These Men Bare All--Almost

Boom-ba-boom-ba-boom.

Va-va-voom-va-voom.

The music thumps, vibrating the chairs. All eyes are turned toward the small, makeshift stage area in the corner.

And then, one by one, they emerge: centerfold models, gyrating this way and that, moving their hands seductively up and down their bodies.

“Do you want them to take it off?” the emcee yells into the microphone.

“Yes!” everyone seated--most with a beer in hand--yells in unison.

“All of it?” the emcee prods.

“Yes!”

Well, that’s not going to happen here. This is Simi Valley, after all. You know, the place where the idea of an adult bookstore not long ago created a public uproar. There are certain standards to be upheld.

So the four models on stage--James, Steven, Dan and Rico--must be satisfied with just peeling down to skimpy unmentionables. And so must the crowd.

On this particular Wednesday evening, the crowd in question consists only of women--at least 40 of them. Most are clad in tight jeans and T-shirts. There’s not a brunette in sight.

Welcome to Cheers Restaurant. It’s the second show ever of “California Buns, Biceps and Beef,” presented, according to the club’s owner, by popular demand. The club plans to make it a regular event.

“I used to have comedy on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, but comedy is dying,” says owner Mark Krumholtz. “And really, you’ve seen one joke and you’ve seen them all, don’t you think?”

*

Thirty-one-year-old vet assistant Cindy Schroeder is standing on her chair in the smoke-filled room, screaming toward the stage. She’s watching Dan--a ripply man with a mane of Conan-style dark hair--dance in a fur and leather loincloth.

Above Schroeder’s head is a $1 bill, which she waves in his direction.

“I think this is great,” she says, nodding her head to the beat of the music. “The beauty contests were always demeaning for women. Guys have been exploiting women for so long. It’s about time they were at the other end.”

Dan moves away from the stage and begins winding through the crowd. En route, he leans over and kisses each woman holding out a dollar bill, tucking it into the only piece of clothing available to him.

The women stroke him, toss their heads back, some closing their eyes.

Finally he reaches Schroeder, whose friends look on and clap as she puts her arms around him. The crowd hoots, whistles and screams.

“This is just fun for a night,” says Debby Whiteside, 30, of Simi Valley. “I have a serious relationship, but my boyfriend likes it that I wanted to come to see a male stripper. I came here for the other show, and he thought I came home--let’s see, how should I put it-- enlightened .”

At that moment, a male figure dressed in a frog costume and frog mask struts onto the stage. He prances, rips off his mask and outfit and tosses his shirt, a la Tom Jones, into the crowd.

“This, ladies, is your Prince Charming,” the emcee says from the corner.

But Darcy Goldsberry, 22, obviously doesn’t think so. “I’m embarrassed for him,” she says turning her face away.

For an instant, I think Goldsberry is going to say something about a society that objectifies human beings. My mistake.

“He’s too old to be doing this,” she says. “I mean, look at him. He’s got to be at least 30.”

*

The day after the show, Steven Zang, one of the show’s models and the producer of the show, called me to let me know the show is going to get better.

“I’m trying to change it to more production,” he said. “More skits, more effects, better dancing.”

Zang said everything on stage is just an act. “I feel nothing when I kiss them,” he said. “It’s not sexual to me. You’re doing it to get a tip.”

But it’s also cost him something.

“I meet girls I like, but as soon as they find out what I do, that’s it,” he said. “I get stood up more times than you can imagine. They don’t call back. I guess they figure I meet so many girls every night . . . “

Zang’s voice trailed off.

“My love life is terrible,” he said after a moment. “They don’t look at me for what I am.”