A rotund gentleman’s hairy, pale belly bulges out from underneath a crop top. His sweatpants are tugged down just enough to reveal some ass crack. He wears a shoulder-length, curly blonde wig and yells in a sing-song voice, “Baby gets to go home with Daddy, oh yes! Baby loves it!” His Daddy is a petite, normal-looking fellow who appears to be in great spirits. I clomp past them in my platforms, headed for the club entrance.
I live in a part of town now where I can easily walk to great restaurants, bars, and other nightlife. I’m not a bar kind of gal but you’ll find me there on occasion, usually because some of my friends want to meet there. So I’ll grudgingly go. Such was the case last weekend, when a friend I hadn’t seen in about a year was in town and she wanted to meet up at a drag/gay bar down the street. Downstairs they have drag shows, upstairs they have a dance floor and naughty leather shop. I’d been to this bar once before many years ago and had a good time at a girl’s birthday party. We watched some of the drag performers entertain and they were fantastic. This time, though, it was insanely busy. By the time I arrived, there was a line out the door and the drag shows were already over with. Inside, you couldn’t even move without grinding your pelvis on someone else.
My friends were upstairs. A flamboyant young thing wearing an open Hawaiian shirt and tons of Mardis Gras beads made me a rum and coke with as much flair as he could. A gentleman in drag with gorgeous makeup winked at me from a stool nearby, sipping a bright pink concoction with an umbrella. He had the longest eyelashes and a plump coral pout. A dazzling multi-color sequin cocktail dress and heels higher than I’d be comfortable wearing completed the look. I smiled, took my rum and coke, and squeezed into the next room. I spied the security man bursting into the men’s bathroom to make sure no one was fooling around in there. As I was alone and dressed somewhat sexier than normal, I could feel hungry, horny eyes on me as I squeezed through the crowd towards my friends.
I entered the dance room which whumped, thumped, and buzzed. Horny couples and small groups were sandwiched together, and a couple shirtless male dancers thrusted and gyrated on some lighted platforms. My old friend attempted to converse with me but it was nearly impossible from all the bass blasting. We downed some jello shots and danced for a bit. And I use the term “dance” loosely, for I like to improvise in a big way. Sometimes I pretend like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff. Sometimes I waddle and flap like a penguin. And sometimes I bop my head and move my hips in unnatural ways that elicit looks of confusion. Oh well. Everyone else was too busy jamming their tongues down each other’s throats. One of the girls with us decided at random intervals to let one boob pop out of her top, jiggle around for a bit, and then pop back in. Another girl in our group sported little pigtails and an anime backpack with a teeny tiny lace skirt, garters, and huge stompy goth boots. Her job the entire night was to hug everyone in sight and squeal. Despite the alcohol I wasn’t really enjoying myself since I appreciate having s p a c e. So I stayed maybe an hour and a half at most and couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there for some fresh air.
As a strong introvert, this place was a living nightmare. I love people no matter their sexual preference but what I don’t love is a thick crowd and constant audio stimulation unless I’m paying to see a concert. Sometimes as an introvert you must make little sacrifices and step out of your comfort zone to keep in touch with people you adore.
If you need me I’ll be taking the rest of the week off to recover.