The last thing I would’ve expected to see on a Friday night at Crobar was a roomful of tie-wearing business dudes booty-humping to Candyman. But there they were, shirts tucked in and gyrating en masse.
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But what I got to see later that evening more than made up for missing out on the holiday hijinks. VH1 was holding an open casting call for a forthcoming reality show called American Guys, where “wholesome, attractive guys with big personalities” will become part of a traveling male strip troupe. “Are you ready to take it (almost) all off?” says the Web site, where you could sign up to audition. “Eight lucky men will earn lucrative contracts and a once in a lifetime chance to entertain throngs of screaming women on a six-month tour of the U.S.”
I’m not sure why VH1 picked Crobar, since the auditions weren’t held on the main floor or even in the VIP room but rather in a small, brightly lit room adjacent to the coat check where the music was barely audible. My two girlfriends and I were the only nonemployees allowed in to watch.
After a couple long minutes Blissit asked him to put his pants back on, but he was having a hard time because he hadn’t removed his shoes. He tried to balance himself on a nearby chair and knocked over a glass. Later he told me he was trying to differentiate himself from the others. “I’m not the best looking or the best dancer,” he said, “but I’m always trying to have fun.”
Cal started by slowly removing his shirt, then put his hands down the front of his pants and made an orgasm face. He ran his hands through his hair, got down on his knees, leaned backward, and humped the air. I asked if slow and sensual was his signature style. “I’m everything,” he replied. “I can be romantic, sensual, gentle, take girls out for a candlelight dinner, then I’ll fucking throw ’em against the wall, rip their clothes off, and fuck them.”
Outside Amelia couldn’t see him, but she was smiling, like she just knew he was kicking ass.
