I had difficulty accepting my husband's bachelor trip to Las Vegas last summer.

I envisioned late nights with strippers and Jack's friends trying too hard to show him a good time "one last time."

A sizeable amount of my fear of strange females seducing my husband stems from insecurity and a lack of trust in the male of the species (sorry, fellas). Others feel that no husband should disrespect his wife by lusting after others, even if a three-foot law separates them.

I have no worries about Jack's love or even lust for me, but it isn't easy to just be cool about nights at the strip club. I want to be laid back, but I also want to be the only one to turn him on.

Since there is no female equivalent of receiving such a lapdance from a guy, I resigned myself to just sucking it up, appreciating the fact that my man doesn't frequent these establishments and would only have one bachelor party.

Then my opportunity to stop my sit-back-and-simmer tactic arrived. My girlfriend Jill mentioned wanting to see naked men before her wedding. As she explained, if her fiance would be seeing naked women, she should be seeing naked men.

Not my favorite eye candy, but also something I don't get to see on a regular basis. As a joke in high school, my friend brought an issue of Playgirl to a slumber party. I found the photos ridiculous. Am I the only girl who prefers a man in boxers over nothing at all?

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But I'm a good friend and I wanted to show Jill a good time. So I researched potential naked man sightings in the area. Sadly, it wasn't easy.

The one joint I heard of where the men wore only socks had recently been sold (and is about to be replaced by, that's right, a female strip club). There are touring male strippers, but not around the date I needed them.

Out of the blue, I heard a radio ad for a female strip club that on Fridays caters to the heterosexual female in need of seeing male dancers. Notice I didn't say naked male dancers, but you take what they can get.

As the night approached, I enlisted a third friend and we drafted a game plan: Wear something hot, drink lots of alcohol and bring a ton of ones.

After dinner and drinks, it was time to face the stripper music. We arrived by cab at the club, only to be stripped ourselves, losing our phones, cameras and hefty cover charges to the beefy security henchmen.

We casually made our way to the stripping area, choosing a modest spot near the stage but just far away enough to avoid getting messy.

As the topless waiters kept the overpriced drinks flowing, we settled into the incognito-friendly darkness of the club.

With each random remix of an R&B song came a different dancer dressed in an outfit strategically designed to come off at a moment's notice. There was the gangster, the cowboy, the random guy in the ill-fitted suit.

Unfortunately, the men prancing in front of us were not exactly hot. They just made us laugh. It was too silly to watch a guy gyrate on a dance floor, pretending to make love to the floor.

I have seen men in thongs on the beach, but the thongs we saw that night weren't your average g-strings. They attempted to accentuate each guy's asset but added to the circus feel of the night.

Fringe doesn't look good on most body parts, trust me.

While my friends and I appreciated the spectacle, there were many other patrons getting their money's worth, attempting to suffocate in the dancers' laps and even hopping on stage for closer-up action.

As we giggled and the bride-to-be blushed, I suddenly understood the appeal of a special night at the strip club with some friends. It wasn't about lusting over the dancers, as much as hoping to embarrass my friend by seeing how she handled a stripper in her face or a few body shots sent her direction.

I accept that I will never share a true appreciation for the visual, as men say they do. No naked person will be enough to suit my fancy.

But I'll give guys some credit for the bonding that comes with naked, even nearly naked, people dancing in front of you trying to be sexy. If they accept it as a rare treat, rather than a routine, I can deal.

It truly can be maddening to think of my love patronizing one of those places, but life is too short to stress over a stripper pole.

If only I figured that one out before the bachelor party.

Laura Lewis is an adventurous newlywed who has loved, lost and doesn't mind sharing. Her column appears every other Thursday.