STRANGER THAN FICTION: SOME SCANTILY CLAD YOUNG MEN OUTSTRIP OTHERS

I've seen a few young men dance in my day, but these guys took the cake.

Let's get one thing straight.

I'm a nice, decent, small-town girl with high moral standards and a fairly solid marriage. Sure, I enjoy the occasional adult beverage and take a few puffs off a bummed cigarette once in awhile, but I'm more or less an upstanding citizen of the community.

Which makes this revelation all the more shocking.

I, Heidi Nieland, have watched scantily clad men "shake their booties," as the young people say.

My grandmother is probably shaking her head sadly at this news, but Granny, confessions are good for the soul. They also make great column intros.

My first experience with male dancers was one summer night at a St. Louis adult beverage establishment. The place offers free scantily clad young men every Saturday to entertain bachelorettes, new divorcees and birthday girls, who are allowed to sip up on the stage. The fully dressed men in the establishment usually try to make themselves scarce during this part of the evening, or at the very least look ANYWHERE but at the performance.

Anyway, my best friend decided it was high time I be exposed to this form of entertainment, and the next thing I knew, the DJ was calling my name as one of the birthday girls. He gave me a straight-backed, wooden chair to sit on while "Demetrio" (yeah, that's his real name) progressed from a tuxedo to a small piece of Spandex.

I was a bit nervous, sure, but everything seemed to be well until Demetrio decided to stand on my chair while I was still in it. My thighs being what they are, he got a piece of cellulite caught between his cowboy boots and the seat.

Maybe he thought my scream was one of excitement and delight instead of pain and agony. Limping off the stage, I swore to stay away from that kind of place. Maybe I could get The Other Half to wear small pieces of colorful Spandex and dance around, I thought. That never really panned out, but it was worth asking.

The opportunity to see more scantily clad young men -- on company time, no less -- arose a couple of weeks ago right here in Florida. A bar in the sleepy town of Jay, population 800, was having male strippers every Thursday night, and the town council didn't like it one bit. They passed a nudity ordinance in response to the shows. "Someone could get hurt," one councilwoman explained.

Having lived in Cape Girardeau through the Regina's House of Dolls controversy, I was more than qualified to report the story, I assured my editor. She sent me up there with a deadline to meet and a promise that the company would reimburse me for anything I spent at the adult beverage establishment.

It was a dream come true.

What I didn't realize was that some areas don't attract the quality of scantily clad young men as other areas. Granted, I'm no Pandora Peaks myself, but I don't take my clothes off to supplement my income. Actually, the thought never even crossed my mind.

With a notable exception, the show was pretty much like watching your little brother dance around the living room in his underwear, except my little brother has a nasty appendectomy scar. Each dancer knew one step -- doing it with the music was optional.

They pretty much gyrated around the room, only stopping for tips. They had to stand VERY STILL for the tips, because it's tough for women to tuck money into an elastic waist band when they're drunk.

Still, everyone had a great time, the dancers obeyed the law and nobody got hauled off in handcuffs wearing nothing but Jockeys, although that's a free suggestion for those guys' next routines.

Most importantly, I got the story, which ran on the newspaper's front page with a graphic photo. It drew a lot of criticism.

"If that's the best they can do, I'm staying home!" one caller said.

And that's her prerogative. Live and let live, that's what I always say.

So now I'm looking for my next big story. I hear there are a couple of nudist colonies in the next county ...

~Heidi Nieland is a former Southeast Missourian staff writer who now lives in Pensacola, Fla.