His stage name was Dante Lee; and suffice it to say this gorgeous dream of a man created a virtual inferno in the hearts–and, um, potential other parts–of every woman who crossed his path.
As a devoted Playgirl reader, I first saw this raven-haired, emerald-eyed wonder in the pages of my fave adult magazine, a publication that I eventually would serve as a marketing writer, columnist and fan club president. But at that point I was pretty much a horny college girl who loved me some Dante!
My passion intensified as I saw him perform with the strip group Hunkamania on The Jerry Springer Show–the dude had moves! And although I did eventually see him perform live, it was not in the role of stripper. Indeed, beyond his talents as a model and dancer, Dante played a mean guitar in an Ohio-based rock band. I learned this when I befriended his band’s official photographer in a class at Ball State University in Muncie, Ind.–the Feminist Sexpert’s alma mater, and why they haven’t erected a statue there in her honor she’s not exactly sure. But she can guess.
At any rate, soon I tagged along with my new friend Karen to Dante’s shows; and though I stopped just short of asking him to autograph his Playgirl for me (the Feminist Sexpert was actually somewhat shy and demure back then–I know, what the hell happened?!), I did score a hug and a kiss on the cheek–pretty monumental for someone whose few college boyfriends had been obnoxious, less than kind in some cases, and whose outsides had pretty much matched their insides–and that’s putting it nicely.
Yep, in addition to being out and out dazzling, Dante was a kind gentleman who showed infinite patience for the walking mass of heart and hormones that stared adoringly up at him on stage, dancing to the beat of his guitar as he smiled down at me, patted my head, and told me that I was his sweetie.
Dante and I were never lovers–we were flirty friends who talked and laughed about everything from music to life in the Midwest. And when I gifted him with Hershey’s kisses–as an eternal reminder that he should, if it was agreeable to him, kiss my cheek after each photo we took together–he gave me a heavenly hug and said, “You are so sweet, Baby.”
The tenderness that he showed me meant a great deal–and, soon, my feelings of lust grew into something far more–a feeling of respect and friendship that touched my heart.
“OK then, Feminist Sexpert,” one might be thinking at this point. “Why aren’t you showing us pics of this hottie, to prove that he really was this delish?”
Well, dear readers, the answer is simple. Shortly after his band broke up, my friend came to a turning point in his life; becoming a born again Christian, marrying and having children.
A life that seemed to serve him well and make him very happy, before a tragic car accident claimed his life earlier this year.
Since I got the news just before Christmas, I’ve written a couple of tributes to the person that Dante became–but there also lingered in my heart a keen desire to honor one of the first heavenly muses who brought me respect and pleasure in equal measure. And that, dear readers, is a pretty unbeatable combination.
For while Dante accomplished great things in his new profession as a church music director, he also accomplished other things as a model and dancer. Indeed, like other male exotic dancers, he no doubt brought sensual solace to many a recent divorcee or newly minted widow–one fan I met of his was a woman dealing with life in a wheelchair, who credited him with awakening her sensuality through his erotically charged performances. Like other sex industry professionals, he made a difference.
So, without revealing Dante’s real name or photo, out of respect for his wife and children, I pay tribute to the Angel in a G-string who in truth was so much more. Sending you Hershey’s kisses in the Great Beyond, Beautiful.
