My post on consent for Tits and Sass is up

I Pretend I’m Horny, You Pretend You’re a Dog

Even more common are the customers who, while receiving a lap dance, will announce how hard it is not to touch me, how crazy I’m making them and how they can’t believe they’re actually restraining themselves. The weird part is, most of these guys are sitting perfectly calmly, hands at their sides or gently resting on my hips; the tortured anguish of their words isn’t reflected in their tone or their face. I never know what to say to this; it seems laughable that they’d want accolades for adhering to the bare minimum of respectful behavior and abiding by fairly well-established rules, but there you go, they do. I coo at them how impressed I am and how strong they are, wondering if I’m overdoing it. But apparently, I’m not. It’s like we’re both performing our parts in a ritual: he expresses his masculinity with these protestations and I get to reaffirm it, as audience to, as well as cause of, his struggle.

It’s a question I’m increasingly preoccupied by; are these protestations sincere? To some extent it seems to be part of these men’s understanding of their role as strip club customer: they come here to relax, to let loose with some girls gone wild. They wouldn’t know how to just sit back and let me do my thing. They’re just doing their duty by moaning about how hard it is to restrain themselves. It’s the rhetoric of catcallers, of rape culture, and they take it on so easily. I want to know if this is how most men see themselves.1 Why is customer pleasure so often constructed in opposition to personal boundaries, and does it need to be?

Some BitterWhiteGuy already wants to talk abt it.

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