After listening to councilmember Pauline Medrano’s “troublesome” worries over Dallas’ new buck-naked showgirl den, XTC Cabaret, I was pumped to check it out.
Last night, my wingman and I made our way to Stemmons at Regal, and we didn’t have to valet my car or nuthin’.
We were greeted by no-nonsense hostess who told us, “Um, sweetie? There’s a $15 cover, Um-kay?”

We paid and before we entered empty-handed, she said, “Sweetie, did you know this is BYOB?”
My pal and I looked at each other, and we’re, like, “Oh, totally.” (I though to myself, “What’s drinking got to do with this gay-out-of-water experience?”)

The inside is a two-story nightclub that resembles an updated version of Tony Scarface’s Babylon Club: The “chandelier” looks like it was made from roller-coaster scrap metal. And instead of hanging lights, an orgy of flat-screen TVs with sports channels playing.

The music sounded like an endless Marilyn Manson remix spliced together with rockin’ Johnny Cash covers. I’m guessing about 25 “tittie dancers” were working the floor and the stages. We sat in wingchairs that would be perfect for a guy to enjoy oral sex (not that anything like that happened). But I’ve never sat in a chair that made my legs just naturally spread so far apart.

Ok, the ladies — hard workers one and all. Their outfits were … attention getting: Not because they were exactly flattering. My companion gushed when we noticed the neon-green legwarmers on a tiny, small-breasted Asian entertainer.

After I paid $9 (with tip) for our two club sodas, I seriously had only $1 left in my wallet. And then I met “Kitty,” who plopped down on my lap and weighed about 175 pounds. Kitty told me she was in “sales” and wanted to know if I wanted a $20 lap dance.

I said, I was still taking in my first XTC experience, and that after I settled in, I’d let her know.
Then Kitty purred in my ear that she had already seen “all the other girls, and that [she] was the prettiest pussy in the club. Meow!”
Then Kitty literally started scratching my earlobes, and I stared giggling — like Anderson Cooper having a Kathy Griffin nelly attack.

Kitty’s gaydar locked in. And she asked if could just stay in my lap and rest her tootsies for a second.

Kitty actually lives in Sherman and works as a hairdresser. Then she showed me her tickle spot — her baby toe.
“Don’t you even think about touching it. I’ll go crazy,” she warned, pointing her five-inch stiletto heels toward my face.
Then she got up and promised to come back later.

We watched the dancers. They climbed poles like firemen at a Cirque De Soleil show. Only one could have tried out for “America’s Next Top Model.” There was a wide variety of shapes, sizes, colors and ages: rocker chicks, fallen cheerleaders, Blatina get-’em girls ….

Were the dancers being “exploited?”

I couldn’t tell — especially in this economy. I’d say those girls were there to make money from guys who wanted to pay them. But I’m not a woman, so I probably have no idea what I’m talking about.

Oh, yeah. This all-nude stuff. What’s the big deal?

Nudity at XTC seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Like swimming naked at a beach. And yes, there were women clients in the club as well.

We stayed for a little over an hour. Everyone was crazy polite to us. And between not noticing whether the women had panties on, my wingman and I played: Who’s the Hottest Bouncer?

On our way out, the hostess ordered me to her perch: “Here, sweetie. Come back.” Then she handed me a $5-off-cover card.

Alcohol-free nude dancing sounds like an activity you’d hear at Vegetarian Woodstock 2009.
XTC Cabaret, welcome to Dallas. Please tell the gay community you want us to stop in for Guerilla Gay Bar sometime.

XTC, 8550 N. Stemmons. BYOB. 18 and up welcome. All nude. 214-267-8550. 4 p.m.-4 a.m.как продвинуть сайт в поисковых системах