Male strippers I have blown, er… I mean known!

Male stripper in collars and cuffs

My agent finally found my phone number and told me he had a friend who managed the leading male strip show of the era – The Plantagenets. Its current Master of Ceremonies had lost his voice (as had every previous MC) due to the impossible task of screaming over the screaming women in attendance. But, this MC gig had definite merits – 

  • Very good money 
  • Very good money – in cash
  • Only four shows a week 
  • Late show times so I could do a play and then do the strip show – not that I had any hopes of being in a play 

Problem was that after one night of non-stop screaming I’d have no vocal cords to do a play with for the rest of my natural life. Another problem was that The Plantagenets’ show was crap. But, the main problem was that the MC had to not only scream but also scream whilst on roller skates and scream stinko jokes like – 

  • “Ladies, our next gorgeous hunk of man is a Jewish butcher’s son from Brooklyn and believe me that meat is all kosher!” 
  • “Girls, this Italian Stallion says his favorite pastime is playing hide the salami.”  

But, I was hungry for a bit of salami myself, kosher or otherwise, so I agreed to catch the show. I immediately realized that the women had whipped themselves into a lather before the first man had unzipped his first zipper. And, that lather had nothing to do with what was happening on stage. And, what was happening on stage was surprisingly tame – no full nudity, just a succession of oiled men with fake tans wearing dumb costumes, dancing awkwardly and stripping clumsily. (Imagine the Village People spazzing around in their jocks.) 

Women pawing a male stripper
Women at male strip shows get touchier than Joe Biden at a Girl Scout jamboree.

Naïve me later learned that the real action happened backstage where desperate women paid for the privilege of blowing the strippers. (In our still coarser age, young ladies don’t bother to retire backstage to get “up close and personal” with their favorite danseurs érotiques.They blow the strippers right on stage in front of their cheering girlfriends.) 

Boy Outa Brooklyn a murder memoir by Jack Antonio 
Image: the smiling face of Steeplechase Park in Coney Island. Brooklyn
Available as a paperback and eBook
And as an eBook here

I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts.

The drag-artist, Charles Pierce as Mae West
The comic-genius, Charles Pierce as Mae West


Allow me to expound on the subject of men performing in women’s clothing, aka Drag. More specifically, I wish to discuss the surprising and surprisingly potent erotic effect that Drag exerts on the female of the species. I am aware that some women dispute this fact but I can do no more than honestly recount my experiences as a female impersonator. So there. 

In South Pacific, I played a World War Two sailor who entertains the troops by wearing a hula skirt, a bra fashioned out of two coconut halves and a mop for a wig. Not a sexy outfit. Or, so I thought until I got it on. It drove the women crazy. The chorus girls slinked up to me and whispered words in my ear that would have made a real sailor blush. The spinsterish theater secretaries were the worst. They cornered me and fondled my coconuts while hissing about what they were going to do to my tits and then to me. But, as soon as my coconuts came off, the erotic spell was broken. No coconuts = No dice.

Two coconuts
Naked breasts… er, I mean, coconuts. Oh, hell, even I’m confused!
Boy Outa Brooklyn a murder memoir by Jack Antonio 
Image: The smiling face of Steeplechase Park in Coney Island, Brooklyn
Available as a paperback and eBook
And as an eBook here