Last night was Broadway Bares: Solo Strips at XL in NYC, which is a sort of appetizer for the main event, Broadway Bares on June 17 @ Roseland. The concept is that 10 Broadway dancers do brief striptease routines for a paying crowd and then shake their literal moneymakers afterward, being generous with at least their tips in search of generous tips in order to raise money for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS.
Waiting for my sidekick, I watched a 6'4" (guessing) drag queen sashaying in and wondered if she could touch the ceiling inside. Just was hoping she wouldn't be standing in front of me; tall people can be such (high) heels about that sort of thing.
When I went in, I was crestfallen to hear a woman at the door reminding everyone not to take any pictures. If something happens and no pictures are taken, did it really happy at all? She didn't tell me, so that was my out, but I was kinda worried until the show began and nobody seemed to care.
These events can be aspirational, considering all the ridiculously built men milling about (onstage and off), and yet when I hugged charming (and single, boys!) Matt Skrincosky, who has to believe I'm a stalker by now and who was one of the perfect specimens selling raffle tickets, it had the dual effect of motivating and making me think, "What's the use?"
I was at the stairs so had a fairly good view. There was, of course (as there always is) one tall asshole (kidding, but I've always found vertically gifted people to be a lot more entertaining horiztonal) in the exact spot where some of the down-and-dirtiest grinding was happening, but overall I was happy to capture a few sizzling moments. I ran into my Broadway Bares bud Andrew Glaszek, who is apparently at every event in existence and has already slept with everyone I have a crush on; he's younger, but could be my mentor. Or maybe my chorus-boy rabbi.
A reminder: Be sure you donate $ to this worthy cause if you're gonna ogle my pictures and videos, 'k?
First up was Cesar Abreu, working an ambitious James Bond number that included a gorgeous chick (whose name someone will probably send me) and Josh Buscher, who popped up later in the show. The great thing was that he had a gun in his pocket AND was happy to see us.
Evita's Nick Kenkel had a leisurely routine centered around a studios type with a harness under his clothes and a penchant for whipping out Madonna fetish gear during a Janet Jackson number. One of the evening's best bodies on an evening when all of the bodies were simply the best.
I didn't remember Sam Cahn from previous Bares shows, but I won't be able to forget him after his military-themed bump-and-grind. I'm thinking he should maybe do this full-time. Never has a jockstrap had so much to offer coming or going.
One of the highlights of any show is aw-shucks adorable Andy Mills, who has the look of one of those just-in-town boys you'd like to corrupt. (Whenever I get to Port Authority, they've all just been carted off by someone with a bus schedule.) His "Bad Case of Loving You" routine, done in doctor drag, was anything but. And speaking of which, when his butt popped out of its red g-string, an angel got its wings—do not resuscitate!
Model- (or Golden Age of Hollywood)-handsome Guto Bittencourt, who I met on Facebook last year due to Bares, blew everyone away by being the only piece of meat to sing live while revealing his body of death. His "Feelin' So Good" left everyone feelin' good and longing for a good feel.
Grasan Kingsberry got a little risky, doing a Barack Obama impersonation. I'm not sure if Barack was evolving while revolving on that stage, but as his props (including Secret Service agents who'd probably seen and done a lot worse) indicated, shaking his all that brown skin amidst all that red, white and blue definitely distracted from any worries over recent economic numbers. "ApprOved?" Enthusiasstically.
One of my all-time faves (as Andrew reminded me, the ultimate honor belongs to him...I guess I'm easily swayed by whomever is half naked at the time) is Adam Fleming, whose "Weird Science" act was fast, furious and enough to make the straightest of men bicurious. There were lots of them bouncing around that night, but Adam's the total package.
Everybody loves Brandon Rubendall (and I love his new short 'do), but one lucky audience member might love him a bit more than us after being pulled onstage and used as a sort of sexual scratching post. Brandon's Middle Eastern dancing boy look revealed his flawless physique. He's such a showman and, thankfully, a show-off.
Arguably the biggest star, Josh Buscher appeared in a judge's robe before proceeding to make judicial use of an easily abandoned cape and S&M accessories. His both is ruthless, so it's a good fit—watching him writhe with his back to us just made me want to bid on the chair he was using. The big reveal at the end was, as always, jaw-dropping.
The big closer was adorable Robb Sherman, who may or may not be a big top but whose ringmaster look could bring out the untamed beast in any man. He has a friendly look that makes it seem okay, all this dirty dancing he's laying on you, even thought his big finale was a masturbatory interlude. The sound of one hand clapping following by a roar of approval.
Right after, Broadway Bares daddy Jerry Mitchell (pictured) spoke, and hostess Jen Cody emerged and had each dude come out for a bow (too bad they did it facing us). She then announced rotation. "Rotation" is when the guys shake their gods for your cash, a distillation of how society works and always has.
I gave generously to Adam, Andy, Josh (the second donation was in exchange for a posed picture of him) and Brandon, but in truth I have more twenties at home if any of the gentlemen would care to stop by and pick them up...hopefully no-handed.
Ran into Sidney Erik Wright, who I Facebook-know from last year's show. He's so hot he should always be on stage any time he's in a room with one, whether he's at Solo Strips or a matinee of The Lyons—nobody would mind.
I'll save for another post the unrelated nonsense that happened next, a bizarre tour of the hotel in which XL sits, The Out. It's not as endlessly fascinating as the bodies on these 10 guys, but it's not something I'll soon forget either.