Editor's Note: A new male strip club has opened in the Rainier Valley. Because Club Temptation serves booze, the boys can't strip completely naked, and when their nipples are bared they can't get within six feet of the customers. Since the place caters to gay men and straight women, The Stranger sent straight girl Annie Wagner and gay guy Christopher Frizzelle to check the place out and debate its merits.

Club Temptation
2007 S State St, 372-4595

Thurs-Sat, 8 pm-2 am, $12, 21+

www.seattletemptation.com

CHRISTOPHER: I know this makes me sound cheap and cheesy and sleazy and gross, but I have to admit I go for military uniforms. Camo? Yes, please. Dog tags? Bring it. By far the sexiest dancer was the blondish guy in fatigues.

ANNIE: Of course you'd go for the one guy who barely registered a bleep on the gaydar. We were paying these guys to dance in their underwear, not do push-ups! You can see boring displays of masculine muscle any day at the gym. As for the uniforms, I found all of them distracting, and not in a good way. Kitsch is a powerful turn-off.

CHRISTOPHER: The guy in Army fatigues seemed nervous and obviously straight, but in an I-love-my-mom sort of way, not in that fake, hypermasculine, Village People sort of way. He didn't have huge muscles--at least they weren't giant, greasy pastries like the pecs on certain dancers you probably liked. The Army guy was just, like, you know, a handsome guy. With a nice stomach. It's really too bad about the six-foot rule.

ANNIE: I'm fine with muscles--though I prefer them modestly sized--and I'm perfectly happy to see them used. But strength can be used creatively (witness the gravity-indifferent pole planches of the cute guy in the cowboy hat) and it can be wasted. Push-ups? Boring. Nice, awkward ex-sailors who love their moms? Date 'em if you want, but they don't belong in a strip club. I actually thought the flamer in the buttless chaps was pretty hot once the chaps were off. The thing about gay and even sexually ambiguous men is they know how to be looked at. The more comfortable the guys were with performing, and the less they clung to strip-club stereotypes, the easier it was to accept their elaborate pantomime of sexiness.

CHRISTOPHER: Annie, you ignorant slut. You're confusing the dancers now. In your obvious scorn, you've stripped them of their carefully cultivated individuality and have formed, in your mind, a fairly unfair generic impression. The infantryman and the sailor were different guys, okay? One was in battle fatigues, one was in formal whites. One was obviously straight, one was obviously gay. Were you even paying attention? And it's interesting that you think the flamers were hotter than the straight guys. Are you, like, a fag hag?
Another thing: Did you happen to notice the tip jar at the edge of the stage? A small wood-carved male torso, hollowed out so as to be stuffed with dollar bills. I understand, since Club Temptation serves alcohol, that there's some law about not being able to shove dollar bills into the folds and flaps and hollowed-out places on the dancers themselves, but that tip jar/statue thing was terrifying. It looked like the midsection of a buff child.

ANNIE: Look, I may know nothing about the armed services, but camo boy and I had a little chat after the show, and he confirmed that he used to be in the Navy before he launched his dancing career. So I can't speak to his uniform, but according to his own testimonial, he was scrubbing the poop deck not too long ago. Yeah, the torso tip jar was gross. Almost as gross as the way the deejay kept exhorting the "ladies" in the club to express their appreciation. And as for the "fag hag" epithet, I think it's pretty clear you're just jealous because the boys you want to sleep with prefer flirting with me. Let's compare lap dance cards, shall we?

CHRISTOPHER: Just because you were attacked by a gay guy in a cheap costume in a male strip club doesn't make you better than me, Annie, or sexier. Truthfully, I had successfully forgotten (until now) the image of you being pulled out onto the dance floor, still seated, and treated to an impromptu lap dance. You looked so pale and stricken, were you enjoying it? And on a technical point, was it legal? Six-foot rule, anyone?

ANNIE: Well, okay, it was a little horrifying. Girls learn at a young age to scream when we're treated to spontaneous frottage, and so I had to concentrate on biting my tongue. But I'm pretty sure it was legal. The six-foot rule goes into effect once the dancers bare their nipples, and not before. On the floor, it was more like a six-inch rule. Anyway, I think the thrill of a male lap dance is analogous to a carnival ride--it's kind of scary and kind of funny, but it doesn't have a thing to do with sex. I'm still curious about your response to being called a lady. There were roughly equal numbers of men and women in the club and yet the deejay called us all "ladies." Personally, I thought it was irritating, but it also seems like a serious marketing misstep. Are gay guys on Capitol Hill really going to trek down to Rainier Valley to be addressed as genteel women?

CHRISTOPHER: Yeah, the deejay kept saying, "Ladies, let's make some noise at the Temptation tonight," and that was annoying, especially because I was making a good portion of the noise. But one does what one can to drown out the misery that is R&B. Endless R&B. Was that a joke? If there's one thing that unites straight and gay men--other than gigs as strippers in all-male revues--it's a gut-level hatred of R&B. And while I appreciate a strip club that serves alcohol (I've been to tit joints that don't, and they suck), the bartenders didn't really have their shit together. I asked for a vodka soda, and the bartender said, "By soda, do you mean, like, Coke?"
Thankfully, the guys were pretty damn good, and good with the pole. That whole upside-down thing was impressive. But it's weird and kind of fitting that you liked the flamer (leather chaps, black boa, big lips) and I liked the only two who were conceivably straight (the Army guy and the cowboy).

ANNIE: It looks like neither of us has a chance with the boy in the cowboy hat--let's not call him a cowboy, Christopher, he wasn't even wearing boots--because I adored him too. And while I'm sure that there are males who appreciate the vocal stylings of Usher, the real problem with R&B is that it saps energy from the audience. If Temptation wants its audience to get raucous, the dance music needs to be loud and dirty, not faux-romantic. But if the owners take care of a few of those minor details--sound system, décor, bartending school for the ladies behind the counter--and retain the sexy talent, this little strip club has some serious potential.