Sunday, March 26, 2006

bewitched, bothered, bewildered: the black party

We had to wait til 4 a.m. to enter the party, so after leaving Trayb's, Ben, P and I stopped by Baracuda for a drink. Did we drink? Yes, a beer I think. And we chatted with Ebs, who I'd met a month back but never heard from. Then we were off to Roseland.

Since we still had 30 minutes before we could get in on the cheap ($40), so we stepped over to Therapy before it closed. There, the young guy said he'd give us our drinks for free if we showed him our cockrings. I wasnt' wearing one, but I still got my free redbull vodka for showing my cock. It was the perfect start of the evening.

After we checked our coats, I had Ben and P check their pants. How liberating is that: walking in a jockstrap and boots with thousands of other partially clothed men (and a few ladies). Trayb, Taures and B had alreadyfound their spot and the dancing began.

The music was dark—heavy drum beats rattled through my ribcage. I retreated to the balcony and what would later turn into a mix of leather and studs, masks and sweat; the orgy overflowing from the two darkrooms. Each time I passed near the doors to the darkroom I was handed lubes and condoms (I found dozens and dozens in my pockets when I returned home) but the crush of naked, fucking men usually caused me to retreat too soon. I was feeling a little claustrophobic and not all that sexual. But I was impressed that there was a separate DJ just for the fucking (at one point some really great Prince played as I watched a man ride another's dick--GREAT CHOICE!)

The man with a a leather mask sculpted to cover his nose and mouth stood next to me for 15 minutes, staring with silent eyes as the thumpthump eased up. Sometime around 7 am the movie broke and the disco ball came down. I'll never think of Kim Carnes' "Bette Davis Eyes" in the same way after dancing to it half-clothed with hundreds of sweaty men around. I had a second-wind which got me through the next few hours and made the party rocket to one of my favorite nights of music and dance.

Around 9 o'clock I was ready to leave. We collected our clothes, P and Ben putting their pants back on after their hours of public near-nudity and joined the tourists gathering in Times Square on Sunday morning. It was the end to a great evening. We'll be there next year.

(and here's the HX public sex issue with a shortie (the first) by me—under pseudonym—with an anecdote adapted from this very blog!)

3 Comments:

At 12:01 PM, Blogger Dee said...

So, can gay men in NYC actually dance?

Crackstreet's barely-room-to-breathe capacity seemed a hidden blessing when the gays had space enough to "get down."

 
At 6:08 AM, Blogger Jerry said...

your question seems to have two interpretations:

can they dance (as in inherent ability)?
do they have room to dance (as in space on the dancefloor)?

I don't feel like I can answer the first because often I feel "dancing" means guys kind of standing there and bobbing up and down, moving their weight from one leg to the other. Is that dancing? Perhaps.

To answer the second implied question: at this party there was plenty of room, especially at the fringes, to move and "dance." The Alegria parties at Crobar--too crowded and no space to breathe.

 
At 7:55 AM, Blogger Dee said...

Girl, my question, you done answered.

My quest continues . . .

*fade to sunset*

 

Post a Comment

<< Home