're not interested in a male dance revue, but their attitude quickly changes after a few drinks and a few flesh fireworks start shooting out of rip-away pants. Women, at least the ones who showed up at the Penthouse Club of Tampa for the Men of Playgirl, are sexual freaks. But unlike their male counterparts, women are rewarded for being forward.
These women had no concept of strip club etiquette. They were snapping pictures, twirling on the pole, and
clinching whatever body part they could grip---behavior that would have earned men black eyes instead of free shots. So why weren't the bouncers restraining these women like roadies tackling moms at a Justin Bieber concert? Because the bouncers had their shirts off and bow-ties on, filling in as cocktail waiters.
I've never seen a strip club this rowdy. Raffle tickets sold out in minutes for a chance to rub oil on the performers backstage. The six dancers, who looked like a rugby team with a year round membership to a tanning salon, each did a highlighted routine on the truncated stage in suits, cop uniforms, and cowboy gear. Once these dancers hit the stage, the real freaks came out. The women were yelling, dancing in the isles, and giving each other lap dances. Playboy Cyber Club model and Bubba the Love Sponge regular, Tasha Nicole, was billed to host the night but she seemed to be enjoying herself too much, acting as a test dummy for the dancers' chair routines. The place was pandemonium, like an adult Chuck E. Cheese for women on ecstasy who didn't hesitate to grab what they liked.
I know what you female readers are thinking? "Why would I pay to have a close encounter of the fleshy kind when I can get it for free at home." That's exact what every woman I gave a free ticket to said before the show started, and before she started pulsing money from the ATM and paying to have junk draped over her shoulder.
Katie, CL's food editor and strip club virgin, went as a passive observer but ended up being handcuffed and patted down with a night stick on stage by Officer Dick Foreverhard. When asked if she would venture back, as Penthouse plans to host a male revue each month, she said, "Definitely, but next time I'm bringing more friends."
While the show is geared toward women, men are allowed in. After arriving with six women, I realized too late that I was dressed way too gay. The whole night I avoided eye contact when the dancers neared, muttering, "Please don't dry hump me. Please don't dry hump me"---I'd be too shy to say no and would feel obligated to tip well. Still, there are far worse places heterosexual men could spend their Sunday night than in a dimly lit club full of sexually aggressive women. Sure, there were many older, new divorcees, but there was also a surprising amount of young professional women and a wild contingent of off-work female dancers who manhandled the male performers expertly. Plus, as a straight male, the female dancers working the crowd will pay you more attention, perch on your lap for long stretches to study the guys' routines, and may actually be turned on when they give you a lap dance.
As crazy as it sounds, a male dance revue can even be a good date night, assuming you won't get jealousy when a man with a boxing glove for a crotch spars with your lady friend's face. Like Katie, Cheska pretended she wasn't going to get a private dance, but halfway through she climbed on stage for a $5 chair dance. While you may have to endure the site of your female companion paying to experience moves you would be punched in the nuts for at home, this may also be the only time she gives you money to receive a boob-wash from the talented female dancer being ignored. That and you'll never feel bad about going to a strip cub again, though you may feel like a chump paying $20 per dance. And while Cheska became increasingly touchy-feely with me, I couldn't tell if this was because she was turned on and wanted to have sex, or because she was turned on and was trying to hide it by paying more attention to me.
While women may claim they don't care about dick size or muscle mass in a boyfriend, these are the qualities their libidos respond to. And while women may use the word "douche" for guys on the street with steroid thick muscles, deep tans, waxed bodies, earrings, bandannas, crumpled cowboy hats, heavily ripped jeans, and sparkly clothes, these are the same guys women will pay to be pummeled by dongs wrapped in Ed Hardy banana hammocks.