What better way to warm ya cockles, lift spirits, and power-tool through a long dark night this winter then an evening of ogling bulging biceps, finger-licking thighs, prolific pecs and alluring abdominals? ★★★
Forbidden Nights are an all male variety act that not only dance with flaming batons, deliver an Alvin-and-the-Chipmunks-style Justin Timberlake serenade, know how to play with a big ring, but have an aversion to keeping their threads on.
The gap filler, or compère, Lewis leads you through a Call On Me pelvic-thrusting floor workout, a leather-clad acrobatic tease, a 007 whistle-and-flute jitterbug, frisky cowboy line-dancing and some It’s Raining Men umbrella-twirling antics, with the ultimate aim of exposing stomachs Dot Cotton would’ve appreciated during a power cut, and derrières smoother than Justin Bieber’s top lip.
If you’re partial to a slab of Stinking Bishop, on a bed of Mini Cheddars garnished with shavings of Parmigiano – Full-Monty your way down to the Clapham Grand for a prohibited night of trouser twitching, phallic accessorised hen-do hysteria and some hopefully more than just your heart-throbbing frolics.
The Forbidden Fruit amongst these meaty, ripped burlesque-esque troopers is footballers-physique Reece Millard the choreographer who bares no bodily skin, and moves like a modern day Fred Astaire. Less coverage of Reece would make for a better climax.
Much like The Force Awakens, entertaining and fun, but not enough lightsaber action.
Book a Forbidden Night here at: http://www.forbidden-nights.co.uk