What I did not know about gay bars here is that they have dancing boys. Wearing just skimpy underwear. And put down the phone. I don't mean they were seven years old. I mean these boys were born in 1991, as was the person standing in line behind me to get in to said excellent gay club I went to last night.
I KNOW, man! By 1991 I was a fully formed, destroyed person.
Also, when you go up to slip them a dollar, the dancing boys, you don't have to be all polite like you do at a strip club with those pesky, fussy women. You can lie on top of them, or pantomime oral sex, or just hump them in general. Yes of COURSE I did all those things. Because there's nothing a hot muscled 21-year-old gay boy likes better than Delta Burke, over here, humping on him.
When we first saw the dancing boys, Naughty Pro stopped short. "Do you have any smelling salts?" he asked me. "I'm not sure my heart can take this."
So, yeah. Yesterday I asked the Naughty Pro, my friend from work, if he'd like to go out dancing, as there is some Very Important Basketball Event going on in Ned's world and basically Ned is dead to me till Monday. And because the Naughty Pro has zero interest in sports--and that is why God put gay men and Marvin in this world--he said yes of course he would.
"You know, things don't really start up till after 10:00," he warned me.
"Yeah, I figured that, so I plan to take a disco nap after work." And I did. Talu and I got right up on the pillows and took us a hard snooze for maybe an hour. Then I got up and commenced to putting on seven feet of makeup. Because if there's anything muscled 21-year-old gay boys care about, it's how much makeup old Judy Garland is sporting, over here.
I love everything about this picture. I love that I'm taking an asshole selfie in the mirror, I love seeing all my beauty products ("all" is a strong word. I did my makeup at my magnifying mirror, in the computer room, so really this is just the dregs), I love my slutty heels, which was the point of this shot, and my also-rans clothing choices strewn hither and yon.
And I love how Talu has already made her pillow nest, because you wouldn't catch her at a gay bar in the middle of the night for all the kibble in the world. Talu arbors loud music.
Oh, and my nice blind. With the broken part from where Edsel sticks his snout through to yell at cats in the bushes.
Anyway. The crowd ranged from hot young boys born in 1991 to old men with earrings to really beautiful drag queens, one of whom if I could have taken her I'd have stolen her high-heeled, to-the-knee boots and pink Guess hobo bag.
And we danced. To people I always hear about but never actually listen to: Nicki Minaj, Rhianna, Cher.
And we listened to this, which I liked so much I wrote it down in my phone. Because I'm tech-y like that.
Oh, we had fun. "Wouldn't it be nice to bend over and have your stomach stay flat?" I screamed at Naughty as we watched the dancing boy move. We both agreed that would be lovely, and that we hoped we weren't huring a hip dancing so hard.
There were straight couples, threesomes who were going to be threesomes in a bigger way later, lesbians, pretty boys, friends like Naughty and me, all dancing. "I'm so glad I'm not in a Muslim country," said Naughty, looking around. "God bless America!"
"In nine months, that wall is gonna give birth," I said, watching the dancing boy onstage get to know the curtain behind him a little too well. I told this to Ned several hours later when we talked on the phone in the wee hours. "You're assuming that was a woman wall. It was probably a gay male wall." He's probably right.