By Terrence McCoy
By Scott Fishman
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Allie Conti
By New Times Staff
By Ryan Pfeffer
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Kyle Swenson
The performances that followed paired the women's sexual appeal with a winking humor or playful naughtiness.
There was the Amazonian blond whose performance included a drag king and sexual how-to manuals, which she consulted to get the attention of her man. And the Betty Boopish brunet who gave the "Oooo" face as she covered her mouth with her hand every time she spread her legs to the music. And the kooky sprite in a white skirt and fishnet-over-rainbow-striped thigh-highs and black boots who flitted and twirled weightlessly across the stage between shimmies.
Of the dance routines, the skinny blond in the black feathered outfit got the most laughs. And not intentionally. As she undulated spread-legged while seated on a wooden chair, she experienced a wardrobe snafu. One of her pasties popped off and landed a few feet away.
Her Ohmigod I'm naked! facial expression was bested only by her attempt to recover the runaway pastie. After trying to figure out which hand should cover the exposed nipple and which should reach for the disc-sized portion of her costume, she nearly fell out of her chair in her attempt to reclaim her nipple cap.
"She just pulled a Janet Jackson," I laughed to Big Belly, who finally got his wish and a pretty good chortle too.
When the show ended and the dancers took their bows, the audience erupted into a sea of pulsing bodies, many of them women grinding against other women. You know, the sorta stuff you see in every club.
"We gotta get you up there," one of my friends teased me.
"Oh, no," I shook my head.
The thing was, the idea was not entirely unappealing. The show had featured so many different body types, and not all flawless, though all sexy. And it offered so many approaches to performing, all of which accentuated each woman's unique physique and personality. (Auditions are held at Respectables in West Palm on Sundays.)
Unlike dancers at strip clubs, who I'd always felt had to deflect the energy of their audience, these women radiated their energy in a way that felt empowering rather than exploitative.
Which is exactly how I felt when all was said and done, like I'd attended a theatrical event except that it was 3 a.m. and I was alone in a smoky gay bar, listening to Duran Duran while I paid my bar tab.