I put in a call to The Guinness Book Of World Records to ask if there is record for the world's oldest male exotic dancer. It might be me! Just when I was about to trade in my g-string for a truss, I got a call that had me gyrating out of retirement. This has been my year of comebacks, so I figured "what the hell!"

This time I would approach the gig altogether differently. After all, I am a well-respected journalist now. Okay, I'm a journalist. Hopefully the respect will come in time. Barbara Walters once went undercover doing research as a Playboy bunny, and I thought I would follow her lead and use this show as fodder for another column.

This show would be a full-blown male revue, no pun intended. Five guys ranging in age from 23 to 37 years old—and then there was me, Father Time. Their names were TJ, Cisco, Dillon and Diamond. I still swear I don't make this stuff up.

I'm used to working in groups with colorful names like Nine Inch Males and Hard Bodies. This time I would be dancing with a troupe called The Men of Playgirl. Ironically, I was the only one in the group who had ever been in the magazine. I guess I lent them legitimacy.

I tanned and dieted for weeks before the show. But, as always, I ran out of time and shaved my legs at the last minute. Unfortunately, in my haste, my bathroom ended up looking like the shower scene from Psycho with blood everywhere. It looked like Freddie Kruger shaved one leg and Edward Scissorhands did the other.

We would be doing our revue at a comedy club of all places. They showed us to our luxurious dressing room, the men's restroom. Ah, the glamorous life, but I have worked in worse. I once had to share a broom closet with four other guys in Detroit.

I started interviewing my coworkers immediately. I asked TJ, a brawny brute "How old are you?" He said "I'm 32! I know, I should have retired five years ago." I choked and gasped simultaneously, thinking I could be your father! Another one of the guys confessed he was stripping to pay child support.

We all started getting into our costumes. There was a cop, a cowboy, a bad boy in leather and me, the fireman. I was horrified at the thought "We are one construction worker away from being The Village People!"

Dillon, the blond 23-year-old baby of the group wouldn't be dancing. He was just filler. He squeezed into a pair of tight Spandex shorts I call "ball squashers" to work the crowd. I said "You aren't going to make a dime in those!" He said "I know, but I ain't wearin' no banana hammock. My ass is too dimpled!" His tips were pathetic.

I was the last to perform and not at all nervous, despite my long stripper hiatus. I chose Nelly's "Hot In Here" for my stage music. It worked with the fireman getup. It had been a while since I had done a stage show, so I forgot about wearing sunglasses in a darkened bar. I tripped going up the stairs because I was completely blind and did a somersault onto the stage. Luckily, everyone thought I had planned it.

My clothes came off without a hitch. I did my signature CJ Splits on stage for the first time in ages without pulling a groin muscle. That may have been the reason one of my balls, the right one, once again popped out! But this time I caught it early before the girls from my office, who were seated in the front row, caught a glimpse of it.

I leapt off the stage into the packed audience, sans sunglasses, and immediately started interviewing women. I had also distributed copies of Lady Jaided to every table before the show and made sure they all knew I was the guy who wrote the stripper article in it. Remember, I'm a journalist!

A woman named Debbie thanked me for dancing. I am from the old school where male exotic dancers actually dance. She said, "You were the only one who danced. Thank you. You entertained us!" The other guys relied on pyrotechnics and stage tricks to avoid dancing. She made my night. Debbie also requested I put on my show-stopping, lime-green g-string that I mentioned in my magazine article. I did and she said "I see what you mean!" and she tipped me $5.

And yes, the tips were good. After the show, the women lined up for their Polaroid photos and a raffled baby oil rub with one of the dancers. They all went home happy and horny.

Well, Guinness called back, and it looks like I am the World's Oldest Male Exotic Dancer. I’ll be mentioned between the man from India with the 6-inch fingernails and the Iowa woman who has the world's largest ball of lint.

There goes my respect.