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| Hell level in the Masquerade. March 2007. Photo by me. |
I did Saturday night backwards. First I went to Jungle instead of ending up there last. Mark Tarbox was the imported DJ of the night. The crowd was sparse, but it was only 10:30. The crowd always magically appears around midnight.
Paula is always a good source of conversation and entertainment for the first hour and a half. She was in a fabulous black gown and had feathers in her hair. She'd spent the afternoon rehearsing for a pageant. We talked, drank and smoked.
On cue the boys appeared at midnight, shirts came off and wham it was a hot party. If this is any indication of the warm weather season then it will be one long hot Summer to come.
The crowd was peaking when we started planning our next move for the night. With a lesbian in the group we decided against Swinging Richards. Halo was debated.
When someone walks by and starts a conversation with, "hey, I know you." It is either a bad pickup line or an old trick. In this case it was an old trick. I was sitting waiting on the gang to exit the restroom at Jungle when the old trick strutted past and stopped on a dime in front of me.
"Yes, you do know me," I replied with a smile. Not a smile that would indicate I was thrilled to see the person but just more a friendly 'how's it going' kind of smile.
Before I let the conversation go further than 'how are you' and 'what are you doing here.' I let him know that I wasn't alone and was leaving. I gave him a hug, passed him a word of goodbye and was off to retrieve my jacket from coat check.
Thinking back I probably came off short with Andre but I had to go and I wasn't in the mood to play the game of catch up with him. At the time I was thinking about that black leather sofa, the night swimming and the late nights we had played in the dark. Those nights were some of my last wild ones on Cheshire Bridge. That was the summer which I cared for no one, not even myself. It was a bottom for me that had me strolling in a world full of dangerous men. I was more witness than participant and he was the key that opened that door. He connected me to people that moved in circles reminiscent of Traumnovelle. He was a seductive pawn that moved too fast. One week of knowing him and he'd planned our lives down to the pet. His gym-built body had kept me in a trance and around long enough to see more than I wanted. He was all fun in a bad way.
That summer closed and I got free of him. I let him know it wasn't going anywhere, stopped returning calls and kept my eyes open at Heretic and Jungle to avoid contact. Until Jungle last Saturday night I hadn't seen him in a year. That time prior he was with an aging rice queen with a spanking and diaper fetish. Thanks to my Korean connection for that juicy piece of useless gossip.
Enter the Masquerade for Spark at 1AM. Outside I pass two stick figure queers. One says to the other, "that was one lame party." I figure well I won't have to wait in line for a drink then.
Clawing through the plastic strips hanging from the entrance I'm almost run over by a leprechaun or a poor imitation of Peter Pan. It was in green and angry I know that.
Hell had six people dancing. Since they've moved the drag show up to Purgatory it really seemed disjointed. Purgatory is a strange space to perform anyhow with that weird wooden deck structure. Most of the crowd was up on there. I took one look and went back to where I belong, in Hell.
We found a sofa, inhaled our drinks and vacated.
I voted a return to Jungle but lost in a stolen election. Like Gore I ended up in Amsterdam shooting pool. It was a horrible case of global stinking from the people playing pool next to us. Someone was wearing a dirty diaper and looked as if they'd just crawled out from under a urinal at that once cruisy gas station on Sheridan.
I was the next to last person out the door at Amsterdam. We proceeded on to the late night secret drinking destination. I belted out a Billy Joel classic, ate some damn good fried chicken and smuggled beer out in my jacket.
End night.
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