truth stripped bare.
I was at a mate's 21st on the weekend, and one of his mates organised a stripper to come in. It was all pretty surreal, because it was a semi-formal do, with the birthday boy's parents there and stuff. Also, the stripper's bodygaurd happened to be dressed as Boonie (yes, the cricketer), with the big moustache and a green-and-gold shirt saying "Boonie" on the back and everything.
But it wasn't like the stripper needed a bodygaurd. This was the first strip show I'd ever seen, and so I realised saturday night that these women are not objects, but the very opposite: the stripper makes herself the subject, the pivotal theme, the centre of attention. There wasn't a single moment when she wasn't in control.
In fact, hardly anyone noticed when some feminist chick in the crowd kicked up a fuss and stepped forward to forcibly liberate the stripper. Needless to say, the feminist was roughly grabbed by the shoulders and dragged out. But again, hardly anyone noticed. Because like I said, the stripper was not the lion but the lion tamer.
Even if this chick hadn't been a 'dominant' stripper. Even if she hadn't whipped the birthday boy's arse with his own belt. Or if she hadn't made him crawl to eat burning marshmallows off her nipples. Yes, even if a stripper is a submissive schoolgirl instead of a leather-clad dominatrix... the stripper is still the centre-of-attention and is ultimately the one in control. They dictate who stands where and when. Strippers are too powerful to possibly be oppressed by any 'male gaze'.
(and yes... I did write 'burning marshmallows on her nipples'. It was f**king crazy.)