Dancing At "Flash" 8: Mono-logues, Flash-backs and Dressing For Succe$$...

WARNING: Adult situations and sexual themes are discussed at...er...length. Once again, this blog includes details about my encounters with male strippers! Readers' discretion is advised!

For those just tuning in, I've been hooked on Toronto's all male strip club Flash due to my ongoing infatuation with a dancer I call VinTatum (after Jersey Shore's Vinny and Channing Tatum.) After numerous blogs on the subject (see One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six and Seven) I'm hoping eight is enough! Here's a look back on the year that was.

SUMMER 2013

My visits to Flash had morphed from their cynical beginnings into a perfect storm of lust, longing and desire. After my last encounters with VinTatum though, it felt like a good time to break away from the bar. I thought I had exhausted everything that drew me to the club and there'd be nothing to gain from returning. (Now that VinTatum had become my Facebook bud, I could "see" him without going there.) My goal was to move on and close that chapter of my life, allowing my emotional and financial well being to get back on track. Little did I know it would be harder to stay away than I initially envisioned...

HANDS ON RESEARCH

"Back at the club. Hope to see you soon..."

VinTatum's message hit me like a ton of bricks. It was early November 2013 and I had spent the last several months trying to get him out of my system. I also thought he was done with Flash after plunging into new opportunities both careerwise and romantically. At this point, I was channeling my feelings into a full fledged play about our situation. Part of me thought that pouring my energy into something creative could steer me away from repeating past mistakes. But my stubbornness and curiosity about VinTatum's comeback led me right back to the club where I amassed a whole new set of experiences without him. (Ironically, after he announced his comeback I never saw him there.)

There was one boozy night in late November where I did unofficial research for my play at Flash. I sloppily asked what various dancers would want to see represented in a stage show about their work and introduced myself as a "recovering VinTatum addict." The gay-for-pay angle made me curious too, so I asked several guys "Do you prefer men, women, or both?" The answers were intriguing.

"I was born straight, but then I found out men can do certain things too," expressed one guy who wore a shell necklace and danced with a hetero swagger on stage. "I don't judge based on gender," said one hunk with the smooth flair of a politician. He was gorgeous, reminding me of the Andrew Christian model Pablo Hernandez. "I'm straight!" one buff peeler from Montreal exclaimed as if it was obvious. "But, you come with me, get three dances and then you have something to think about when you jerk off later." Last but not least, there was the dancer who reminded me of Joey from Friends. Most of our conversations were an enjoyable blur, but I do remember him pausing and answering "men" with a slightly guilty smile. (In that haze, I also remember telling him, "I know you're more than just a body," which he seemed to appreciate.)

Starting that night and extending through February 2014, I began exploring private encounters with dancers other than VinTatum. Part of it was to chase my VinTatum blues away, but I was also curious to see how different things might be. On one occasion I went with the dancer who reminded me of Pablo Hernandez. I already liked him because he posed for pics with me at Pride and had no qualms or fears about his reputation. He was very friendly, sexy and, to my surprise willing to kiss in a way VinTatum wasn't. Another trip brought me face to face with a cute, twinky-yet-toned Latin dancer who wasn't my usual type, but he won me over with his willingness to make out. I also indulged in dances with Joey, having seen him off and on since I started going to the club. When he asked what I liked to do, I mentioned kissing, and we went at it like passionate animals. I was also surprised he seemed to like some of my assets as much as I enjoyed his. He even stripped faster than the other dancers, confident without being cocky about it. All throughout, he was eager to please me and it was my best experience at the club.

I can't express how much Joey comes across as a genuinely nice guy. He was always upbeat, and never pressured me to go for dances with him. That was something I really admired and appreciated. Our encounter was really satisfying and it didn't fill me with the same angst that VinTatum brought out of me. Part of me wondered if I had gone with Joey instead of VinTatum that first night, I'd have seen Flash as a boys night out treat and not the ongoing addiction it had become.

However, there were other visits that reminded me of what I didn't enjoy about the club. During one late, impromptu appearance I went in and ordered a Diet Coke, having come sufficiently sloshed from a friend's birthday gathering. A dancer came to my table and was plying his wares as it neared 2am. "Last call for drinks, last call for dick!" he said, putting an arm around me. "You smell really good," I said, trying to subtly shift away from his pitch. "How do you like working here?" He then went into a mini-rant about how "too many young people" were coming to Flash and not spending money. "At Remington's you had to buy dances, keep drinking or get the fuck out!" he laughed, as if he expected me to agree readily. I looked down at my Diet Coke and thought I must be one of the "cheap" ones that night. Implying that people don't belong unless they're throwing around piles of cash seemed like a dubious business strategy. But it did make me wonder - what was I really doing there?

A MONO-LOGUE TO REMEMBER

I began March with a lackluster visit to the club, but it was a totally different experience mid-month that threw me into a tailspin. I started to get really sick with what seemed to be a nasty viral infection. Then, after eating a cheeseburger and turning yellow at work, I found myself in the emergency room of the Markham Stouffville Hospital. After two days of quite stellar treatment from an amazing staff, I was diagnosed with mono - a.k.a the "kissing disease." I can't say for certain that I picked it up from anyone at Flash. It's spread via saliva, so I could have sipped someone else's drink and gotten it. But the timing felt significant. It made me wonder if my desperation for connection might have directly led to this pretty unpleasant predicament. To be fair anyone can pass mono, so this isn't a judgement towards strippers. But I was tired of pining for VinTatum and wasn't sure if filling that void with other Flash dancers was the best move, no matter how much nicer they seemed. Alcohol and kissing were now off limits for at least one month and it felt like a good time to end my visits to the club.

FUR-OCIOUS FUN

In early April, I traveled with a pal to Drenched Fur, an awesome event for the bear community held annually in Erie, PA. It would be my third time attending and despite being out of the hospital for just a few weeks, it was a much needed getaway. Even though I couldn't kiss, I was still able to indulge in other activities, so to speak. What moves me about Drenched Fur is the sense of bonding that occurs. You have a group of gay men coming together, with a variety of shapes, sizes, ages and races, being proud of who they are. I've made some amazing friendships through the event, and it reminds me that men can be attracted to me for who I am. Before Flash, I wasn't so conscious of how meaningful that felt. I don't always have the healthiest sense of my "appeal" to others, but Fur always gives me a boost. But as much as it felt great having fun and being desired by like minded gents, certain sirens would call out to me in the coming months...

TEMPTATION ISLAND 2: BUDGET CONSCIOUS BOOGALOO

World Pride was coming and June 2014 was filled with a sense of excitement. I was doing well avoiding Flash and getting back into the swing of things after my battle with mono. I was downtown meeting up with a friend to go on a road trip mid-month when I came face to face with a familiar figure standing outside of Flash. There was VinTatum, shirtless and glistening in the sun, with his unmistakable tattoos and killer grin. It was my first time seeing him in person in nearly a year. My heart was pounding and I was floored that I bumped into him of all people before going on my trip.

From that moment on, it felt like I embarked on a tired rehash of the previous year's events. Even though the road trip prevented me from falling back into old habits, I was still rattled after seeing him. So, foolishly, I messaged him online asking how he was doing and admitted he still turned me into jelly. He replied saying I had "better come see him" at the club. I countered with, "that's like telling a recovering alcoholic to visit the LCBO." I kept trying to stress how dangerous it would be for me to go there, saying I could only promise to buy him a drink if I came by. Once again, I mentioned that he inspired a play and blogs as if that would give him more pause than it did a year earlier. (I even mentioned my bout with mono for that extra dash of oversharing...) Yet, somehow I got it into my head that I needed to see him one last time, despite all signs indicating it wouldn't provide the closure or understanding I still craved.

A week after his reappearance, I attended a beautiful barbecue filled with love, laughter and friendship. The anticipation of World Pride was in the air, but I wasn't so proud of my next set of actions. After the dinner, my pals and I went back to the gay village to check out some street art. One of my key Flash wingmen joined us, and shortly after I broke away with him to go to the club for a drink.

Almost as soon as we walked in, VinTatum saw me and rushed over. Things were loud and crowded, but I was able to shout, "My messages didn't scare you?" He then replied, "Forget the drink, let's go for a dance!" At least that proved he'd been reading my missives. "I didn't bring any extra money with me," I explained. "There's an ATM right there," he pointed, looking almost as desperate on the outside as I felt inside. He tried pulling my arm like he did the year before. I then asked VinTatum if he'd be around during World Pride, but he insisted he was going on a vacation. (Maybe to stoke an "act now, don't delay" sense of urgency?) I asked him to give me a moment and he said he'd come back in five minutes.

VinTatum then milled around for a bit and I was very close to actually pulling out cash from the ATM. That's when my friend started questioning me like a counselor as I contradicted myself much like an addict would. He asked what I thought would be different about this occasion than any of the other times I saw VinTatum. I was like a kid trying to say whatever they could to get what they wanted, but failing miserably. My friend's questions did help me focus and he suggested leaving before VinTatum came back, so we made our exit. I felt terrible about essentially ditching the people who care about me to go see a guy who didn't. But in the end, especially with the ATM gesture, I saw what I needed. It reminded me of the Shonda Rhimes quote, "When people show you who they are, believe them."

The following week I saw VinTatum standing outside the club on World Pride Sunday. Even though it was silly, I had the urge to try talking to him again. It took a few moments to work up the courage to move forward physically, as I regressed emotionally. Almost immediately, he said I was a "troublemaker" and that I owed him a Pride dance since I disappeared the last time. (That would have been the perfect time to ask how his 'vacation' was going.) I held firm and said I couldn't because I was still hung up on him. He replied with an "aww" that seemed like a pat on the head. "It's not healthy for me," I insisted. "Come on, just one dance," he continued. "No, but I'll give you a Pride hug because that's free," I countered. We hugged, and as much as I knew it probably didn't mean anything to him, I tried to infuse it with sincerity. I then wished him a happy Pride and he wished me the same. At the time I felt both triumphant and like I wanted to burst into tears. Triumphant in the sense that it was a big deal to say "no" to his overtures, but sad that the whole thing really did seem to be over.

EPILOGUE

As much as I craved closure, searched for a definitive end to my infatuation or hoped for some sort of acknowledgment of my feelings, it was mostly for naught. The reality is that you can't "break up" with a stripper, you just have to stop showing up. Being added to VinTatum's social media network gave a false sense that I could wiggle out of my "customer" status. But his group included other clients, promoters, co-workers and actual friends all in one bizarre, overlapping cluster. I really wasn't any different than any of the other admirers or johns who praised and complimented him online. As much as I imagined standing out from the rest, all that mattered was my money. I was never going to be the guy he wanted to see a movie or grab a burger with. Yet, I repeated the same old loops of behaviour with him hoping that the end results would change.

On the flip side, I also realize it's not him - it's me. As I said in a previous entry, he really doesn't owe me anything. I came to his place of work and let myself get wrapped up in the fantasy he brought to life. (Our social media connections were really just an extention of his brand, not an opening for friendship.) And I do appreciate how much he's inspired me and sparked my imagination. He gave me a real high at one time and I hope he finds his niche and true happiness someday. But the illusion he sold faded slowly and painfully as I understood I couldn't make any part of it real. In retrospect, I think it hurt more deeply than I realized when he asked me for money outside the club. That may have been a big part of why I had so much difficulty letting go.

But I really need to stop looking to VinTatum for answers as if he's the missing puzzle piece to this journey. He's not the solution to whatever romantic or sexual void I feel in my life and I need to be okay with that. I need look inside myself and cherish the people that love and support me as well as indulge the things that lift me up. Reading soul stirring novels, enjoying great music, or spending time with fabulous friends are all better options than chasing a guy that doesn't want or need to be chased. I also need to work on taking more chances with men who appreciate me for who I am.

Although it was a major downer to finally accept that VinTatum only sees me as a bag of money, a friend's suggestion inspired me to OWN it and turn it into something fabulous.

This past Halloween, I proudly embraced the absurdity of my situation and had fun with it. But the biggest surprise was teetering around on Church Street and having a cute guy make out with me after I complimented him. It was a timely reminder that, despite my appearance, I didn't need to be throwing around money to get lucky.

Dancing At "Flash" 7: Relapse (or Re: Laps?)

WARNING: Adult situations and sexual themes are discussed at...er...length. Once again, this blog includes details about my encounters with male strippers! Readers' discretion is advised!

Greetings Frothy friends, here's a quick Flash-back of previous events:

I became addicted to visiting Toronto's "members only" strip club Flash due to an alluring dancer I call "VinTatum" (named for his resemblance to Jersey Shore's Vinny and Channing Tatum.) What started as a fluke turned into a puzzling infatuation that I couldn't shake. (Check out Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five and Six for the complete saga thus far!)

In my last outrageous episode, I was trying to create a "grand finale" to wrap up my Flash-tacular adventures. After seven intoxicating encounters with VinTatum, I was determined to go "sober" and was successful for at least four months. But only a week before the 2013 Gay Pride festivities, I fell back into old habits...

I should start by mentioning something I left out of my previous entries. VinTatum and I had started trading e-mails shortly before my last visit. (He stunned me by giving me his contact information after one of our dances, but warned me not to "abuse" it.) My first e-mail was crafted with my best softball banter and he told me I was "awesome" in his initial reply. But after that, he only wrote to ask if I was coming to see him at the club. Even when I asked lightweight stuff like "How are things going?" he would encourage me to "catch up" with him over at Flash. I hoped our messages would lead to crossover success outside of the club, but he had me firmly placed in one specific john-re.

During the months I was on hiatus from the club, we became further acquaintances through social media. His only rule was that I never mention his "work" on any of the platforms we were connected on. Part of me was thrilled to get a better glimpse of his non-stripper life, although it may have created more blurred lines than a Robin Thicke song. Befriending my infatuation online probably wasn't the best way to get over him. But whatever the case, I was ecstatic to learn more about his "real" self, or at least a version of it.

In early June, I sent him a message complimenting one of his pictures and offered suggestions for a project he was working on. He then replied saying he had a favour to ask of me and wanted me to call him. I almost fainted on the spot. My mind raced through tons of scenarios as I wondered why he'd want me to call. I had to go to work, so I wrote back saying I'd phone him on my dinner break. I was a nervous wreck for the next few hours and tried calling a friend right before touching base with VinTatum. My pal didn't pick up, but I left a voice mail frantically theorizing, "I hope it's not about money." Soon enough, though, my fears were confirmed.

VinTatum explained that a situation had come up in which he couldn't work at Flash for a brief period. He told me his bills were piling up and that he would really appreciate it if I could "help him out" financially. He might have heard the drop in my voice, since he quickly added, "I know I can't force you, but think about it..." It was a gloomy Monday and rain poured down as I processed VinTatum's attempted cash grab. I went numb as he tried to shift the conversation into more genial topics. "So how have you been doing?" he asked. I should've answered, "Kinda depressed now..." But I went through the motions and shared my excitement about Pride coming up. He bantered back about how great the festivities would be and said he'd give me some time to think over his (indecent?) proposal. When the call ended, I felt utterly deflated.

For quite some time, my friends were concerned that VinTatum was taking advantage of me and his latest request seemed to prove them right. I could take responsibility for choosing to spend money on him at Flash. But doing it outside of the club was a whole other story. I felt stupid for trying to put a sincere (if naive) effort into supporting VinTatum's goals away from stripping. It was becoming clear that I only mattered to him when he needed cash. (Everyone reading this is now shouting, "You think?") Social media can be deceiving, but from what I saw, VinTatum had a large and diverse network of people who would be more than happy to help him out. So why me? Was it because I was a smiling dope who was hung up on him? None of the potential answers seemed very comforting.

There was nothing left to lose, so I poured my heart out in a sprawling e-mail that detailed all the angst I felt. I owned the fact that I was experiencing a one sided infatuation, but questioned why our interactions always seemed to come back to money. (Specifically, I wondered if he asked any of his closer friends for help before approaching me.) I also mentioned that I cut down on visits to Flash because I felt far too invested in a hopeless situation. I even admitted I had been writing essays, song lyrics and envisioned a musical about my experiences at the club. Against my better judgement, I added that I might be tempted to give him some cash if he told me his life story over dinner. My letter was a dizzying attempt to express a broad range of emotions, but I hoped it might provoke some sort of meaningful response from him.

For a brief period, it felt cathartic to get my feelings out in the open. Even if he didn't care, telling him everything felt important to me. It was an exhilarating stage of my journey, like the moment in the Wizard of Oz where black and white gives way to vibrant technicolor. Being honest about what was on my mind felt like a giant step towards moving on. Was I really on the path to freedom from my unrequited admiration of VinTatum? He didn't reply to my message and the bumpy stretch of road that led to this moment suggested the saga was running out of gas.

***

About a week before Pride, a pal and I decided to check out Flash. I joked that I was ready to "cheat" on VinTatum with a new dancer, since he claimed he wasn't working there at the time. After dinner on an outdoor patio, we headed over towards my infatuation station and my jaw dropped as we got closer. VinTatum was outside chatting with the doorman and I was immediately filled with anxiety. I turned to my friend and started to wonder out loud if we should even go there. My nerves grew more unruly as I paused to pull a wad of cash from an ATM before resuming my panic. Ultimately I decided we should still go in, but as we approached the steps, I snuck past VinTatum so quickly that he didn't see me.

About a half hour went by with my pal and I watching other dancers grace the stage. I had contradictory feelings about whether or not I wanted VinTatum to come in and find me. When he finally did re-enter from his outside chat, he took one look at me, smiled a mercenary grin and pulled me into a gigantic hug. My head rested on his shoulder as I looked at my pal with an expression that read, "What do I do now?" My friend shrugged whimsically as my eyes widened with confusion. Even after my soul baring letter, he was trying to drag me off for some private dances as if nothing had changed. I was desperately hoping to slow things down a bit before they went further.

"Did you get my e-mail?" I asked. He replied that he did, but just in case, I figured I'd reiterate some of the key points.

"So you don't mind that I have a hopeless infatuation with you?"

"No."

"You don't mind that I'm writing musicals about this?"

"No."

His nonchalance was ironclad and he didn't seem phased by anything I said. (I wondered if he would've been thrown by something really crazy, like, "You don't mind that I want to make a blanket from grafts of your skin?") In all seriousness, I did feel relief in having his quasi-approval over being turned into my muse. But opening up to him about my infatuation only emphasized that the ball was in his court and he knew it. All the imagined conversations where I would face him and tell him how hurt I was began to evaporate. Only minutes after he found me, I was caving faster than a building marked for demolition. Even though my crush had become a wrecking ball to my emotional stability, I was allowing him to pull the lever again. He took hold of my hand and led me to the booths in the back just like old times.

"How long have you been here?" he asked as we settled into our tiny cubicle.

"About a half an hour," I replied.

"Wow, I didn't realize I was outside for that long," he said. I actually felt envious that the guy at the door could have such a long, casual conversation with VinTatum. If this latest adventure was any indication, he preferred dragging me into the back before I could start any meaningful dialogue with him.

"I was actually really nervous when I saw you there. I thought things would be weird between us," I admitted.

"Why would they be weird?"

"Because of the e-mail I sent..."

"I appreciate you sharing that with me," he replied quickly and casually. It made me wonder if he actually did read it.

The mists of sensuality subdued any further attempts to flesh out what he thought of my message. I hated how much I loved holding him. I knew he wasn't going to kiss me on the mouth, but there were some near misses that were pretty nice. At one point our noses were pressed together as we more or less stared each other down before he kissed my neck. In a way, this experience was like falling into bed with an ex. I knew it was probably the wrong thing to do, but it felt great at the time.

"I really missed this," I sighed as we embraced.

"Then why didn't you come see me sooner?"

It baffled me how oblivious he seemed to my conflict over coming back. I thought my e-mail would have helped him understand that every time I saw him, it wasn't just "fun" for me anymore. It was something that weighed on my heart in a way that wasn't so healthy. But our dances soon came to a close and aside from being disappointed in my lack of will power, I really enjoyed them.

"You're a troublemaker," VinTatum teased as we exited the booth.

He repeated the phrase again, which I found funny, since I thought of him when I heard the Olly Murs song Troublemaker. Especially with lines like, "Why does it feel so good, but hurt so bad? My mind keeps saying run as fast as you can..."

My pal and I soon left the club, but waited outside for another friend to join us. Moments later VinTatum came out for a smoke and I remarked, "I'd still love to get a picture with you." Unlike our last encounter, he seemed a bit more open to the idea.

"Maybe next week during Pride, since I'll have an excuse for it."

His neck was stiff and I offered to try massaging it for him. I'm no expert, so he was coaching me on how to do it properly. As I rubbed away, a guy on the street noticed us and joked, "Can I be next in line for that?" The guy stood there and repeated his query, to which VinTatum shot back, "That'll be $20." His reaction seemed a bit stern, since it was a harmless (if slightly leering) compliment. Those little breaks in character reminded me how much his demeanor shifts when money isn't involved.

The dancer who reminded me of Joey from Friends had joined us outside and volunteered to take over. Joey demonstrated more proficient massage skills and shortly after, the two men began an impromptu arm wrestling match. There was a weird mix of homoeroticism and machismo on display and once more I thought their adventures would make a great documentary. (Or a reality show? They could be boisterous sexy buds like Jaymes and James from the Amazing Race.)

In the days following my relapse, I sent VinTatum a message saying it was great to see him again and gently pressed him for a reply to my e-mail. I told him I was still really interested in his perspective on what I wrote. His silence was deafening, yet not entirely unexpected. However, my mind was now preoccupied with the hope of getting a picture with him during the coming weekend.

***

Pride arrived with a bang, bringing together friends, fun and fabulousness across several days of mayhem. It was Saturday night when I convinced a group of my pals to join me in my quest for some Flash photography with VinTatum. Given the inflated prices at other venues, the $5 entry fee at Flash was a bargain.

Not long after making our way in VinTatum spotted my group and I joked that I brought my "gaggle" with me. He smiled and nodded at my friends, before suddenly grabbing my arm and pulling me to go for dances with him. "Stop! Stop! I just got here," I protested, surprised by his aggressiveness. "Now!" He insisted, before explaining, "I'm leaving pretty soon."

"I'm really broke this weekend," I explained. "I can only do two dances today."

"Three," he said playfully.

"Okay, but three is the most I can do," I countered.

Even though things felt a bit more rushed, I tried to make like Barbara Walters wherever I could during our time together.

"Have you ever been attracted to a guy? You seem pretty straight," I said. He nodded and smiled mischievously. He followed up by implying that he might not be as straight as he appears. I still wasn't sure if he was being real or just playing up his Flash persona.

"I know you want a reply to your e-mail," VinTatum said, promising he'd send one soon.

"I'd really like that," I replied, somewhat surprised that he even brought it up.

"I actually read it the day you sent it," he continued.

We didn't get much more introspective than that. But there was a humourous moment when he accused me of reacting to his touch...er...prematurely. (I hadn't.) He acted shocked and his expression was a tad exaggerated. I joked that if I was wet, it was from the mickey of alcohol I guzzled before arriving. Maybe it was just me, but I found this kind of schtick tougher to get into after all we'd been through.

Cynicism aside, it was fun to have dances with him while the energy from Pride filled the venue. As we wrapped up our shortened session, he reminded me that tips are always welcome. Normally I'd oblige, but I told him I barely had enough money to get through the weekend. I asked about our potential picture and he promised to text me when he was outside so we could take one.

Soon, the DJ announced VinTatum would be dancing upstairs, so I went up to watch. He did a neat trick where he bobbed his hand up and down in sync with his member, as if he had his manhood on a string. Another highlight came when his pal Joey snuck up behind him and slapped his ass. VinTatum briefly channeled Beyoncé's reaction in Copenhagen before he realized it was his buddy. Frat boy action - it's faaaantastic! VinTatum saw me watching and rubbed his palm in a "money" gesture, hoping to squeeze a tip out of me. The patrons of the room, though, showered him with a sizable amount of dough for his brief performance. I scrounged up a two dollar coin, which I offered as he counted his haul of cash. "It's still a tip," I said weakly.

It may have been my giddy anticipation over our upcoming pic, but I offered to buy VinTatum a drink. "I thought you were broke," he said. "I am, but I have my credit card," I replied. He seemed distracted and slipped away before I could further humiliate myself. Despite being furious he asked for money outside the club, I was now bouncing around like a puppy desperate for his attention. My friends had left already and were waiting for me, so it was a good time to go.

A bit later, we finally met up for our picture, but he still harbored a few reservations about it.

"Let me put my shirt on," he said, before adding, "Don't take it in front of Flash."

We turned to face the opposite direction and I captured two "selfies" of us with my camera. I looked wild eyed, but gleeful beside his scruffy facial hair and gorgeous smile.

"Don't post these on Facebook, or I'll delete you!" he said.

"I won't, don't worry," I assured. (I ignored one pal's advice to go out in a blaze of glory by posting them with the tag "In A Relationship With...")

"Send them to me," he said.

Even though he promised a response to my tumultuous e-mail, it continued to slip his mind well after Pride. (I also understand why he wouldn't want to reply. It's harder to seduce somebody if you officially confirm they're only a bag of money in the grand scheme of things.) He did, however, send a message saying our photos were "awesome."

One friend suggested that VinTatum and I didn't just blur the lines between us, we "napalmed" them. That's probably true, since we constantly pushed against each other's boundaries in various ways. I kept attempting to transition from client to friend/acquaintence so I could have him in my life without draining my bank account. On the other hand, he kept trying to find ways to profit from my attraction, even away from Flash. So maybe we could never be "friends" in the traditional sense. However, I think I'm now okay staying in the background with everyone he's added to his online "fan club."

All things said, it really did mean a lot to me that VinTatum let me take a picture with him. It was important to me to capture us overlapping at this particular moment in our respective journeys. He made a huge impact on me, and now I had something to represent that in my "scrapbook of life." As with most of my infatuations, I hope to someday look back and laugh about how crazy I went. (It also wouldn't hurt if I can successfully turn it into a play that does the saga justice.)

More recently, it looks like some great new opportunities have opened up for VinTatum outside of Flash. His future seems very bright and I'm really happy for him. (It looks like he's gaining traction for his goals and has some stability, which may help him avoid asking guys like me for moolah...) I sent him a quick note of congratulations, telling him I was excited about his new endeavors.

He told me I was awesome.

Dancing at "Flash" 6: Finale McBeal?

WARNING: Adult situations and sexual themes are discussed at...er...length. Once again, this blog includes details about my encounters with male strippers! Readers' discretion is advised!

Greetings Frothy friends, here's a quick Flash-back of previous events:

Checking out Toronto's "members only" strip club Flash became a regular habit of mine due to an alluring dancer I call "VinTatum" (named after Jersey Shore's Vinny and Channing Tatum.) What started as a fluke turned into a puzzling infatuation that I couldn't shake. (Check out Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four and, yes, Part Five for what led up to this!) The drama continued with my perpetual urge to create a satisfying "finale" to my encounters with VinTatum. Would that moment ever come? Or would I turn blue waiting? Stay tuned...

March arrived and the first weekend of the month gave way to yet another trip to Flash. Most of my friends at this point steered clear of joining me for fear of enabling or encouraging my addiction. (Many of them are seriously ready to stage an intervention...) But as luck would have it, I had coffee with a pal who had never been to Flash before and he agreed to be my partner in crime for the night.

My frustrations from my last visit to Flash led me to create a mental list of talking points I wanted to bring up. Once again I was hoping to create a "grand finale" so I could try to break free from an increasingly costly habit. I really wanted to try telling VinTatum about some of the impact he was having on me, even if I couldn't confess everything. As my friend and I approached the entrance, I was determined to keep my wits about me and hit the right beats when we made our way in.

As soon as we entered, I Flashed my membership card and my pal signed in at the front desk. We then headed downstairs to the coat check area. Bounding out of the dancer's dressing room was VinTatum himself, sharply attired in a hat and vest that made him look like Magic Mike. (The guy who reminded me of Joey from Friends was also wearing a bow tie and cuffs, furthering my opinion that he and VinTatum are buds and may have co-ordinated their outfits that night.)

"I'm glad you came to see me tonight," VinTatum said with a huge grin as he paused to grind on me for a moment.

I can wax poetic about these encounters for days after they occur, but during the moment itself my brain goes tilt. Whatever his flaws, VinTatum posesses a killer charisma and often uses it to full advantage.

I introduced him to my pal, to which he replied, "Hi friend!" Then he was rushing back up the stairs to where the mayhem was.

My friend and I had trouble finding a good spot to catch the show, but eventually grabbed a table in a back corner. We got a couple of drinks and he enjoyed the blend of lights, music and men that I found so intoxicating. Shortly after we settled in, one dancer was strutting his stuff to Samantha Fox's 1980's hit "Touch Me (I Wanna Feel Your Body)." It was surreal to see a song previously associated with the exploitation of women getting recast as an anthem for men to strip to. We've come a long way baby.

The energy remained high as the fabulous drag performer Carlotta Carlisle came out and did a routine to the song "Hey Big Spender." (My friend noted the cheekiness of her song selection...) Carlisle also owned the stage with funny quips about testing out the private dances to ensure "quality control" for the club. She remained on stage to MC the "One Minute Flash" and gave sassy commentary as the boys stripped down.

When VinTatum came up, I let out a loud shriek and clapped for him. Subtlety is my strong point. Not too long after VinTatum's exposure on stage, he came by our table. I told him I was definitely up for some dances, but that I wanted to spend some more time hanging with my pal first. "I'm gonna kidnap you soon," he promised. VinTatum is one of the few guys that can make abduction sound sexy.

After checking with my friend that he'd be okay on his own for a bit, I was off to the races with my stallion. VinTatum and I went to the back and he teased me about heading over to our "regular" spot. I started to make a joke about carving our initials into the booth when his face suddenly turned sour. "It smells like old people and farts in here," he grimaced before leading us to a different room. His comment seemed a bit harsh given his flirtation with some of the silver foxes outside only moments earlier.

We finally settled into a more scents-ible booth where I could totally drink in one of the sexiest looks he had ever sported. "You look great tonight," I praised. "You want me to leave the hat on?" he asked before the clothes started to peel off. My eyes bugged out when his jeans came down, revealing a tight pair of Emporio Armani briefs in lieu of the Diesel shorts he favoured. He was such a knockout that I felt like I was being chloroformed by his sensuality.

"I'm hooked on you," I murmured at one point. "That's a good thing," he replied with a suave, assured demeanor. "It's good for you, but it's not good for me," I countered, trying to shift our banter into more realistic territory. "We both get something out of this," he reasoned.

I couldn't really argue with that, since the feeling he was giving me was a fiery inferno of delight. Whatever felt "flat" the week before was replaced with an energy that crackled between us. There were times when he'd tilt my chin up to look at him and his lips were inches away from mine. "It's too bad you don't kiss," I said, feeling an electric spark within the tension of being so close to what I wanted. He masterfully eluded my mouth, but allowed a kiss to land on my forehead. Soon he worked his way down to my neck, where he smooched with such ferocity that I was worried I would have hickeys later on.

The action was soon underscored by "DJ Got Us Falling In Love Again," which throbbed almost as much as we did. "This song is sick!" VinTatum declared in a voice so butch I almost asked, "Do any of your bros know what you're doing right now?" Appropriately, our bodies were rocking side to side as we sang along with Usher's ode to clubbing.

The only thing that briefly took me out of the moment was when he began pounding on the wall when he heard voices near our booth. "I like to scare people," he explained. "So you're a prankster? I like that," I said, more or less on autopilot since I didn't really get it. Maybe it was a display of that hint of Jersey Shore I sensed in him? Who knows?

At any rate, the dances were superb and I was about to pass out from the sensuous stupor that had overtaken me. For an attempted "grand finale" it really did feel like I was going out with a bang. We then began to settle up for the night.

"Thank you for your loyalty to me," VinTatum commented as we hugged.

"If I don't see you again, thank you for inspiring me," I said, getting in at least one of the major points I wanted to tell him.

"Don't worry, I'm still gonna be around," he reassured.

"I really have to start watching my money now," I countered, knowing full well I had said the same thing several times before.

Part of me started to realize that creating a "finale" would be always be difficult. After all, why would VinTatum want to say goodbye to a guy that helps pad his finances every few weeks? I might never get that cinematic farewell I dreamed of, where we'd chuckle and give each other a sincere blast of well wishes for our respective futures before parting ways.

After coming back from my dances, my friend and I spent a bit more time watching the other strippers before getting ready to go. We soon travelled back down to the coat check, where I saw VinTatum coming out of the change room with his jacket on. He and I hugged one more time before my pal and I bundled up and prepared to head out.

As soon as we exited, I gasped when I looked down and saw VinTatum having a smoke with a couple of guys on the sidewalk in front of Flash. (Although I had just seen him with his coat on, I wasn't expecting him to be right outside when I left.) I suddenly saw the potential for a moment that would take my "grand finale" over the top. My nerves tingled as I headed down the front steps, gathering the courage to approach VinTatum with my idea.

"I know you're probably gonna say no, but can I get a picture with you?" I asked earnestly.

VinTatum paused, with a sly smile creeping across his face.

"Anywhere but Church Street," he replied.

We hugged again, but the disappointment quickly set in when we parted. My pal and I then walked away from the relative darkness of Flash's entrance, heading towards the glow of the Hero Burger down the street. Once inside, I consoled myself with a Diet Cherry Coke, while my friend ordered a burger and we talked about what just happened. Part of me expected VinTatum to say "no" to a photo, but it was the phrasing of his answer that confused me. I can understand the fear of being outed as a stripper, but why did he single out Church Street as the place he couldn't be associated with? Would something overtly gay be a threat to the non-Flash reputation he's cultivating?

I sometimes forget what a slippery slope identity can be. I've been out and proud for over a decade and generally wear that as part of my everyday life. But VinTatum's comment made me wonder how fragmented his own persona is with different groups of people. Is he straight, bi, gay-for-pay, heteroflexible? I know we all tailor ourselves to different audiences, but what made him choose to work in a venue that's so in-your-face with its homosexuality? How does his secret career at Flash fit into the larger picture of his life?

There will almost always be more questions than answers. (If I was a bit braver, I might try asking VinTatum himself for some responses to my queries.) But he really doesn't owe me anything. It was my own choice to invest more than a thousand dollars into a potent fantasy that captured my imagination. In fact I probably learned more about him than I should have, which made it easier to justify going back so many times. Intimate sensuality combined with human curiosity and attraction can be a dangerous combination.

In the past, I've had my share of infatuations with guys that I couldn't have, but I still wonder why VinTatum was the first to trigger that feeling in such a long time. He definitely had a beautiful allure and charm that he exuded, but how did it go from casual fun to full on addiction so quickly? Maybe it was the challenge of trying to win him over, thinking it would only take a clever gesture or two for him to like me for real. Perhaps I longed for him to recognize or appreciate something about me aside from my money before I could fully let go of our encounters. (Though, to be fair he did acknowledge my love of music, my "happy" personality, noticed my Sketchers shoes and complimented my cologne.)

I also imagine VinTatum is eager to be appreciated for more than his body and seems to be charting the course towards his true goals. I really do wish him well and imagine him being very successful. I don't think I would have become so hung up on him if there weren't a real spark underneath the sexy image he portrays. For my part, I hope to have a grand musical, novel or even a finished song or two to represent this era of my life. VinTatum really did inspire me in a lot of ways that he probably never expected to and I appreciate that. (Not sure how he'd feel about all these blogs, but I hope he'd be flattered in some way if he ever does stumble across them.)

I can't say with any certainty that I won't go back to Flash, or that I won't see VinTatum again. But I am finally starting to understand that I might never have the perfect ending for this set of experiences. At times, it felt like a puzzle I was trying to solve, since the moments I shared with VinTatum resonated more deeply than I expected. Figuring out where all the pieces fit and understanding what everything meant was a journey in itself. Despite the concerns, criticisms and loose ends involved, I still feel it was a mission worth investing in. My wallet may be a tad emptier, but I think I've come out richer from exploring the multitude of feelings that VinTatum and Flash teased out of me.

Until next time, stay Frothy and fabulous everyone!

Dancing at "Flash" 5: Once More, With Feelings...

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Dancing at "Flash" 4: The Stuff That Sweet Dreams Are Made Of...

WARNING: Adult situations and sexual themes are discussed at...er...length. Once again, this blog includes details about my encounters with male strippers! Readers' discretion is advised!

Greetings Frothy friends, here's a quick Flash-back of previous events:

A fluke visit to Toronto's "members only" strip club Flash led to my increasing interest in one alluring dancer I call "VinTatum" (named after Jersey Shore's Vinny and Channing Tatum.) Long...er...very long story short, he is one irresistible mofo. (Check out Part One, Part Two and Part Three for what you missed!) Between the music, the atmosphere and VinTatum, I finally bought a one year membership to Flash for $25 instead of shelling out $5 each trip. I was also still trying to make sense of the mesmerizing, conflicting swirl of feelings that occurred during my visits.

Just before the new year I came back to Flash to pick up my membership card. I wasn't planning on staying long, since I was meeting up with a friend. But the few minutes I was there reminded me of everything I hate about strip clubs. My mistake was coming relatively early in the night, so the place was pretty empty. One dancer saw me and immediately zeroed in. He introduced himself, shook my hand and then the questions came a mile a minute. "What's your name? Where are you from? I haven't seen you before!" I was pretty taken aback, but explained I was only staying for a few minutes. He followed that up by saying he could "take care of me" right away. "Maybe next week," I replied. He countered with, "I'll get you next time!" It almost sounded more hostile than sexy.

There was another dancer who was very cute and really worked the pole on stage. He was playing to a quiet room in what looked like an undress rehearsal for the full stage show that would happen later. Even the laser lights looked more depressed without the energy of a full crowd. He ended his set and went to the bar fully naked, which made me take notice of his muy bien derriere. I came up and tipped him $5 for his efforts, saying something cheesy, like, "Great pole work up there!" He wasn't as pushy as the first dancer, but he was also curious about who I was. "Have you been here before? Is there anything I can...do for you?" If I wasn't so hung up on VinTatum, I might have been persuaded, but I also told him, "Maybe next time..."

The following Saturday arrived and I was determined to have a Happy Nude Year! I was trying to recruit a friend to join me, but he was hesitant. "I don't like seeing you get taken advantage of," he explained. "Will you at least come for moral support? What if I paid your cover?" I countered. "And a drink?" he bartered. "Sure!" I agreed. With that settled, we met up with another friend and the three of us made our way to the club.

At the door I proudly presented my membership card as my pals signed in to the strains of Alexis Jordan's "Happiness." We were bopping along to Jordan's belting, which made the doorman comment that he was glad to see enthusiastic visitors. "It's a great song," I said. "Yeah, it's only my fourth time hearing it tonight," the doorman deadpanned.

Once inside, the energy was palpable. It was a marked contrast to my brief, early evening visit the previous Saturday. The crowd was overflowing and my friends and I made our way to the bar to partake in some shots of peppermint schnapps. I also broke tradition and ordered a Rev instead of my usual Bacardi Breezer. We soon snagged a table and observed the show.

At one point the DJ announced that all dancers had to come on stage for the "One Minute Flash." It became a chorus line of men getting up, being introduced and then quickly showing off the goods. There was a large round pedestal next to the silver pole on stage that the dancers climbed onto before dropping trou for the crowd. One of the newer dancers stepped up and almost lost his balance, causing the others to gasp and shout like sports fans watching a risky play. Some of the Flashers seemed bored or annoyed that they were pulled away from working the room to assemble like a manly buffet for all the onlookers. It really was the largest gaggle of strippers I had ever seen in one place. Eventually VinTatum showed up in the rotation, prompting me to poke my friends and squeal, "There he IS!"

Shortly afterward, VinTatum came by our table and I fluttered like a schoolgirl. "I finally got some of my friends to come back with me," I said. "Bonjour," he replied, turning to my pals. We then talked about our respective New Year's celebrations. He mentioned spending his with family, which made me feel slightly trashy when I declared, "I drank a lot, but I didn't get sick!" He noticed me sipping on my Rev and said, "I'll let you finish that, but I'll see you later?" My face beamed as I nodded in the affirmative.

I turned to my friends and jokingly fanned myself, but they were pretty much done with it. I didn't mind, since they stayed with me for at least a half an hour and I knew it wasn't really their thing. Aside from that, I didn't want to leave them by themselves when I went off for my private dances. We hugged, said our farewells, and then I didn't waste any time. I found VinTatum by the bar and tapped him on the shoulder. "Are you ready?" I smiled. He seemed a little surprised, but replied, "Yeah, sure!"

Fourth time was the charm as everything felt strangely relaxed when VinTatum and I settled into our private booth. I really can't explain the feeling I get when we have our visits, except that it's an overwhelming high. The buzz was momentarily thrown off, though, when he asked about my workplace. "How much discount do you get over there?" he inquired. "Not very much," I replied, hoping to change the subject. I don't blame him for asking, since it's a question I get a lot when I mention where I work. But it made me wonder if he was angling to take advantage of my perks as I was exploiting his.

He didn't press further, but the workplace talk got me into a confessional mode. "I cried when I got my credit card bills this month," I said, only half joking. I wasn't trying to sound so dramatic, but earlier that day I went through a mini meltdown over how much I'd been spending. "It's ok, we're just having fun," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

The music throbbed as usual, this time with VinTatum singing along in a humourous falsetto. He also mimicked the electronic beeps of the song, joking, "I sound like R2D2." I actually laughed quite a bit with him and relished the bits of facade busting that took place. Maybe that's why I liked him so much, since a man that can turn me on and make me laugh is something I crave. "I love the music here," I said. "It's kinda like Fly," he noted. "But it's not always like this. On Sundays they play really sleepy stuff."

Since he'd seen me enough times to know I enjoy his cologne, he asked, "Do I smell good today?" After confirming he did, I asked what he was wearing. "It's a secret," he teased before admitting it was Christian Dior. "You smell good too," he commented, making me do a back flip of joy inside. "It's Yves Saint Laurent," I explained. "I had to up my game."

My cologne revelation may have prompted the next question, which took me by surprise. "How much do you spend on clothes?" In between our gropes and grinds, I came up for air long enough to say, "Not a lot...I like sporty stuff like Adidas. Why?"

"I like to help people dress well so they feel good about themselves."

My eyes widened as another juicy piece of VinTatum's puzzle fell into my lap. Although it was funny to think that he saw me as the Brittany Murphy to his Alicia Silverstone. But it was a revealing insight into how his taste for designer labels extended into his overall sensibilities. Fancy clothes, though, have never been something that interested me, let alone something I'd use to boost my self esteem. Part of me wondered why he thought I didn't have a healthy sense of self in my current attire.

However, one common thread throughout our encounters is his desire to make people "feel good" in various ways. So maybe his questions about clothes were another manifestation of that goal. On one hand, I thought it was sweet that he was trying to use his sense of style to help me out. On the other hand, it was another example of our wires getting crossed. In our first visit he assumed I didn't go out very much, now it appeared he thought a makeover would help me feel better about myself. In my mind, I saw him as a sensual, funny, charm factory that should be putting his personality to use in stage shows or TV. So maybe we were both guilty of projecting different ideas onto each other that weren't always correct.

"Your friend out there really seemed to like me," VinTatum observed. "What have you told him?" I thought to myself, He reads my bi-weekly blogs about you and hates coming here because he worries about me getting ripped off. But my actual reply was the more demure, "He knows how much I like you." I still wonder what he would have said if I'd told him the whole story. There were many questions and answers on both ends that sort of got lost in between our writhing.

VinTatum then began throwing out some of those sexy animal snarls that I loved from our last visit. As much as the thrill was sexual, a lot of my intoxication was coming from the simplicity of holding another man close to me. There was an intensity to the massaging, the caresses and the feel of his hot breath on my neck.

"You're very theatrical. I like that," I praised, hoping he'd take my hints and become an actor. "Why thank you," he replied, breaking into some of his cute character voices. He even threw in some raunchy banter that had me laughing with high pitched glee.

"I know I've said it before, but you really are gorgeous," I gushed. "Thanks," he replied. "You should see me when I lose more weight." My jaw dropped as I said, "Stop that! You're perfect the way you are!" He appreciated the compliments, and it was another bit of reality slipping through the cracks. It still surprised me that a guy as hot as VinTatum could be worried about his appearance.

"You have a really nice smile," I continued. "Nice smiles always win me over." He then jokingly leaned against the wall, posing for me with that wicked grin, looking like a sexy pinup come to life.

When it came time to pay, he admitted he gave me one free dance because I've been so nice to him. I still added on a tip, but he quickly asked if I wanted it back. "I don't want to break your bank," he said, looking concerned. I told him to keep it, since, "I need to take a break from coming here for a bit." He understood and didn't put any pressure on me about my decision. "But don't be afraid to come back later on," he added.

Our goodbye hug melted into another round of us telling each other we were awesome. I felt like I was walking on clouds as I headed back out near the main stage. Simply Red's "Sunrise (Love To Infinity Mix)" was thumping as the lights bounced all around the venue. Normally I'd be analyzing the moody lyrics and trying to apply it to the club, but this time it just felt euphoric. I grabbed my coat and left Flash with a glow that felt akin to Madonna's giddy giggles at the end of the "Justify My Love" video.

By the time I got to Union Station to wait for my bus home, I could smell a mashup of both of our colognes. It was a nice epilogue to the intermingling I'd experienced with VinTatum earlier that evening. I felt less angsty and more satisfied than our last encounter, since I had learned a pinch more about him and enjoyed the rush overall. If it wasn't a perfect "bow," it at least wrapped things up enough for me to conclude my series of essays on Flash.

My adventures with Flash have been alluring, addictive and occasionally off putting. A lot of different buttons were being pressed simultaneously during my visits. I've volleyed between being cynical of the club and romanticizing my encounters there, but the reality is probably somewhere in the middle. Flash is a venue that brings people of all stripes - employees, dancers and patrons - into one place for a variety of reasons. As the great Annie Lennox once sang, "Everybody's looking for something..." We all have "Sweet Dreams" that we want to turn into realities, and Flash makes that happen for many folks. I didn't even think I was looking for anything when VinTatum overwhelmed me with his magnetism. But developing a crush on him seemed to break the concept of anonymously enjoying someone's company in the shadows of a private booth. "I didn't expect it to hit me over the head like this," I explained to a pal. "Isn't that what you're paying for?" he impishly replied.

There's always a price to pay for acting on desire, whether you invest in it emotionally or financially. Flash turned me inside out because I was guilty of doing both. VinTatum gets credit for sparking a feeling I haven't had in awhile. It's not hard to grow fond of a cute guy that displays massive amounts of charm, appears devoted to family, and has goals related to his stylish flair. (I also appreciated that he didn't want to "break my bank" after I mentioned concern over finances...) I may only be able to sketch a tentative outline of who he really is, but he seems like a decent enough guy. Even if I know I can't have him outside of our Flash-stravaganzas, I'm glad we crossed paths. Those fleeting, dizzying moments we've shared have inspired me a lot and there's something priceless about that, even in spite of the actual costs attached.

In some ways this all feels like part of a bigger journey that's taking place for me. It began a few months ago when Damon Suede's amazing novel "Hot Head" awakened emotions I'd locked down for years. Then Flash came along with a tantalizing infatuation that literally landed in my lap. As a result, my emotional spectrum was all over the map, but it was nice to know I was still capable of feeling and wanting certain things. The next step is to harness all that vibrant energy and bring it back down to earth. It's time to conclude my Gossip about Flash and "Move In The Right Direction" with my personal goals...

In the meantime, a huge thank you to Flash for being so provocative and the amazing, seductive, lusty scamp I call VinTatum for giving me so much to think about! More thanks are owed to all the friends that love me and watch out for me! We've had interesting debates about what this all means.

Stay Frothy and Flashy everybody...

Dancing at "Flash" 3: Breezers and Caesars, Oh My!

WARNING: Adult situations and sexual themes are discussed at...er...length. Once again, this blog includes details about my encounters with male strippers! Readers' discretion is advised!

This marks the third chapter in my series on Toronto's "members only" strip club Flash. (Check out Part One and Part Two for what you missed!) What began as a fluke started to become a regular occurrence due to one dancer that drew my interest. I nicknamed him VinTatum (after Vinny from Jersey Shore and Channing Tatum) and was hoping to see him one more time after he hinted he might be leaving in the New Year. Something about VinTatum sparks my creativity and passion, but also leaves me worried about how smitten with him I've become.

In between visits, I also discovered an amazing book called All I Could Bare: My Life In The Strip Clubs Of Gay Washington, D.C. by Craig Seymour. I stumbled upon this memoir when searching for other writings on gay strip club experiences and I highly recommend it! Seymour delivers vivid stories of his personal journey as a grad student who becomes a stripper on the way to his Ph.D. The book is a great read, filled with compelling debauchery and fantastic pop culture references. More importantly, it gave me a first hand account of what it's like to be a dancer in a club. That was a perspective I was very curious about after my experiences as a customer at Flash.

On a recent Saturday, I entered Flash with a sense of familiarity and didn't know if that was a good thing or not. This was my fourth trip to the club and I realized I was becoming a semi regular. After checking my coat and bag, I went to the bar to order my usual - a Pineapple Bacardi Breezer. My attention then shifted to what appeared to be a new dancer getting advice from the bartender about his new gig. Part of the fascination with the club is feeling like I'm an extra on the set of a really intriguing movie filled with titillation and drama. Even though I'm not getting paid, I'm soaking up whatever I can about the atmosphere every time I step in.

By now I should be used to the laser light show, but it always adds a music video feel to the stage that's pretty alluring. (Don't go anywhere near this if you have epilepsy, as it gets pretty intense.) While songs pump and throb, the lights punctuate the heady mix of alcohol and sexuality that co-exist within the venue. Even the porn at the bar was catching my attention more than usual. Something called Fraternity X was on with college students going through some pretty intense exams during their pledge week. My own initiation to Flash might have been over, but I still felt like I was in a haze.

I'm not sure how much I was influenced by All I Could Bare, but I felt like the dancers had a fun exuberance and more camaraderie than I previously observed. They were all teasing each other, joking and playing around like a clothing optional band of brothers. The crowd was also pretty packed with a wide diversity of folks taking in the sights and sounds. One patron got out of his seat and danced around to some songs, popping and locking at times. Another jolly gent was singing along with a Darkchild produced remake of "Ain't Nobody" while heading to the bathroom. People were young, old, fat, thin and came from a variety of backgrounds, making Flash a veritable UN of sorts. Aside from music, can naked men really make the people come together? (Er...I should probably rephrase that...)

So if I viewed Flash as a movie set, it was lights, camera, action when I noticed VinTatum there. And if I was the extra on set, VinTatum was the star of the show, making my heart leap as he smiled and approached. "What are you doing here so early?" he asked. "Hoping to see you, since you weren't here last week," I replied, feeling like a nerd trying to make small talk with his studly crush at a high school dance. "What was I doing last week?" VinTatum said, searching through his mental Rolodex. "Oh yeah, I was at a friend's birthday party. I've been pretty busy." I mentioned having a few days off from the stress of the store I work at, while he talked about finishing up his Christmas shopping. "You're coming for a dance later, right?" he asked. I confirmed I would.

In between talking to me he worked the room and was busting out all kinds of personality. In fact, he was more humourous than I was expecting, breaking into a hilarious faux cockney accent on occasion. He let loose with little dance moves and sang along with songs this time too. I was witnessing what a natural charmer he was with everyone he encountered. Quickly enough it was his turn to grace the stage, and he was wearing a fake pair of glasses that made him look even hotter. He was very playful, smiling and having wacky antics with his eyewear, which were soon resting on a very provocative perch. He also looked right at me and let out a really cute laugh when he saw my eyes popping out over his impressive manhood.

When he came off stage I offered to buy him a drink and he wanted a Caesar. The bartender at the front had just gone on break and his replacement was afraid to make a "bad one." We then went to the other bar at the back, where the guy slinging booze was a pinch snarkier with VinTatum. "You don't want that! It's too many calories! You'll be bloated. Aren't you on the stripper's diet?" My butch fantasy became a sassy queen, hands on hips, exclaiming "Honey!" in protest. I loved watching all this, since it added to the cinematic feel of the evening. (It also reminded me that I can eat a baconator and not care, while it's a whole different ball game for those who make money from their physical attributes.)

Snark aside, they really weren't able to make Caesars in the back. VinTatum then grabbed another dancer and brought him over to help the bartender at the front make one. It almost became a Reader's Digest joke about how many strippers it took to mix a drink. He thanked me, we toasted, and he exclaimed "Spicy!" as he sipped his beverage. Once more he asked if I was ready to go for a dance, but I was still meandering on going right away. He politely said he'd get back to me soon because, "I need to go make some money." It was as if the director had suddenly yelled a loud "CUT!" and the sound of the clapboard jarred me out of my trance. We weren't just two guys talking in a bar. We were in his place of business. As a bit player in someone else's world, I felt like I'd lost all my sense of timing.

After VinTatum did another tour of the room, I was finally ready and we went off for our dances. There was almost no pretense this time when we entered the private booth since he knew me already. As he leaned into me I told him he "always smells amazing" and he proudly said he had a new scent on. When I asked what it was, he replied, "Prada." I was a bit Bacardi'd, so I fumbled my way through a reference to "The Devil Wears Prada." Given the cross around his neck, I'm not sure he appreciated the metaphor, but he was a temptation I had trouble resisting.

Not long after the cologne talk, he showed me a beautiful, expensive watch he had on. Appropriately, he was displaying his taste in luxury at the same time I was indulging in mine. He briefly paused to take off his shoes, commenting about how slippery they were when he was on stage. I nodded with recognition, since I had just read about Craig Seymour's fears of wiping out while dancing in All I Could Bare. After the shoes were off, VinTatum joked, "I bet you want me to take my pants off too!" I also asked him to help me keep track of our dances and he announced them with comedic royalty, all, "You are on dance number two, sir!"

As we closed the gap between us, he kissed my forehead and I squealed, "More kisses!" He then planted a row of tiny smooches across my brow. I was surprised when he slipped his hand down the back of my shirt to give a mini massage. When he was working his magic, I told him, "You're really good at that!" My hands explored his body as well, and he replied, "I concur." He was also grabbing onto me, playfully snarling like an animal. There was a weird, wild, wonderful energy radiating from him that totally disarmed me.

The little pecks on my neck and forehead prompted me to ask him if he kisses on the mouth. "Yeah, but not here," he explained. "That's understandable," I casually replied, though I felt red faced and strange for having asked. I know that a real kiss can sometimes be much more intimate than any bawdy physical act taking place. But it was like I had smacked face first into the glass wall that separates the desire within the transaction from real life. I'm limited in the tools I can use, since my non-cash charms have less value here. He's limited in how much he can give me in satisfying what I want without giving away too much of his "real" self. The parameters of our exchange were sometimes difficult to maneuver.

Seemingly, he tried to make it up by kissing my neck again and put on a stupendous performance for me. When he asked how many dances I wanted, I sighed dreamily, "A lot..." (For the record, I settled on lucky number seven.) Once again I told him how gorgeous he was and went into my usual ramble of, "I like you too much and that's dangerous!" That was my polite way of saying, "Hi! You're like a narcotic to me and I'm stretching my paychecks thin to keep getting my fix! Do you have a patch I can wear to wean myself off of you?" Maybe the patch would smell like Prada. At any rate, VinTatum really gave his all trying to make the dances special for me and I appreciated that quite a bit.

When things wrapped up, we bantered again about the upcoming holidays. He mentioned he still had last minute shopping to do for people and hoped to get them some nice stuff. I got out my wallet, we settled up, then he pulled me into a hug and told me I was awesome. I countered, "No, you're awesome!" We ended our back and forth with him saying he was glad he could make me feel so good. He then added he was going back on stage to dance soon, so I stayed around to watch. But I also wondered if it was odd to wait for his performance, since I'd essentially blown my wad for the night already. Maybe I was hoping to take in just a little more of that sparkle he possessed? Geez. Was I really becoming a fanboy for a guy I barely knew? I worried that I was becoming too invested in all senses of the word.

After staking out a seat across from the stage, I glanced around at all the other patrons nearby. They were drinking pitchers of beer, meeting up with friends, texting and almost ignored the dancers on stage at times. I was slightly envious of their detachment. Maybe they were just better at compartmentalizing their desires than I was? I resumed watching the parade of hunks and paid more attention to the music that was being played throughout the evening. The songs at Flash are generally awesome and inadvertently capture the push and pull of the club's contradictions at times.

For example, "Die Young" made an appearance early on with Ke$ha singing, "Looking for some trouble tonight? Yeah! Take my hand, I'll show you the wild side..." The dancers are certainly willing to help you embrace your inner hedonism. But later on, Marina & The Diamonds offered the cynically tart counterpoint, "This is how to be a heartbreaker, Boys they like a little danger, We'll get him falling for a stranger, a player..."

I kept waiting for VinTatum, but the lineup got all kerfuffled and he didn't get a chance to go on stage again. It was getting late and I had to make like Cinderella around midnight. So I waved, gave him a quick hug goodbye and made my exit. The fairy tale was coming to a close, at least for this Saturday night. The cold blast of air that hit me was surprisingly refreshing as I left the club. I then headed over to Union Station where my carriage was awaiting to take me home.

This trip to Flash was intended to be the climactic ending to my "trilogy" of The VinTatum Monologues. He had mentioned "not being there" in the New Year, so I wanted to come back for our last dances, compliment his killer smile and wish him well with whatever he wanted to do. I had hoped to neatly tie everything in a bow so I could feel like the experience was complete. But instead, VinTatum's outsize personality captivated me so much that I still want to keep going back. I like being around him even though he's obviously there to make money. He's just so unbelievably charming, dazzling and unattainable. Yet again, I've developed a hopeless crush on someone I can't have.

I don't blame Flash or VinTatum for my unexpected roller coaster of emotions. But it is noteworthy for being the first time I've liked a dancer enough to come back regularly and spend a lot on him. (That feeling never occurred during my trips to rival bar Remingtons.) VinTatum is great at what he does and the better his performance, the more money he makes. If I didn't have bills to pay, I'd be tempted to quote the famous Clairol commercial and cry out, "I'm worth it!" But even a clear cut exchange of money for lust can be complicated. I can rent or buy porn and have a safe distance from the fantasy because it's playing on a screen. But when an actual person delivers the fantasy, the interaction can trigger real feelings and wants, even if you know it's a paid transaction. What I thought was a great shortcut past the awkwardness of regular hookups and flirtation sometimes brings out the exact same insecurities and issues I've tried to avoid.

Maybe there is no quick fix for navigating desire after all. My cynical side wonders how much I'm being played by VinTatum's irresistible, heartbreaking mystique. (Cue the Marina And The Diamonds...) On the other hand, he does seem to genuinely want to please the people who come for his dances. The tiny bits of reality that slip through his facade show me he's a normal guy with regular goals. In fact, I love that he enjoyed a Caesar in spite of the so-called "stripper's diet." He wants to get nice gifts for the people he cares about and has a taste for designer labels. I don't begrudge him the ability to earn cash for those things by selling his charms. But our experiences get me thinking about my own goals and how I want more than what he can give me. (Even though he does provide a very potent, enjoyable cloud of sensuality that always leaves me in a stupor...)

So what comes next? Probably more visits to Flash, since I caved and signed up for a membership! But I'll move forward with the goal of enjoying it in moderation, and trying not to overthink it so much. But I do encourage my readers to overthink about Craig Seymour's awesome blog Craig's Pop Life! You'll experience stunning photography, passionate prose and some hot NSFW documentations of men taking it off. (As well, buy his book All I Could Bare! It rocked my socks!)

Until next time, stay Frothy and Flash-tastic everyone...

Dancing At "Flash" 2: What A Feeling...

WARNING: Adult situations and sexual themes are discussed at...er...length. Once again, this blog includes details about my encounters with male strippers! Readers' discretion is advised!

I wish I could cut together some kind of television-esque dramatic recap of my past events, like:

Previously on Frothy Pop Treats, Garth got more than he bargained for when he went to gentleman's club Flash!

[Camera pans to cute, shirtless guy] "You wanna go for a dance?"

After experiencing the dangerously tantalizing ins and outs of the club first hand, can Garth resist the urge to come back? Tune in tonight!

Seriously, though, after writing my first piece about Flash, I did want to check it out again to see if it would feel any different after breaking down all my feelings about the initial visit. And boy was it ever different. Admittedly I was coming into it a bit more lubricated than last time. (Thank you cherry brandy!) I also started to feel like an undercover reporter who thought he had it all figured out, but then succumbs to the temptation of the very situation he's supposed to be investigating. My previous experience brought out a heaping dose of cynicism about the ways that money and sexual desire intersect. This time I found myself more willing to surrender to the atmosphere, getting somewhat hypnotized by it in the process.

I started the evening having tasteful discussions with a friend about why I haven't been dating. I'm petrified about the idea of rejecting a person, and almost as squeamish about being the one turned down. That same feeling even applies to casual flings. My pal then offered the sensible notion that the potential rejection is part of the risk both parties sign up for. It makes total sense, but it's something I've never been fully comfortable with.

Cut to a few hours later where, after a few libations, I'm dragging reluctant pals back to one of the places you won't risk rejection, provided you pony up the money. I was craving more exposure to Flash, the "members only" strip club on Church Street in downtown Toronto. Depending on my mood, there are times I'm more okay with throwing cash around to buy an erotic experience than wearing my heart on my sleeve for free.

Being a tad tipsy gave things a slightly exaggerated perspective this time around. As soon as we paid our cover charges, I spotted ballots to vote for the "2012 Dancer Of The Year" and stuffed one in my bag as a souvenir. I then stared with jaw dropping awe as two guys slammed each other with gusto on the screen behind the bar. The neon lasers also made a dazzling light show across the stage as I watched a dancer reveal his red g-string with holiday bells dangling from it.

One of my friends was immediately cornered by the dancer who did a slow, melancholy performance to LMFAO's "Sexy And I Know It" during our previous visit. This time, the guy seemed much more lively and had a completely different spark to him. My pal chatted with him for a bit and I wondered if things had really changed that much in such a short time.

It also took me by surprise when I was recognized by VinTatum, my private dancer from last time. (In my last entry, I dubbed him VinTatum because he reminded me of a cross between Vinny from Jersey Shore and Channing Tatum.) "You're not so shy anymore," he teased. I held back from saying, "Well, actually I was stuffing dollar bills down a go-go boy's underwear in Syracuse a few weeks ago...so, probably not that shy!" Thought bubbles aside, VinTatum was super friendly, encouraging me to grab a couple of drinks and go for a dance with him later. Resistance was futile as I became putty in his roaming hands...

Despite the wandering gropes, my friends really weren't feeling it this time. However, VinTatum had an irresistible draw that provoked and inspired me, so to paraphrase Miley Cyrus, I couldn't wait to see him again. My pals agreed to wait for me outside, so I downed a Bacardi Breezer, found VinTatum and was ready for the sequel to our first adventure.

I made a joke about being "bad" during our previous encounter, since I was worried that I had been too grabby. "You weren't bad last time," he smiled. Sigh...swoon...faint. VinTatum seemed very eager to please, filling our tiny room with his intoxicating manliness, but coming across less cocky than before. I kept blurting out comments that he was a "sex god" and "so hot," to which he thanked me. Part of me wondered if he was friendlier because he knew he had me hooked. After all, I was back again, right? He invited me to feel his abs and asked, "Do I look more toned than the last time you saw me?" My eyes almost popped out wondering if he read my last essay where I said he was "slightly less built" than the others. In fact, seeing everyone upping their game made me feel like the restaurant critic that returns to the eatery after publishing their initial review. People seemingly pulled out all the stops, among other things, to please the patrons and snag a better rating.

Aside from hot men, one thing I will always praise about Flash is their abundance of amazing Diva music. I nearly squealed when VinTatum was all over me and Rihanna's "S&M (Dave Aude Mix)" began playing. I told him straight up, "Ohhhh...I LOVE this song!" Here I was with this hot guy, that hot track, and experiencing a major sensory overload. It was weird to also realize how well the lyrics fit the moment.

"Feels so good being bad...there's no way I'm turning back..."

If last time was an awkward initiation, this time I was more at home completely losing myself within the fantasy. It was a living, breathing, three dimensional erotic dream clouding my better judgement.

"Come on, come on, come on....I like it, like it..."

Rihanna's raspy insistence underscored the lurid appeal of our interaction. I even started singing along as audience participation reached new highs. Skin was squeezed, breath was heavy, bodies were writhing and making ends meet took on a whole new meaning.

"I love the feeling you bring to me, oh you turn me on. It's exactly what I've been yearning for, give it to me strong..."

There was a point when I looked up in the dimly lit booth and saw VinTatum standing there, radiating the most handsome silhouette. His killer smile sparkled, even in relative darkness. His tattoos and golden cross were the finishing touches on the striking figure he made. No matter how much guilt I held from society's conventions that it's wrong to pay for this, I didn't care. He was my fantasy and in this moment he was mine.

Funnily enough, Rihanna was followed by a return appearance of LMFAO's "Sexy And I Know It." I can honestly say the "wiggle, wiggle, wiggle it" refrain will never, ever be the same for me. VinTatum gets top marks for the passion in his pants that he wasn't afraid to show. It was also fun to drunkenly sing along with the lyrics while being up close and personal with my dancer's considerable charms. When else will I get the chance to chant "Look at that body! Ahhhh..." while running my hands all over a sizzling hunk of man?

My tipsiness made me more chatty overall, which led me to bust out some of the Spanish I knew. I thought VinTatum had some Latin flair, but when I probed further, he said he didn't speak any other languages. "You speak Spanish?" he asked in surprise. "Un poco," came my reply. Part of me hoped I could use that as a springboard to learn more about him. I was falling into the trap of trying harder to humanize my temporary object of desire. It's sort of like discovering a delicious cocktail, wanting more of it and then being curious about the ingredients that make it up. You're really not supposed to know the secret recipe, but I couldn't resist trying to decipher it.

The one thing that was easy to decipher was the sheer force of VinTatum's erotic magnetism. I had to think long and hard about how far I was willing to go with my dollars this time. I settled on a "high five" since five dances would be long enough to drink in everything that made me high off my sexy stallion. At times he was literally working his ass off to seduce me into spending more. Composure flew out the window and my face essentially dissolved into what Homer Simpson looks like when he's craving a beer. Everything felt so much more amplified compared to my last experience, but I tried to be blunt about my situation. "I work in retail...I'm not rich," I explained. "That's ok," he insisted.

He then sat down on my lap and asked for a massage. I think it was a moment we both kneaded, and I definitely had his back. After rubbing him down for a bit, our time was coming to a close. Pants went back on and I gushed once more about how good looking he was. He gave me a tight bear hug, momentarily lifting me off the ground. I was impressed, cause I'm not the lightest guy around and it was a fitting metaphor for the way he's swept me off my feet. When it was time to pay, he asked if he could "steal an extra $5" to buy a bottle of water. His brazen turn of phrase was oddly endearing to me, and if this moment were in a magazine, the headline would read, "Erotic dancers - they're just like Us!"

"You should come back next week," he encouraged. I almost looked down to see if that whooshing sound really was a vacuum attached to my wallet. "Maybe later, sometime in the New Year," I replied. His face then looked a touch more serious. "I'm not going to be here in the New Year." My words then spilled out faster than logic could intervene. "Ok, I'll be back next week..."

My mind raced through the Flash flood of dramatic potential in VinTatum's casual revelation. Was he leaving in the New Year to follow his true passion? Leaving to do something he really wants to do with his life? Leaving to bring his brand of sweltering sensuality to other hot spots around the globe? My visit to Flash started as a one time thing, then spawned a sequel and now it felt like sirens were calling out for me to complete the trilogy.

One friend shared his concern over how much I was spending, asking me, "What are you really getting out of this?" I almost replied, "Songs and stories and so much more!" But Polka Dot Door references aside, I really have felt creatively inspired by these events. When something sparks that process I crave more, especially when an attractive man is involved. But these encounters do run the risk of becoming addictive. In just two visits I went from being a jaded outsider, to snorting the fantasy like it was a drug. The more I enjoyed myself, the more I wanted and that meant more cash flying out of my hands. VinTatum's alluring performances were a luxury that took me away from my everyday stresses. Sometimes you pay a premium for that kind of experience, but I know my pockets aren't deep enough to fully support the habit.

But people buy all kinds of pricey things they don't need. Expensive purses, designer fashions, collectible dolls, concert tickets and so on. We all make purchases that give us a boost, however superficial they may seem. Yet, there's still a clutching of the pearls when it comes to money and sex. Is it fair to consider his work so much more shameful than anything else we consume? I admit my mind struggles with the idea of paying for something that could be found for free. But a fierce feminist I know once used the phrase "Our business is your pleasure" while advocating for sex workers' rights. I work in a store, VinTatum works in a private club, but our shared goal is to leave people happy and satisfied while making some bank in the process. We both have financial concerns to take care of. Are we really so different from each other?

The bigger difficulty is learning how to navigate my own conflicting desires. What am I really looking for? Lust or love? A pinch of both? It's as if my internal GPS broke down and I'm trying to download new maps to help me recalculate my destinations. Flash provides me with a dangerously tempting shortcut past the grittiness of more cost efficient hookups. I really don't feel like wading through online messages that insist on "no fats, no femmes" and other judgmental specifics just to find someone to share a thrill with.

Deep down I know Flash is just a temporary, pleasurable detour on the road trip of my life. (My bank account definitely hopes it's only a brief pit stop.) VinTatum fills the role of the hunky drifter with a dazzling smile who makes me feel really good before I get back on the road. There's a long way to go in the journey and a lot of uncharted terrain that I've been afraid to explore. Hopefully I can take some of that sparkly, lusty high I've enjoyed and incorporate it into my life in a way that's a bit more substantive in the future. As for VinTatum, I really do hope he's been enjoying what he does. (I know I certainly have.) But if he is, indeed, switching careers, I hope he takes on something that continues to bring out that dashing, vibrant grin to everyone he meets...