My ritual is always the same: scoop up an empty stool and scan the room to figure out which comely lad in a jockstrap shall be the recipient of the wad of singles the bartender has handed me. The ’Shoe’s troupe is a diverse lot, certainly more so than the staff of most other Boystown bars. There are straight dancers and gay dancers, and you can decode their orientation based on their moves. The hetero ones are rigid, with their shoulders slightly hunched forward-and they beam from (ahem) cheek to cheek when a blur advancing toward the stage turns out to be a woman. The gay ones tend to be transfixed by their reflection in the mirror and how perfectly their moves mimic those of their dearest diva. At times, these boys are so captivated by their own performances they barely register when someone slips a fiver into the waistband of their jock. The ensemble members come in all shapes and sizes, ages, and ethnicities as well. Frank the Tank, a Latino dancer who always wears combat boots, is in his 50s, I’m told. Madonna Otter, an art student with a large gap-toothed grin, has an obsession with lace-up jockstraps, which accentuate his plump and furry tush.
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