My city has a pretty famous retro-burlesque club. This is the sort of place where dancers with stage names like Candy Apples and Zsa-Zsa Va Voom do elaborately choreographed acts to strip down to a thong and pasties. It’s like a variety show with mostly woman, a few men, and sometimes an acrobatic aerialist or (allegedly) humorous magic act. But with boobs. It’s mostly about the boobs.

One night I was there the place was absolutely packed. Every seat filled and the rest of the room pressed shoulder to shoulder. They do two shows per night, a bawdy early show and an even wilder midnight show with an intermission between. The intermission was just emcee telling some bad jokes followed by one unnamed dancer stripping. Since it was midnight, she peeled off her pasties and thong and danced for a few minutes in nothing but a garter around her thigh for tips. That got the crowd hooting and hollering. When she left the stage the emcee was supposed to introduce the first act of the midnight show, but it seems it was taking longer than expected to get ready and he had to fill a few minutes.

After a few jokes fell flat—which most of them do since no one comes for his Vegas lounge lizard schtick—the emcee asked if anyone wanted to see the next sultry performer, and when the audience cheered they shined a spotlight on the back of the room where I and bunch of other cheering guys were standing. All the other guys laughed and looked away but I jumped up, so the emcee invited me on stage to show what I had. Now I have have seen them do this bit before: bring some guy or girl up who had just enough liquid courage to get them to the stage and then let their embarrassment or shame send them running back after a minute. What they didn’t count on is I have no shame. While they played some bass-and-horn heavy tune I wiggled my hips to the beat, tore off my shirt, spun it over my head. Then I turned around, did my best seductive look back over my shoulder, purred at the ladies at the table in the front row, and “seductively” peeled off my jeans. Once I was down to my boxer-briefs and showing no signs of stopping the emcee figure he better cut this off and just introduce the ladies that the crowd came to see. They handed me my clothes and got my next gin and tonic on the house.