Men view men dancing semi-nude in public as an offense against nature. : Take It Off

Let me say at the outset that I do not believe God ever intended men to dance naked, or almost naked, in public places.

It has an adverse affect on the malleable female psyche, transforming otherwise pleasant ladies into screaming, stomping, arm-waving lunatics.

Let me also say, however, that unless male nudity causes women to strip off their own clothes and run in puris naturalibus down Sunset Boulevard, they have a right to look at almost-naked men if they want to.

Which brings me to Chippendales, the Westside nightclub that features the aforementioned gamboling stallions.

I visited the place Saturday night to see why the city and the state have expended so much energy in the past 10 years trying to shut it down.

I asked my wife to accompany me, not to encourage family pruriency but to justify my presence at what essentially is one big stag party for women. I trust my wife to be able to look at handsome men in G-strings and not become an animal.

She has told me a hundred times she is less turned on by body than by talent. Where others might scream “Take it off!” she would be more inclined to shout “Write a novel!”

Since that kind of call is inappropriate in a lusting crowd, however, she remained fairly silent at Chippendales.

But when we entered the club it was evident that she was at least somewhat impressed by the Chippendales men, referring to them casually as Greek gods.

“I guess I’m no Greek god,” I said, looking around.

“Sure you are,” she said, “you’re just a . . . well . . . short Greek god.”

I didn’t pursue the subject because by then she was concentrating on the dancers, even though I doubt that any of them had even thought about writing a novel.

For those who do not follow the travails of strip joints, Chippendales has been singled out for harassment by the Police Department, the Fire Department and the state Alcoholic Beverage Control Board for offenses ranging from overcrowding to sex discrimination.

In one instance, the ABC tried unsuccessfully to close the club because a dancer on stage was wearing a police uniform. He was accused of impersonating an officer.

In a second incident, the same agents threatened action when they discovered a fruit fly in a liquor dispenser, which was subsequently made fly-proof.

A pending case involves yet another questionable effort to shut Chippendales down, with the ABC charging that three of its male agents were denied entry because of their sex.

Owner Steve Banerjee insists that they were denied entry because the club was full and letting them in would have violated fire safety regulations.

As it turned out, he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

The harassment continued on Saturday night. Police showed up to quell outside “noise pollution” and arrested three club employees, even though there is probably more noise from passing jets than from Chippendales.

Banerjee has spent years fighting the various charges and says he has been told that the pressure is not going to cease until he is out of business.

That may or may not be the case, but no other club or restaurant I know of has come under the kind of massive assault Chippendales has endured, and I suspect the reason has nothing to do with fruit flies in the Smirnoff.

The reason has to do with the Almost Naked Male Body.

Men, as I said earlier, view this as an offense against nature, and since most city and state agencies are run by men, they want the stallions off the stage.

If Chippendales were a club that featured semi-nude women no one would lift a finger to put it out of business, because naked women performing in public is as American as apple pie.

But men performing in the same manner violates an unwritten moral code that considers studs in G-strings crude and debasing.

The show at Chippendales is staged in a far more professional manner than most shows that celebrate nudity, with at least some thought given to the ability of the performers to dance.

One has to be able to do more than twirl a tassel or grind a pelvis to be on-stage at Chippendales.

What bothered me more than the G-strings were the screams of 300 aroused women and the thought of what they might do if their last inhibitions were stripped away.

I was the only male in the audience and even a short Greek god might have a problem under those conditions.

Chippendales otherwise offers a relatively harmless form of entertainment that is less erotic than what you see at movies and only about as naked as what you see on the beach.

It seems oddly hypocritical for the city that invented sexual fantasies to suddenly blush with moral outrage at the existence of a strip club for women.

I don’t like semi-naked male dancers anymore than the next guy, but I resent moral censorship even more.

Let the stallions romp, for God’s sake. Anything that keeps women off the streets and dancers out of the writing business can’t be all bad.