Sex Ed

At the age of ten I was introduced to sex by a teenage yeshiva bochur who enlisted me to massage his back. His curriculum was based on images of nude women in magazines that he showed me. He was not interested in boys and he never assaulted me, but in the years that followed, more than once I woke up in my dorm bed, in the middle of the night, to find a hand or a mouth under my blanket. One might have categorized these behaviors as “experimentation” had it not been for the six year age difference between me and my curious midnight guests. But I don’t hold those boys accountable. They were idiots, but not horrible human beings.

Now, years later, my education continues.

Slowly.

One day I hope to be able to have a conversation with a woman while maintaining eye contact. Physical contact is still far beyond me.  A simple touch, a hand shake, plunges my mind into a pit full of worries: Am I harassing her? Should I walk away? Did I just cross a line? I usually stiffen up, attempt to smile, and quickly excuse myself or walk away, berating myself for my lack of finesse.

In my quest to learn more about my long-repressed sexuality, I went, for the very first time, to a gentlemen’s club. Strippers, I thought, would make good teachers, and they’d be less likely to take offense at my ignorance or missteps.

I walked through a black door, paid an entrance fee, and was told that there was a minimum of one up. I did not see the bar in the dimly lit room, so I walked the length of the club and into a hallway.

“Hey, you!” A hefty security guard appeared, looming in the pink-tinged darkness. “What are you looking for?”

“Where can I buy a beer?” I asked.

“This here’s the private section,” the guard told me. “Go sit down over there. A waitress will come to you.” He motioned to the couches in the main room.

I found a spot in the corner. A woman was twirling on a stage, wearing only underwear, but I could not bring myself to look at her. Instead, I watched the other men in the club. I had made sure to read up on the etiquette of gentlemen’s clubs, but my reading didn’t seem to match the live experience. This place was quiet. The few men scattered around the room were still, drinking from glasses, watching the stage.

A woman approached me and asked if I would like a dance. I do not know what she was wearing or what she looked like because I tried not look at her. I moved over and motioned for her to sit.

“I have no experience,” I told her, while I kept my eyes on the floor. “ I am new to the whole strip club thing.”

She smiled. “No problem, honey.”

“Is there was anything I need to know before accepting your offer?” I asked.

She named a fee.

I accepted her price.

To start, she moved me lower so that my back was neither leaning on the back of the couch nor lying on the bottom of the couch. She then separated my legs and started dancing.

Should I touch her? I wondered. Or should I keep my hands as far from her as possible? No one would like being touched by a stranger. I definitely shouldn’t touch her. But what if that makes her think I am not enjoying this? Would she be disappointed? Would that mean that she isn’t good at what she does?

Her body was now very close to my face, and the parts of her body that were close to my face varied from front, side, and back. My hands were still frozen at my side and my head was perpendicular to the couch, avoiding her eyes and trying not to look at the rest of her body which filled my entire field of view.

Should I kiss her? Her arm just brushed against my nose. Was that intentional? Was that an invitation? Nah, it must have been an accident, definitely an accident.

Now she was sitting on my groin area facing away from me, her back leaning on my stomach the back of her head on my shoulder. I realized that my nose and mouth were very close to her ear.

Pace your breath, I thought. One breath every six seconds, otherwise she’ll think you’re sick and that’ll make her nervous. Breathe away from her so that she doesn’t have to feel your breath. Did I eat enough today or do I have bad breath?

“Would you like another one?” she asked.

I can’t say no. She was putting herself out there, how would anyone say no? That would be extremely impolite.

“Sure, thank you.”

Say something else!

“If I am doing anything wrong please let me know. Again, I am new to this,” I managed to stammer, my mouth dry.

“Don’t worry,” she smiled.

Is she acting differently? Did I upset her by asking if I did anything wrong? Tip very nicely, that’ll tell her that I enjoyed her service. How much should I tip? Is 100% considered stalker-ish? What about 50%? Anything less than 50% would be stingy. Isn’t she cold? I would be cold if I were naked in here. She speaks fluent English, I wonder if she’s American.

After the third time, I told her that I was on a budget and tipped her only 50%. I was grateful that I had been so preoccupied with my worries, otherwise I might have enjoyed her maybe too much. I had read that under no circumstances should you orgasm while receiving a dance.

“Would you like a dance?” another woman asked.

My pockets were empty and I was forced to turn her down. She sat beside me in awkward silence, looking around, while I desperately tried to remember what I had read about turning down a dance. I didn’t know what to do. This was something I had not yet learned.