"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.
The throng is diverse, multi-ethnic and with all ages represented, though the majority are probably in their 20s and 30s, and they're well-lubricated and ready to get buck-wild as The Main Event jumps off.
It begins with the muscular Rampage coming out in a Matrix coat, peeling off his clothing to near-bare bod and inviting two horny gals up onstage for a mnage, first gyrating atop each separately, then placing one on hands and knees and the other atop the first's back. Of course, the gals stay clothed as Rampage, um, rides them.
Next up, BaddAss, who does an S&M act with knee-high boots, a collar, and a black paddle that reads "SPANK" in studded steel. Then, our friend Julian, with his fire extravaganza. True to his word, using what looks like a bottle of whiskey as fuel, he creates a small conflagration onstage in a pan, tumbles over it, and sets to fire his liquor-doused thong, causing an eruption of love from the ladies (they shower him with a load of crumpled-up bills). After that, Candyman, who makes good use of a purple, strap-on dildo, and Ruby, a Latino cat who first emerges -- get this -- in a frog outfit to the Sesame Street theme, before revealing everything but his tadpole.
A buff fella named Hershey walks out in white chaps and white hat and is soon tossing around 250-pound women like they're volleyballs. After such treatment, let's just say they melted before his chocolaty goodness. Busta Rhymes look-alike "Mr. Get-It-Wet" dry-humps various ladies who adore his tattoo-engraved, chain-wearing, muscular frame. Cowboy Tim, a.k.a. "The Enforcer," does a choreographed country-western shtick that'd make the folks in Nashville blush. And Quiet Storm probably has the kinkiest set of the eve, using a blow-up doll, a can of whipped cream, and a banana. Need I say more?
Mr. Luscious finishes up the evening with his own performance, entering the arena to the sound of Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight," in full Native American headpiece and regalia. He takes off everything but his codpiece. The women stage-side then insert mega-bucks between his exposed cheeks (not the ones on his face). Just before, another Power 92.3 jock, the nearly ubiquitous JX3, had come on as the final DJ of the eve to urge the females in attendance to part with their tips. JX3 also announces a meet-and-greet afterward in the Celebrity's basement green room so the fans can get last photos and, hopefully, feels from the strapping strippers.
So the Rachel McAdams of P-town and I scoot downstairs for some post-striptease commentary from the gals. Dimes Teresa and Andryah are in town from Miami and Vegas, respectively, and definitely enjoyed the eye candy. Like many of the women we chat with on this night, they ID themselves as single, ready and willing.
"So who was your favorite performer of the show?" I inquire.
"I don't know his name," laughs Teresa. "But he was hot."
"Mine was Mr. Get-It-Wet," chimes in Andryah. "The one with the chains."
"What did you guys think of Quiet Storm -- the guy with the whipped cream and the blow-up doll?"
"Naughty is always good," smirks Andryah. "I'm not complaining."
Nearby is Phoenix native Lindsay, a blond cutie who got down 'n' dirty with BaddAss onstage, and is still basking in the afterglow. She's here with all her buds, doing a little pre-celebration of her birthday next week.
"It was so much fun!" she gushes. "I've never done anything like that before. Though it took a couple of drinks to get me up there."
"BaddAss was the one with the paddle. Did he spank you?" I wonder.
"No," she says, sounding disappointed. "But I wanted to be spanked."
I suddenly notice that Jett's flown the coop, so I go in search of her. She's outside the dressing rooms, sipping a cocktail, looking bored.
"What've you been up to?" I demand.
"Oh, nothing," she sighs. "I just saw what I came to see, courtesy of Candyman."
"Do tell," I say, "and were you duly impressed?"
"Nah," she spits. "It was okay, but I've seen bigger."
"I'm not surprised that you're not impressed," I retort. "Big and small, short and tall, you've had 'em all. That's why I call you ATM."
"ATM?"
"Yeah, you know, Anything That Moves?"
