My Blog

So I end up in the latest gay joint in town on Halloween night. It’s called La Queen (can it possibly have a campier name?).

When we get there at 11pm, it’s not exactly full house yet but I can already see that 95% of the patrons are male. I’m surrounded by good-looking men. Too bad they’re all queer.

No one has bothered dressing up for Halloween except for the club’s staff, although I do see a guy with a pair of angel wings strapped to the back of his super-tight white tank.

The decor is minimal, except for some feather boas (camp) and umbrellas (huh?) that are hanging from the ceiling. The bar is hardly ever crowded, like in other clubs, because you can always depend on gay men to do more dancing than drinking. It’s no wonder the drinks are horribly watered down. Even the white wine my friend ordered tasted like water, that is it to say it had no taste.

And I love this - there’s a little corner selling t-shirts, tanks and shorts near the entrance. Shopping and clubbing, how clever. They have t-shirts with cute or suggestive phrases like: Plow Boy, F*ck Buddy and Tight End (cue raised eyebrows). There was a really cute one that said Lifeguard. "Imagine the pick up lines you’ll get," I say to my friend. "Excuse me, do you administer mouth to mouth?"

"They come in S, M and L," the sales assistant tells us.

More like S, XS and F*cking Small, I think to myself as I look at a t-shirt I would have trouble getting into.

So after browsing through the racks, we make our way to the dancefloor.

Spinning on deck is hard house with a liberal dose of dance remixes. Every time the DJ plays a Madonna song, everyone cheers and packs the dancefloor. I don’t think there are any other females, except for two decidedly lesbian-looking chicks, one of whom my friend says is "so checking you out". Everywhere I turn, there are men with nice hair and toned bodies. I don’t think there is anyone without a gym membership here.

Some guys decide to whip off their t-shirts which seems to set off a chain reaction. A whole group dancing near us decide to go topless and tuck their shirts into the back of their jeans, so they wave about like pony tails as they gyrate.

This is why I love gay clubs. Besides the fact that no one attempts to pick me up, I also get to ogle men shamelessly. Haha.

"Ah bengs," my friend sniffs at the topless group. "Although their bodies are not bad, hmm…" He looks them up and down.

I laugh and dance the rest of the night away, the only girl on the dancefloor.

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 29th, 2006 at 1:03 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.