This Sunday, my epic travelogue about following hair-metal heroes Poison and Cinderella around the Sunshine State will finally run. Originally, my story was going to start with the following scene about a flash-friendly stripper with a BIG SECRET. But alas, tall, tan C.C. Orlando just didn't work as a lede, partially because her BIG SECRET was too filthy for a family newspaper (as was the picture of her Motley Crue thong). That said, I thought I'd give you a peak of the original lede anyway. It's a rough draft, but it's fun. By the way, if you really want to know C.C.'s secret, ask away, and maybe I'll tell you in the comments section.

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C.C. Orlando has a naughty little secret.

She also has a naughty little Motley Crue thong.

In the mood for mischief outside Tampa’s St. Pete Times Forum, the tall buxom blonde isn’t the least bit shy about revealing either of them.

“It’s a party all year round in Florida, but this night is special!” wahoos the 32-year-old exotic dancer from Fort Myers, yanking up her tight black skirt. As C.C. gives a prolonged panty peak to the black-clad, wildly tressed masses buzzing around her, a silver skull ring on her middle finger winks in the fading Saturday light.

That skull knows the score: There’s nothing like a hair-metal party, especially here in the Sunshine State, where when it comes to rock music, the present is the past, and the past is perfect.

Orlando and her man Anthony, a warlockian 34-year-old with a muscular chest, gruff laugh and long brown hair, are in town for tonight’s double-bill: Poison and Cinderella. The famously hirsute bands are celebrating their 20th anniversaries of gender-bending braggadocio that was last fashionable 15 years ago — or whenever it was still cool for young men to use dangerous amounts of AquaNet.

“When these metal bands come to town,” C.C. says, “it’s allllways a special event.” She then giggles, turns to Anthony, and, with an NC17 grin, says, “Should I tell them?”

“Sure, baby,” Anthony says.

Orlando reveals her naughty secret, which turns out to be far too provocative for a family newspaper. We can tell you that C.C. took her stage name from Poison guitarist C.C. Deville — we just can’t tell you why.

As the stripper spills the bawdy beans, Anthony looks on with pride. On Halloween, Anthony and C.C. will be married. They’re in love, he says, and the music of Poison is the soundtrack of their union.

As a further sign of his affections, Anthony says that if one of the men in Poison or Cinderella takes an interest in C.C. tonight, she’s allowed to have some backstage fun. “Yeah," he says with a grin, "that’s been talked about."