Male strippers not really a huge turn-on— even when you’re drunk.
The back room of Fuzion Grill (460 N. Second St.) was hardly the setting I imagined for a “Vegas quality performance.” But every Friday and Saturday the restaurant/social club plays host to “The Men of the Cave,” Philly’s all-male strip revue, and that’s how they bill it. “Experience the evolution of man,” it says on their website, menofthecavephilly.com.
There was little time for me to marvel at the sleaziness of the room before the emcee/DJ came out to get “Fantasy Friday” under way.
“Are you ladies ready to see some penis?” he shouted a few times. Having already imbibed quite a few cocktails by that point, indeed I was.
First up was Carlos, “The Latin Lover.” His nips were pierced, his eyebrows waxed. Due to uncontrollable giggling, I missed the first few minutes of his performance.
By the time I was able to compose myself, a bride-to-be was in the “hotseat” getting jack hammered from behind. And then from the front. And then sideways. Thank God she was smart enough to wear pants.
Next came a man dressed (but not for long) as a firefighter who had huge tribal tattoos covering his biceps. Though I think I got more action from my friend on the undesignated dance floor, Mr. Firefighter did get on top of me and gyrate a bit.
Was I aroused? Definitely not.
As if I could even think about his cock with those gross tribal tats in my face. I just sat back and pretended to be a helpless kitten stuck in tree.
Up next was Emilio, “The Sexy Sergeant,” who managed to rip off his cameo getup in one fell swoop. He was also the only guy to completely disrobe (but cheekily kept his junk hidden behind a small white towel).
Though ultimately denying us full-frontal, Emilio did proceed to invade the personal space of several women without his skivvies. Unfortunately, the ridiculousness of being rubbed up against by buff dudes in a back room killed whatever lady-boner I could have had that evening. If I left feeling hot and bothered it was only because I had just spent an hour watching live soft-core porn completely hammered.
But what brought me to see the Men of the Cave in the first place really wasn’t the desire to see well-groomed beefcakes bump-and-grind. More than anything, I was there hoping to observe a celebration of female sexuality. Although, the scenario I envisioned of me as a wallflower in a room full of rowdy women screaming and waving dollar bills quickly went out the window.
In reality, there were only about 15 ladies in attendance, including two bachelorette parties. My friend and I quickly assumed the role of the two drunk chicks trying to crash the party. While everyone else retreated to the tables in the back, we immediately claimed one of the black velvet couches surrounding the stage. When the strippers left the stage to mingle with the audience, we took a dance break.
Of course, some gals were more into it than others. One of Emilio’s targets immediately darted off the stage the moment he turned his back. Meanwhile, her friend relished the opportunity to take her place.
I didn’t see a single gal stuff any cash down a dancer’s boxer briefs.
Toward the end of the night, I actually began to feel really guilty about not having tipped any of the dancers, especially since we didn’t end up paying the $15 cover. So I decided to approach the emcee—who doubled briefly as a stripper for part of the night—and slip him a dollar.
To avoid the awkward struggle of trying to get it in his jeans, I simply handed him the money and said the first thing that came to mind: “You were the best of the evening.”
He thanked me then smacked my ass as I turned to walk away.
Normally an unsolicited ass-smacking from a strange dude would have sent me into a drunken rage. But it seemed like an appropriate ending to a smutty Friday night.
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