By Monica Alonzo
By Stephen Lemons
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Dulce Paloma Baltazar Pedraza
By Ray Stern
By Pete Kotz
By Monica Alonzo
By New Times
"First off, no pullin' out your 'man,'" Mr. Luscious informs his fellow male strippers, minutes before they take to the Celebrity Theatre's stage as the erotic revue known as The Main Event, Part 2. "You can act like you're about to pull it out, but you better not."
"In case you're confused, Jett," I whisper sarcastically, as we observe Mr. Luscious lay down the law in the Celebrity Theatre's green room, "he's referring to their . . ."
"I know that, ass-face!" Jett snarls. "Keep a crusty sock in it while Mr. Luscious is yapping."
Mr. Luscious, who with his shaven skull resembles a black Mr. Clean, continues: "And no women backstage, other than the meet-and-greet we'll be having here after the show."
"I don't care what he says, I'm gonna see what I came to see," drools Jett, rubbing her paws like a madwoman. She notes that she would especially like to find out if it's true what they say about black men.
Mr. Luscious' warnings aside, the Jettster's demented desires aren't without hope, at least when it comes to shade. The Main Event is a multiracial male extravaganza, with African-American, Latino and Caucasian beef-bearers culled from clubs and troupes nationwide. The accent is on the brown, though, and for this evening, there's only one white dude named Tim who does a cowboy act. The rest are ripped with either ebony or caramel six-packs. The act came through once before, back in April, and the response from the sexed-up ladies-only crowd was so overwhelming that the sponsors, the nightlife gurus at UrbanAz.com, decided to bring the guys back.
"Chippendales ain't got shit on us," Mr. Luscious verbalizes to us after the other entertainers have returned to their dressing rooms for pre-performance primping. "They just have the money behind them to propel their name to be what it is. What I try to do is get the very best from around the country. These guys are all private contractors whom I've run into through networking and whatnot.
"I've been dancing now for 14 years," adds the Luscious One. "I was dancing for all these different clubs doing all the work, while the club owners were getting all the money. That's when I started putting together shows. My company Luscious Promotions [out of Nashville, Tennessee] has its own Web site at www.4luscious.com where we do merchandising and so forth. My next thing is working on pay-per-view and DVDs. We're pushing for an HBO special."
"Mr. Luscious, why is this event one for ladies only?" queries the J-girl. "I've got a lot of gay male friends who would love to check out a show like this."
"Well, personally, I'm a heterosexual," he replies. "And as far as I know, all my guys are. So I'm not going to force my guys to do something outside of what they'd do in their normal lives to make a dollar."
We proceed toward one of the Luscious One's dancers, Julian, who's snagging a water in the green room. Normally, he works out of Houston for a male strip club called La Bare. But he also dances for Mr. Luscious, whom he's known from way back.
"I've been dancing for 17 years," smiles the hunky Latino charmer. "I'm 35 now. I was born in Puerto Rico, and grew up in Cleveland. Five years ago I moved to Houston, but I've been lucky enough to entertain all over the world."
"You have a girlfriend?" wonders the ever-libidinous J-girl.
"A fiancée, actually," he tells us.
"How does she feel about you being ogled and groped by so many women?" asks Jett, panting lustily.
"I met her while I was doing it, so she's comfortable with it," he explains. "She trusts me."
Preparing to cock-block for the guy should Jett try to jump his bones, I ask, "What's your act like?"
"I do different things," he relates. "Tonight I'm gonna do sort of a cowboy tribute to the tune of the Bon Jovi hit 'Wanted Dead or Alive.' At the end of it, I light myself on fire, you know, down there."
"Jesus, you're like the Evel Knievel of erotic dancing!" I exclaim. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"Oh, I take safety precautions," he says, grinning. "I put something between myself and the fire."
Indeed, as we're soon to learn, the fellas strip down to a variety of different G-strings, all of which include a prolonged, proboscis-like codpiece. This tallywacker-sleeve fulfills a couple of needs. It allows the dancers to avoid going all-nude, while providing them with an instrument of tantalizing torture for the chicks, who are often pulled up on stage. The genital glove also serves another show-biz purpose: It leaves the true length of a stud's manhood a matter of speculation and fantasy.
We soon hear Power 92.3 personalities Danielle "The Princess of Hollyhood" and Melissa "The Midnight Mamacita" introducing the revue. Mr. Luscious serves as the MC thereafter, egging on the ladies in the crowd with the refrain, "Y'all want some more dick?" In turn, 10 dancers gyrate and tumble all over Celebrity's circular stage, and all I can say is . . . never have so few men turned so many women into a mob of crazed-for-testosterone maniacs.