One of the ex’s friends had a birthday party at Profile in Soho. Baffling choice for a girl. The bar was gay central – If you like Muscle Marys and shirtless bar tenders.
The entrance to the bar, which was essentially a 10 foot corridor (see photo on right) fitting on a handful of cramped tables had people sitting down eating a full dinner to the seriously loud and shady techno music the DJ was playing. The DJ was loving his music. He was so hot for himself, he couldn’t believe it.
This was not my kind of gay bar. It got very crowded ,very fast, mostly with men who looked like someone had inflated them with a bicycle pump. That probably didn’t help either. Burly men take up far too much room. I think bouncers ought to take that into account when doing a head count.
I got fed up pretty soon into the evening, once the place got packed. Unfortunately I was duty bound to stick around, at least for a bit longer.
To entertain myself I played little games with myself. It was hard to hold a conversation in there. We were standing right next to the speakers and the self-lovin’ DJ.
I tried imagining I was a gay man. Would this bar be cock heaven? Would I just wander around with my penis bursting from the seams, reading to pounce on any bloke for a little bum-bum? Would I be having a good time? Would I go for the weedier, skinny guys or the big ol’ burly ones?
I think if I was gay I’d probably be into bears. I don’t like burly men who are hairless – It looks unnatural. A big beard and many tattoos. Hot. Maybe some kind of ex-con.
I really love that novel Maurice, by E.M. Forrester. It’s a great gay love story. A repressed Englishman bonks the young under-gamekeeper. (I love the term ‘Under Gamekeeper’. Anyone doing that job is begging to be bonked.) It has a happy ending. I love happy endings, especially in gay fiction. Leave the unhappy endings for real life.
Gay men largely seem to get better love stories. I stopped reading female gay fiction after a while. It just got too depressing and in a way even the L Word is depressing. Everyone is constantly bitching, back stabbing or cheating. Nothing good ever happens and if it does, you know it can’t last. I can’t handle that kind of stress and disappointment in my fantasy life. At least that should go smoothly.
Speaking of sex, A4 sent me to her friends blog who writes (or at least wrote) about homo-sex. It has only has 11 posts, but man, they blew my mind. I’ve read some gay fiction, but the ones I read partly intellectualized all the sex. This blog is just hunting for the sex, having the sex and then writing the sex. I honestly can’t imagine thinking about sex, sex, sex all the time. Or having that much sex (without even turning a profit.)
While I was there I also had an epiphany about a new kind of chandelier for gay bars. I was looking at a disco ball rotating gently above my head (this is how bored I get at clubs, which is why I’ve never really enjoyed clubbing) and the lights reflecting off it reminded me of chandeliers. Then I thought how great would it be to have a giant chandelier, but made from thousands of small rotating disco balls instead of the individual crystals.
God I was really bored at this club. I told the ex I was going to go soon, of course they didn’t have to come home with me.
The ex was drinking wine and was already a bottle in. Not good. Not good at all. I knew I needed to exit and fast unless I wanted another failed drunk management strategy on my hands.
The ex didn’t want me to leave right away, so I strategized and used sex as a lure.
I’m not ashamed.