They’re beyond mismatched as a couple; she wants to live in a world where guys don’t watch naughty videos on the internets, and nobody wanks to the thought of someone else. Come on now. You don’t even wanna know the shit that goes through my mind when I’m wanking.
Then you don’t want to hear about the day I decided I’d never step foot in a skin joint again.
In the old days when I was young and had something more closely resembling a social life, I’d go out in mixed gender crowds, and at times the guys would want to stop at a skin bar. Sometimes the girls would object, and for a while I was among them, and then I stopped giving a shit, and realized it wasn’t the end of the world. Some of the places had good drink specials, and occasionally at some of the cheap, crappy places we went to, you’d see a girl whose tits were both real and perky. Those were good days.
So one day I’m at the skin bar, and this woman who was, well, somewhat overweight started dancing. She got almost no tips. I mean, I think she walked away with like $5, and the poor thing was trying her best. I almost wanted to give her a 20 out of pity. When the song was over, she yelled at the audience, and called us all a bunch of cheap bastards.
Belief suspended. Right then, I had an “Oh shit” moment, and all the reasons for hating strip clubs that I forgot about came back to me. Ah, that’s right, I remembered, these women hate their jobs even more than I do, probably have horrible lives, and when that girl walked away with no money, it probably hurt her even worse inside than the rest of her life, as she thought to herself “I did that for nothing.”
Fuck me running, I’ve never been back to a titty bar since.