A few drinks always seems to make erotic dancing easier for me – and for the people watching me. But there was not a bar in sight at the Chippendales audition yesterday, and the choreographer was waiting for me to begin.

After entering the Ripley Greer Studios in Manhattan and seeing my competition, I sensed my prospects for joining the international male revue were slim. The dancers, actors, and former strippers performing dance routines in front of a line of critics were hard-bodied, suntanned, and apparently professionally trained.

“We’re definitely looking for dancers that look like Adonis,” said a Chippendales vice president, Kevin Denberg. “But a guy who might be a nine can easily turn into a 10 if he has the moves and confidence that women find attractive.”

If that’s the case, and if the lighting’s dim enough, then maybe there would be hope for a wiry, thin guy like me.

Chippendales started parading chiseled dancers in black bow ties, white collars, and matching wrist cuffs in front of crowds of screaming women in 1979. What began in Los Angeles as a five-man revue has become a multimedia business that employs more than 75 dancers who tour throughout the country and Europe. This “fully choreographed production, built around sex and female fantasy” has garnered enough popularity with women ages 18 to 84 that Harrah’s in Las Vegas is building for it a $7 million, 400-seat theater.

With this success, not to mention the bonus of salaries of up to $75,000, it is no wonder why Chippendales never lacks for new talent, Mr. Denberg said.

That trend held yesterday.

Scores of men were hoping to be the next Chippendales ensemble player or lead. The wannabe ensemble players, dancers who make the featured stripping dancer or lead look better, went first. After several hours, the candidates for the lead, among which I was numbered, were on.

During my set, which earned coverage by major networks and dailies, I was joined by dancers Sean Richmond and Steve Stanulis. Mr. Richmond, 24, is an actor with previous roles in Broadway shows like “Chicago” and “The Full Monty.” Mr. Stanulis, 32, a former cop turned free-lance stripper, said he earned a six-figure salary with his new career. Both appeared to possess the typical Chippendales physique.

With R. Kelly’s “Can I strip for you?” in the background, the dance routine began – my competitors already naked from the waist up, me still in my buttoned-collar shirt.

Choreographer Brian Thomas led me through an array of erotic motions: I gyrated, I thrusted, I pumped, and I grabbed. While flexing my biceps, I pushed out my chest, though not as far as my peers. I then gave a saucy glance into the cameras, unbuttoned my shirt, and flung it at “the lady of the night.” The crowd of men and women cheered and reporters rushed to get my name, only to learn I was one of their own and walk away grumbling.

With the routine over, I wondered: How did I do? Would be able to trade in my pen for a black bow tie? Would I be able to spend my days in front of 400 women screaming to get me to take off my clothes?

“If you do, you’ll get used to the women eventually,” Mr. Stanulis said. “But be careful. My promiscuity cost me my marriage.” With my shirt back on, I approached Mr. Thomas to hear my fate. He smiled politely and said a couple of years in the gym wouldn’t hurt me. And I might want to consider joining a tanning salon as well, he said.

What about my attitude?

“When you looked over your shoulder with that sly glance, nobody was looking at your body,” said Michael Rapp, the original Chippendales dancer. “It was powerful and definitely worthy of a drink.”

That’s exactly what I planned to have, as soon as I finished my article.