I Hung Out with Male Strippers to Investigate Female Sexuality

It's 9.30PM on a Thursday and I'm sitting in the glamorous surroundings of the Watford Colosseum, watching shirtless men pluck three hyperventilating women out of a screaming crowd. They carry them on stage and proceed to blindfold them, straddle them and place their hands over their lubed-up, freakishly-chiselled stomachs. The audience bellows like teenagers at a Bieber concert.

I'm witnessing The Dreamboys – the self-styled "UK's No.1 male Glamour Show". While most strip clubs retain an air of seediness, The Dreamboys have become something of a household name. They tour arenas, appear on Britain's Got Talent and feature the likes of Geordie Shore's Scotty T in the line-up. The week I visit, one Dreamboy – Lotan Carter – has just entered the Celebrity Big Brother house.

The mainstreaming of male strippers – once seen as a bit of a joke – has been helped by Magic Mike, hailed by some as a feminist film thanks to its celebration of the female gaze. As well as the stereotype that the sex industry doesn't cater to women because there's no desire for it, we've always had a fairly prudish attitude towards nudity here in the UK, in contrast to most of our European neighbours. I'm here to find out if The Dreamboys' ascent in popular culture means we're becoming more accepting of both nudity and female desire, and also what their shows can teach us about British attitudes towards sex in the 21st century.

David Richards, Dreamboys owner and a former stripper himself, has an easy answer to his brand's success: marketing. He joined the group – which was first formed in 1983 – 18 years ago, along with Simon Bailey, who now acts as manager and host. The pair, who look Ken Doll-pristine in tight trousers with immaculate hair, burst out laughing when I ask if they miss their stripping days. "We used to perform in the grottiest venues, getting paid £80 a night," says David. "But I could see the potential for the brand, so I decided to buy it."

He's keen to stress that nudity isn't the show's focus. "It's about the dancing, the music, the production – the whole experience," he says. "You have to get in touch with your feminine side and understand what women want. When men go to a strip club they just want to see someone naked, but women want to be mentally stimulated too, and they want to feel special."

This sounds pretty old-fashioned to anyone well-versed in the type of feminist theory that dictates there's no inherent difference between men and women when it comes to sex. Yet the audience – who are all incredibly dolled up for a Thursday in Watford – are clearly buying what he's selling. Two 20-year-olds, whose selfie marathon I interrupt, tell me it's their first time seeing a strip troupe. "I'm just recently single!" one squeals. "So I was like, we have to go!"

Sadly she's in the wrong place to pull, seeing as the audience is mostly female with a smattering of gay men. The Dreamboys themselves are banned from giving out their numbers or social media handles to fans – who can get a little rowdy. "In this job, you see the absolute worst side of women," says David. "The boys get clawed at; they get blood drawn. I've been punched in the face before." One dancer, Jordan, agrees: "I've definitely learnt women can be as bad as men."

From the pictures on their website I'm expecting the boys to resemble glistening chunks of synthetic meat, but they're actually quite normal looking – guys of above-average attractiveness who spend a fair amount of time in the gym. On stage, they dance their way through pretty much every "sexy" male stereotype going: cowboys, workmen, the "Greased Lightning" chorus line. David's right: there's very little full nudity – mostly a lot of knowing looks and quick flashing of bums. It's like an extended X Factor medley with added dry-humping.

While city workers might take clients to a strip club, apparently the women of Watford take their grans. I get chatting to a family of three generations who've all seen the show twice before. "We're here for a bit of a giggle, really," the mother tells me. "I just like the dancing," adds the 73-year-old gran. But they are handsome too, right? "Hmm, some of them," she replies. "I've seen better."

In the dressing room, which is littered with cans of hairspray and moisturiser, I ask what the long-term career plan is for a male stripper. Jordan is quick to tell me they all have other projects, and this is a way to promote themselves. One, Luke, has a nutrition business; another, Rogan, is a minor celebrity after appearing on MTV's Ex on the Beach. David explains that Dreamboys feature a lot of reality TV stars as "our audiences are the same people". However, I can't help contrast these guys' abilities to further their careers through stripping with the likes of East London Stripper Collective, who are unable to gain a licence for a dancer-owned club.

Back on stage The Dreamboys perform a 90s boy band medley, and I remember how the likes of the Backstreet Boys, Peter Andre and Take That used to dance topless, thrust their pelvises and grind on the floor. I wonder if The Dreamboys are essentially a more honest version of a boy band – after all, Jason Orange's appeal was never in his vocal chords. In this context, male strippers seem practically nostalgic.

There's a certain type of sexuality in British culture that's all innuendo and cheekiness, cleansed of the smells, bodily fluids and occasional weirdness that real sex entails. Think Carry On films or beaming Page 3 girls. The Dreamboys are modern torchbearers of this: it's a performance of sexuality, cheeky hints at genitalia and naughty-but-safe fun. When you consider that striptease is essentially about creating a fantasy, it suddenly all looks very traditional.

But who am I to judge when the crowd so clearly love it, dancing on seats and screaming to be dragged up on stage. "The difference with women is we find it funny," says one bride-to-be in a nylon veil and sash, who tells me she's having "one classy hen-do and one trashy one", adding: "When men go to strippers it's sleazy, but for us it's a laugh."

So what exactly can The Dreamboys can teach us about changing British attitudes towards sex? Pretty much nothing, apart from confirming that as long as there's a way to commercialise and sell it, someone will manage.

@jessicabateman