Another East Boston magnet for exposed, oversize paunches is Maverick Square. On a recent Saturday, six or seven baseball-hatted hombres loitered under the lime-green awning of Bella’s Market, a bodega on the corner of Chelsea and Maverick Streets, smoking butts and hooting hilariously. But when the rain stops and the sun scorches, the lingerers multiply, dawdling around the T station, avoiding the flocks of pigeons, and taking off their tops. From what we hear, the uncovered packs tend to be older rather than younger, with giant guts and back hair.

Full dis-clothes-sure: this writer has never set foot in Chinatown’s two strip clubs, Centerfolds and the Glass Slipper. But from what she hears (from reliable customers of both establishments), Centerfolds is more like Vegas and the Glass Slipper is more like Worcester. Un-suit yourself.

Centerfolds, 12 LaGrange Street, Boston, (617) 292-2600; Glass Slipper, 15 LaGrange Street, Boston, (617) 338-2290.

Too bad Bostonians can’t stop bitching about the incompetence of the MBTA and see it for the wondrous pick-up joint that it is. Gathering complete strangers in a confined space is one heck of a way to intimately commingle Boston’s repressed population — and another way to stare unabashedly at those defined deltoids. The intimacy grows more intense in the warmer weather, given that passengers tend to wear less and there’s nothing to do but stare. But summer on the T does have its caveats. Humidity turns armpits into saltcellars, so when the car gets crowded and you don’t have a seat, you could be forced to sniff the pits of people you wouldn’t allow into your home.

Belly dancers spend a lot of time debunking myths about their abdomen-rippling art. A brief summary of stereotypes frequently refuted by belly-dancing Web sites: tummy rolling isn’t just for jelly bellies, belly dancers aren’t ecdysiasts, and plenty of belly dancers wrap their bodies in robes. Nevertheless, around these parts, you’re pretty much guaranteed to see a belly dancer’s navel. Like at the Middle East Restaurant, where you can watch a sultry siren sashay around the maze of small dinner tables for a $2 cover. And in this post-Shakira world, the art of vibrating your stomach like a coin-op bed has spread to the usually conservative environs of Newton: after 9:30 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays, Karoun Restaurant showcases shimmying ladies. And in Arlington, there’s Steven & Lisa’s Bellydance Night, a monthly song-and-dance collaboration in which Lisa wields a sword.

Middle East Restaurant, 480 Mass Ave, Cambridge, (617) 864-EAST; Karoun Restaurant, 261 Walnut Street, Newton, (617) 964-3400; Steven & Lisa’s Bellydance Night, Legion Hall, 370 Mass Ave, Arlington, (781) 643-7426.

Newbury Street’s sidewalk-dining areas not only condone summertime people-watching, but encourage it. The apotheosis of these patios is Armani Café, a chic outdoor restaurant where cell phones, sunglasses, and nice asse(t)s seem to come with the place settings. Separated from the gum-stained walkways by potted shrubbery and staked with white umbrellas, Armani draws a striking clientele who’ve learned to cultivate the art of dishabille fashion. The passersby may ogle Armani’s diners while the diners stare back disdainfully, but nowhere on Newbury is the fishbowl-dining concept more embraced than at Sonsie, a bistro where the tables actually face the bustling foot traffic and it’s unclear who’s actually in the fishbowl.

Armani Café, 214 Newbury Street, Boston, (877) 619-7813; Sonsie, 327 Newbury Street, Boston, (617) 351-2500.

"Sunsets are quite old-fashioned," playwright Oscar Wilde mused in "The Decay of Lying," a theatrical dialogue published in 1891. "To admire them is a distinct sign of provincialism of temperament." If Wilde thought that sun-appreciation indicated artlessness 113 years ago, he’d be astounded to learn that sun worship is now equated with self-poisoning. A dying religion, heliolatry is nevertheless still alive on the plush green at John Fitzgerald Kennedy Park, a spacious corner lawn that sidles up to Memorial Drive and the Kennedy School of Government. Sunbathers also head across the street to the riverbank beside the Lars Anderson footbridge, where there are fewer people. But the grass over there is patchy, brittle, and spotted with dog crap — so watch where you sit.

John Fitzgerald Kennedy Park, Memorial Drive and JFK Street, Cambridge.

A quick series of clicks around the Roxy’s Web site confirms what any seasoned clubgoer already knows: the multi-level Theater District nightclub is skin central. With more breasts than a supermarket poultry section, the Roxy seems to have an unspoken rule that women's tops can have either a back or a front, but not both. On most Fridays, there’s another kind of cleavage — the buff pectoral kind. Spam-skinned Chippendales dancers strut on stage around 8 p.m., waggling their white cufflinks and collars and working themselves into a briny lather for the pants-dropping finale: peeling down to a G-string. PS: none of this applies during weekday-evening rock shows, when the undernourished scenesters won’t remove their Buddy Holly specs, never mind their small jerseys and secondhand jackets.

Roxy Nightclub, 279 Tremont Street, Boston, (617) 338-ROXY; www.roxyboston.com.

"We’re very nude-friendly," says Will McMillan, public-relations director for the Cambridge Center for Adult Education. One of the few settings where people won’t think you’re a complete perv for drawing pictures of the au naturel human form (according to a friend who’s an artist and Glass Slipper regular, you can’t scribble on napkins there or they’ll kick you out) is an adult-education art course. "I’m always desperate for models," says Amanda Annis, who teaches "Clay Sculpture: The Figure" at the Boston Center for Adult Education. Although Annis prefers models who are into athletic activities (read: sexy), she doesn’t discriminate on the basis of body size. "I’ve had models who are kind of dumpy, but they still understand the subtle movements of the body," she says. "But some people just go up there and say, ‘Do you want the front or the back?’ Then there are the big beer-belly guys who plunk down there and go ‘Guh.’ These are the people who I find hideously boring."

Cambridge Center for Adult Education, 42 Brattle Street, Cambridge, (617) 547-6789; www.ccae.org. CCAE offers open studios (with live nude models) on Fridays from 1 to 5 p.m., Saturdays from 12:15 to 4:15 p.m., and Sundays from 9:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. and 2 to 6 p.m. Cost is $10 per session ($5 for seniors). Tickets must be purchased in advance. Boston Center for Adult Education, 5 Comm Ave, (617) 267-4430; www.bcae.org.

Don’t go in there! The Christian Science Center’s reflecting pool, a man-made pseudo-lake that glistens like a glass-blown tabletop, is not meant for wading. Instead, perspiring pedestrians should plod a few steps toward 111 Huntington Avenue, that anonymous cerulean skyscraper with a dome top, and run through the circular cascade of water spitting out of the ground. Basically a fancy fire hydrant, this public fountain attracts tankini-clad children, parents, and foolish adults.

Christian Science Center, Mass Ave and Huntington Avenue, Boston.

Little-known fact: metal pie tins begot frisbees. Better-known fact: perspiring male Ultimate Frisbee players run around half-naked while disc-spinning. Boston Ultimate Disc Alliance holds regular pick-up games at Magazine Beach on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 6 p.m., and on Saturdays at 1 p.m. along the Esplanade between the Longfellow Bridge and the Museum of Science. And although there probably won’t be any ripped-off tops, there may be some nice legs at a weekly women’s offering at Cambridge’s Hoyt Field on Sundays from 6 to 8 p.m.

Boston Ultimate Disc Alliance, www.buda.org.

Five years ago, Coors Light tossed around the idea of launching a local ad campaign with the tagline, "Boston, you’ve got a Big Dig!" Yep, we do have a Big Dig. And what comes with it? Shirtless men.

Big Dig Central Artery Project, location changes hourly.

You don’t actually need to fork over a wad of cash to take advantage of Boston’s after-dark skin district, a/k/a Lansdowne Street — all you really need is a buck for the T. After 10 p.m. on the weekends, the clubland strip teems with halter tops, low riders, and exposed bellybuttons. Boys with wandering eyes and open shirts swagger down the concrete, sticking their shoulders out and looking for action of all kinds. The place is crowded with scantily clad people on the prowl. If you’re bored, lonely, or sick of hanging out with your best friend, you could head down to Lansdowne after 11 and wait for the cute girls or boys who’ve lost their friends to stagger out alone. Then, casually strike up a conversation. Besides your clothes, what’ve you got to lose?

Camille Dodero can be reached at cdodero[a]phx.com