A Manchild Visits An Austin Strip Club

This story is based on true events and nothing has been done to protect the identity of anyone. The title was originally intended to be a play on "A Kid In King Arthur’s Court," which was a play on "A Yankee in King Arthur’s Court," but I couldn’t make it work.

When it was my birthday again last month, I went to a strip club and had fun. I drove there in a big van. I like going to strip clubs, because they have Nice Girls there who smile at me, even though I am staring at their bodies all the time. Outside of strip clubs, they have the Mad Girls, who I don’t like. The Mad Girls are mean when I stare at them or other girls. When they are mad, I feel bad, but not really. At the strip club, I am safe.

At the strip club, I look at the Nice Girls and their boobs. The boobs don’t have milk yet, but that’s okay—milk is for babies!

It was in the city of Austin, Texas—I got lost and almost drove into a field full of bugs and bums. Earlier that birthday, I was planning on drinking alone, but then my friend, Drugdealer, invited me to a strip club and that was exciting. He was there already with Beard Friend and that guy’s lawyer. I was told that the lawyer would pay for everything. So, I drove there recklessly, because I expected something new and exciting to happen. I like it when older men pay for stuff. Older women, too!

When I went into the club, I had to pay a $25 cover, then a jock touched my whole body—like I was a horse. The building was full of black light and construction workers, sitting in identical cushioned chairs on wheels. It’s a fact—in Texas, they don’t sell alcohol at strip clubs, so you have to bring your own booze. If you want a soft drink, you have to buy it from a dirty old man, who looks like he only listens to classic rock.

All of the construction workers there had Mexican beer in buckets of ice and they didn’t tip. Construction workers don’t like it when you look at their faces. If they could talk, they would probably say, "Hey, pal. I’m here to think about sex. Get in my way and I’ll kill you!" Some of these men are younger than me. but they seem older, because I’m scared of other men.

I found Drugdealer, Beard Friend and the lawyer, all sitting together, high on ecstasy, shouting about nothing and looking at the Nice Girls. Beard Friend was excited about an Instagram post of his going viral earlier that day, so he felt like a boss. The lawyer had the cranium of a murderous cave person and he kept getting up and going back to the VIP area to have sex with Nice Girls who were very nice.

When I sat down and looked at all the Nice Girls with their clothes off, I knew I was having a good time. I attempt eye contact with the Nice Girls and there is one who I project all of my irrational neediness onto. She gets to be Strip Club Girlfriend for the night. I met Strip Club Girlfriend when I looked at her butt and then her face. Her real name was Carla and she was from Cuba. Carla reminded me of sex, but didn’t speak American good. I started to think about what our children would look like and what my family would think of her. I had a boner. Carla sat on my pants and knew the Boner was there, and I gave her money ‘cause that’s the deal. When in Rome!

Carla said, that for $300 dollars, I could "touch everything" and I assumed this meant sexual intercourse, but I said "no," ‘cause I’m afraid of commitment.

I was 34 and a half, but now I’m 35.

One of the Nice Girls was very young and wasn’t good at walking in high heels, so Drugdealer and I laughed, because we’re bastards. Drugdealer decided to make her his Strip Club Girlfriend, because she seemed innocent and lost. Then, Drugdealer wanted to make her his real girlfriend and kept asking for her phone number, so he could selfishly complicate her life.

Being too cheap to pay for VIP Room access, I stayed in my rolling chair and laughed at what I perceived to be a brilliant compromise between the sexes. But, whenever I laugh, I feel brain pain from the Mad Girl who lives in my head. I paid Portland State University to put a virtual Mad Girl in my brain.

Mad Girl gets super extra mom mad, whenever I lie at parties about having read and understood Judith Butler. She wears boxframed glasses and carries a large pair of rust-colored scissors. The glasses represent the withering judgment of the men, while the scissors represent castration of the male libido. In Icelandic mythology, she is described as Ice Whale Woman and she eats adolescent boys who haven’t been circumcised. I’m the real victim!

I went outside and saw a homeless kitten. Then, after worrying about it, I felt like a good guy. If only the Nice Girls inside the former DMV knew that I liked homeless cats! That started a mind movie, about an amalgam of all the Nice Girls I saw that night, wanting to have casual sex with me all because I like cats. I had a boner.

Speeding back to the Air BnB in my big van, I had to limp up the stairs, because my pieces hurt. I wanted sex! I started jacking it like a boss and eventually won. In the mind movies I used, the Nice Girls were randomly swapped out for each other within a general narrative of sexual availability, as well as a lack of criticism for how I am as a person.

I like strip clubs! I think they’re nice!