Bared Teeth

Happy Father’s Day, world.  I just called my D.O.D. (dear ‘ol dad) but had a hell of a time hearing him as he was out in the middle of the lake on a kayak.  Clearly Virginians are not afflicted by the cold, rainy, dark weather we’re having yet again here in the ‘boken.

I told D.O.D. that in honor of him on this Father’s Day, I would be extra diligent in sticking dollar bills into the thongs of the naked, gyrating, gay men I’ll be watching tonight.  That’s right, it’s time for Broadway Bares again – my kind of charity event!

Basically, all the hard working Broadway peeps (dancers, designers, stagehands, costumers, actors, choreographers, etc) donate their services to create this ridiculously splashy burlesque show to raise money and awareness for AIDS.  I try to go every year, and Rocco always donates a chunk of time.  The poor boy got his hungover booty up at 6am this morning so he could get some hours in before his matinee this afternoon.

The organization generates revenue from the ticket sales as well as the drinks and the wild array of merch available for purchase.  Then at the end of the show, all the dancers line up to Go-Go dance and collect even more money.

I remember my first Broadway Bares.  I’d just moved to NYC and was living in a disgusting hole in Hell’s Kitchen with my roommate Big Dumb Tall Joe.  After coming home to find him napping in my bed (yes, again!) I was eager to get out of the house and blow off some steam.  As per usual, Gwen had the answer….Broadway Bares.

There are no seats, it’s all general admission.  Attendees start lining up at least an hour in advance of doors opening in the hopes of getting close enough to the stage to possibly get hit in the eye with a stray sequin.  Personally, I think it’s important to have a homemade cosmo disguised in your water bottle for the wait.  Judging by the rowdiness of the crowd, I’m not the only one brown-bagging.  Another reason for bringing your own cosmo: you’re in a bar packed full of fabulous gay boys with only two bars.  When we finally got inside and bee-lined straight for the bar, one of bartenders climbed on top of the bar and screamed, “None of you bitches is getting a cosmo.  Wine and beer only, you whores.”  Ah, my people.

Gwen had volunteered some of her time for the load-in, so was able to whisk us up into the VIP area with primo views.  The show was all I dreamed it could be; flawless, half-naked dancers flashing their jazz hands and other assets – all set to raunchy show-stopping music.  We screamed, we laughed, and made friends with a couple of drag queens.

The show came to a close and Gwen grabbed my hand and started dragging me down the stairs.  “What’s the rush?” I asked.  “Why not wait until the crowd thins out a little?  Besides, I haven’t finished my drink!”

No response from Gwen, as she weaved me through the sweaty, jubilant crowd.

We found an empty space on the floor and she spun to face me, eyes wild.  She dug through her bag and pulled out a ridiculously large wad of single dollar bills.

“Let’s go do some charity,” she panted with a huge smile on her face.

Aww yeah.  This is totally why I keep her around.

Far too quickly we exhausted our supply of singles.  As we emerged into the cool night air, I rapidly dialed my parents’ phone number.

“Mom.  Mom!!  I just stuck a dollar bill in a total stranger’s G-string!!”  I was delirious with alcohol and adrenaline.

Pegger the Kegger giggled into the phone and repeated my statement so D.O.D. could hear.  Not missing a beat she responded, “That’s fantastic, Honey.  Did you use your teeth?”

Yet again, I could only bow to the master.  But maybe I will tonight!


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