Dating a Stripper

My time dating a stripper was one of the finest times of my life, along a certain axis.

I probably learned every relationship skill I actually needed to have in that period.

We’d been together like 2.5 years before the stripping started and lived together for over a year, that might be a valuable detail. (We had about six months to go.)

There was an “is it okay with you if i go take off my clothes for money” conversation. I actually never hesitated, so if there are life lessons to be gained from this story, you’ll have to get past that first.

Once she started, though, it was a lot. Late nights waiting for her to get home, wondering what the hell was going on, that kind of stuff. Eventually, though, I came up with a solution: why don’t I come to the club sometimes and pretend not to know you?

She was intrigued by this idea, but she didn’t quite get why I wanted to go. I think she may have feared I wanted to, like, police the situation. But no. No no. I figured I could sit right at the stage and rain down money all night, forcing all the other guys to pony up, too.

This theory proved correct, so in short order the nights I came to the club were the craziest for everybody, and all the dancers became my friends. I was wary at first, but as we talked more, I realized it was out of genuine respect for the support I was showing.

We started hanging out outside of that situation — like, in the daytime — and I came to feel like I was on the team. It was really interesting; I was like some kind of gender double-agent, using my own psychology to find ways to turn on their customers.

It was when I started making friends with the other dancers that this got truly interesting for my relationship, because now this heightened need for trust was parallel. Her position was probably harder than mine, if you think about it.

All this trust flying around actually created a kind of grounding force on the team. The other dancers’ partners benefitted, too, I think, and they started coming in, and then we ALL started hanging out. It was a shit-show, don’t get me wrong, but it was also pretty familial.

What’s funny is that she actually DID end up meeting someone through the after-hours party scene at the club, and it created an irreconcilable situation.

But here’s what’s interesting: It wasn’t that I was jealous or wounded or some male ego thing on my side. This situation had moved on SO FAR past that. It was that I wasn’t really interested in the off-the-deep-end 4 AM post-work scene where this was all happening.

If this was what she wanted her life to be like, I would give that my blessing, but I just didn’t want to be there. At the club till 1 AM was one thing; staying at the club after the doors closed and doing lines off the bar was another, which I didn’t want my life to be like.

So we broke up. deliberately, carefully, lovingly, amicably. It took two weeks. An old friend came and stayed with us for the end of it. It was kind of the sweetest thing ever.

We stayed in touch for a long time, but it dried up in the last couple years. I think it was my kids. Yes, my wife knows 100% of this story — a good deal more than I’ve shared here — and knows the ex pretty well. She was invited to our wedding but did not attend.

Dating a stripper was absolutely the key experience that formulated my masculinity into something I could use to be a husband and father.