Here is a copy of a review from After Hours City
I'd never been to a strip club before, and for good reason. I really wasn't into
the exploitation (or at least what I thought was the exploitation) of women. In
my past I've always been a little leery about baring my, whatevers, even with
a lover or a friend, much less with a noncommittal stranger. Call it fear of being
used, but that's just how it is. So when I went to see the Boston Babydolls on Friday
night, I was a little skeptical about what I would encounter onstage at the Cambridge
YMCA. Yes, the YMCA. I was surprised as well. And you will be too after I recount the
performances of the night. An array of women and three men were the totality of the
show. I will only go over the performances that caught my eye, so as not to drone on
about every single move and shake of every ass, breast, and pasty... yes pasties,
Betty Blaze, one of the curvier dancers, was the humor relief of the night. Hilary, my
partner in crime, laughed hysterically as Betty made her way through the routine.
Betty Blaze ballroom danced with a puppet that gave the illusion that he (her own left arm)
was trying to feel her up. Betty went through a sex-driven tango getting groped, in reality, by
herself. The song behind the dance rang out truthfully, "You're the boss," as Betty pushed
her own left hand away from her breast, her thigh, and her... you know.
Scratch, the MC of the night, performed in a righteous fire engine red Zoot suit along with
the curvaceously gorgeous Pinky Petite, a shorter brunette with everything in the right places.
She emerged from the backstage curtains dressed as Dorothy for Halloween, asking Scratch
for candy by slowly shedding each piece of clothing until she was left wearing ruffle-assed
panties (I'm SO getting some) and pasites. Her breasts, quite possibly perfect melons, made
Hilary gasp. Apparently she liked this girl. The guy next to us took a spastic hit from his inhaler.
I guess that means he liked the show, either that, or the air was suddenly getting thin... what do
There was also a performing duo called Extreme Behavior comprised of a knife thrower and
a beautiful bodied woman who he was throwing knives at. She stood against a wooden board
and waited as he threw knives along her figure. Then, she blindfolded him and let him throw
knives at her according to where he heard her hit the wooden board. Hilary and I held our
breaths until it was over. I can't imagine having that job. Or, at least, if I did, I couldn't imagine
not killing the knife thrower if he missed. That is, if I was still standing.
Morgan was one of the more impressive dancers, as in the only professional one on the stage
that night. She proved to have had great training in jazz dance, with great flexibility and arch to
her back. We couldn't keep our eyes off of her.
And finally, the finale, or should I say, my finale. Miss Baby Jane, the youngest of the Babydolls.
She stole the show and my heart with her Marilyn Monroe figure and beach blond carefully curled
locks. I wanted to get my picture with her later on, that was for sure. Her facial expressions proved
years of theater training or natural dramatics from birth. She was also the second best dancer on the
stage that night, with expert ass moves. I sat mesmerized throughout each of her performances.
She would have danced every number if it was up to me.
In the end, it was liberating to see real women naked. No one looked like Charliz or Halley. But
rather they looked like me, except not me, because they had the guts to flaunt it. They sported
back fat, like me, unafraid to bend backwards and create, now sexy, rolls of flesh. Almost every
girl had a bit of cellulite, like me, and most women not under Hollywood or pornographic lighting.
But women. Just women. And all the things that the word 'woman' entails, but better. Unlike me
was their unashamed and unapologetic way of strutting their stuff. They were liberated, and I
felt freer just watching them feel sexy.
Harry Munroe and Vikki Velvet after the show. Proud to be
Boston Baby Dolls!