Below, I'm posting a short story I wrote about going to a Pride event in New York City a couple years back. We just had another year of Gay Pride. I thought it would be cool to be on topic, and retell the experience I had supporting the boys.
One of my regulars invited me to a house party for Gay Pride. The party was to be held in a brown stone building. Kay, the man who invited me, was a party boy. He was usually on some sort of mix of cocaine, booze, and semen. He came from Lebanese oil money, and taught at a New York University. He dressed as exuberantly as Sarah Jessica Parker did on her HBO show. Everyone loved, Kay. He was a social butterfly. He felt as comfortable gabbing with Wall Street Suits as he did gabbing with Stone Wall Queens. I had never set foot in a townhouse on the West Side of 14th. I also had never been to any Gay Pride Parties, even after living in the city for many years. I agreed to see what this was all about.
It was brutally hot. NYC was always humid, and muggy during the summer season. I wore a teal guayabera, with a black wife-beater underneath, black shorts, and Royal Blue Vans. I rode my bike into the city. I locked my bike in front of the Dream hotel, and walked over to meet Kay on the corner of 16th.
He was always dressed in some eccentric manner. He pulled out all the stops for this party. His hair was pulled in a topknot. He was wearing daisy dukes, a mesh tank top, denim vest with metal spikes on the shoulders, and combat boots. He was ready, and seemed to have started to party early. His pupils were like a Japanese cartoon character.
We walked over to brownstone on 14th. It was nearing 6 pm, but it was still bright out. This part of Manhattan was teaming with packs of Gay men. All the groups, and subgroups were present. You had your Bears, Otters, Twinks, Chelsea Boys, and Leather daddies. It was like being at a Gay zoo. All the species were present, and in their local habitats.
We got to the door of the impressive brownstone. I had never set foot in the apartments this side of town, and was looking forward to seeing it. The owner was a famous writer, pundit, and lawyer. He could afford the astronomical price tag connected to this property.
We went up the stairs, and into the lobby. I immediately panicked. I had spent years in Miami as a college student. I was very comfortable with all sorts of people. I had many Gay friends, and had been to Gay bars as the token straight before. It never bothered me. Sometimes, I would find the token straight girl, and you can fill in the rest.
In the lobby, there were five men shirtless, and in tight pink jeans. They all looked like body builders. The hall was decorated with grass, flowers, candy canes, dildos, and popcorn garland. It was a lot of Gay all at once. There was also a photographer. Kay, and I were asked to stand over to the side for a photo with these pink jean clad muscle men. I panicked. I didn’t want my photo taken. I didn’t know where these photos were going. Was my face going to plastered on Gay billboards in Chelsea? I really shouldn’t have cared, but I did. I couldn’t back out. I didn’t want to show I was a big square. I posed with Kay. They showed me the photo. My mouth formed a smile in the photograph, but my eyes were blank.
We were lead to the private back yard. Kay, went over to one of three bar stations, and grabbed us a vodka tonic. I took a heavy gulp. They were blasting house music. It was already packed. It was hard to move around. Kay introduced me to his cousin. We had a lot in common. He was a painter, and didn’t have to work. I think he also came from money, and was able to paint full time whether he sold or not. He was also a token straight. We chatted for a while until he got called away by other friends. Kay introduced me to another one of his acquaintances. He was only a couple years older than me, and fit more into the Otter category.
“So, what’s your deal? You’re here to party?” He inquired.
“Yes, that’s why we’re all here right?” I asked.
“ Sure, but you’re not Gay… or are you secretly?” He was playing a game with me that I had played in Miami. I know how this went. If I denied being Gay, and declared I was straight he would pick at me until I said I was Gay. It was a dynamic I experienced from angry Gays before.
“No, I’m Gay. Yep, always Gay.”
“So you have a boyfriend?”
“Yes, he’s not here though.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s working.”
“Where?”
“Um, he’s working at a bar.”
“You’re not Gay.”
“Sure I am.”
“No, you’re not! Why are you here?” He was a little miffed that I, a straight, had crashed his party. This annoyed me. What about the Gay Straight Alliance, bro?
“I’ve never seen one of these brownstones before from the inside, and my buddy Kay brought me. Also, my brother and friends are Gay, so I was showing support.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever.” He sauntered away towards one of the bars for a refill.
I was left alone in a sea of Gays, but not for long. I moved along to one of the garden walls. Two gentlemen approached me. They were both Latinos in their forties. They were jovial. One happened to be a Spinning instructor. My mom also happened to be one. We talked about workouts. It was like talking to any other bro, only that this bro banged other bros. We turned our attention to a performance that had started near one of the three bars.
A small shirtless man started to dance. He then blew up a pale pink balloon big enough to pull over his body. We were watching this guy who now took on the look of humpty dumpty. The top part of his body was an orb, and the bottom part was his skinny spandex clad legs.
The otter came back to me with a friend. The otter was friendly now after a few rounds from the bar. He introduced me to his friend. The friend was a pale white grad student from the south.
“Hi, bro. I’m, Zach.” I said.
“Oh, hey. I’m, Matt. Isn’t this party the absolute best?”
“Sure is. It’s quite the scene.”
“Yeah, it’s not really my scene. I’m pretty conservative.”
“I’m not!” The otter said.
“Well, you know, I grew up in the south. I came from a Baptist Church after all! Oh, heavens, that was ages ago.” Matt said.
“Wow, and you ran away to NYC?”
“Well, The school I wanted was here. I couldn’t stay down yonder.”
“That’s cool, man. What are you studying?”
“I’m studying psychology with a focus on neurons.”
“He’s an egg head. I’m good at giving head.” The otter said.
“Hush, child. Anyway, I have a disorder that sparked my interest. I have seizures only when someone touches my back. I’ve been through many clinicians who can’t find what exactly the cause of the problem is.”
“That sounds terrible. I’m sorry to hear it.”
“No worries. Life is a grand party.”
Kay was calling me over to the raised patio where he and his cousin had a bottle of tequila. I excused myself.
I joined Kay, his cousin, and one straight girl. We passed the bottle around taking big swigs out of it. I had reached the point of drunk where I felt that all was right with the world. I saw the haze of movement from testosterone riddled men move around each other like sharks circling prey. They were all prey, and predator. All they wanted was to eat, and be devoured. They didn’t compete for the more difficult game. Women were difficult to bed (well, not that difficult in NYC). A straight man needs to employ all kinds of tactics in order to close the deal. They are like bison, and we a Native American with a bow and arrow. We need a precision shot to land. These men can close the deal as often as they like.
Kay’s cousin and I split off to the side. He showed me some of his paintings. They were big abstract expressionist works. I saw qualities of Jasper John’s in them. They weren’t very good, but he claimed he had sold a few of them.
“It’s all about painting for me.” He said to me.
“I hear yah. I love painting, but I have found myself drawing more. I make cartoons so-“
“Cartoons are great. I love that Japanese stuff. You do that, man? “
“No, I don’t do that. I’m more into the Franco-Belgium, Comix movement-“
“So like street art?”
“No, not really.”
“Yo, I love Basquiat. Did you see the movie? It was dope. New York in the 80’s was the place to be.”
“It sure was. The economy was booming too. We’ve had a shit economy for over a decade now.”
“Yeah, remember when Basquiat was painting those tires, dog? That shit was great… so outside the box.”
“Yeah, you gotta appreciate innovation. “
“Yeah, we all got to take it to the next level. There ain’t a do-over. You gotta paint, live, fuck, dope, and screw your way to the top.”
“That’s what’s up.”
I didn’t understand what he was talking about, and had to find the bar. I wanted another vodka soda. I was fairly inebriated, and was feeling the music. I got my drink, and moved back to the garden wall I was at earlier. I saw a flock of straight girls move through the crowd. I planned to approach them later, but they left before I could do so. I locked eyes with one in a red dress. She was pale, with dark hair. She looked like she stepped out of a John Singer Sergeant painting.
Matt, and the otter came up to me.
“Hi, there straight-boy!” The otter said.
“Hi, Zach. How you liking this lil’ ol’ shin-dig?”
“I’m having a great time. Glad we all got to meet.”
I patted Matt on the back. He froze, and went pale. His thin-lipped mouth curved downward. His forehead began to perspire. It had just occurred to me that he warned me of his disorder.
“Hold me!” He screamed. The otter froze too.
I held Matt’s hand. Our eyes locked. His eyes were staring back into mine. He was in sheer panic. He began to shake in place. I was terrified of him falling down on the pavement, and cracking his head open. The music was loud, and nobody seemed to notice. The ones who did thought he was dancing. I thought for a second that I should join him. I was already holding his hand. I thought that maybe if I did the same it would cancel out. He settled down, and let out a long sigh. He excused himself, and the otter took him into the house.
I was too drunk to take in what had just happened. I rejoined Kay, and his cousin to polish off the bottle of tequila on the patio. I didn’t mention what had just happened. It was nearing midnight, and I had to go. I wanted to take Diego’s MMA striking class in the morning. I left, and exited the grassy front entrance. The pink jean clad muscle men were still guarding the gates of Gay. I started walking down 14th. I needed to grab my bike that was locked up at the Dream Hotel. I knew I was in no condition to ride back. I had ridden my bike drunk before, but I decided to take it on the subway with me.
I walked along and saw two girls sitting on the sidewalk. They were in dresses with their heels off and to the side. They were eating Hallal cart meat from one container. They looked too attractive to be doing this. The clubs were still in full swing. Meat Packing District was always a late night nightmare.
“Hey, girls. What’s going on?”
“Hey, we just got out of Tao. We’re just trying to sober up for our ride back into Jersey.” One of the girls said.
“You know it isn’t a good idea to be eating street meat on the sidewalk, and barefoot no less?”
“I know.”
“Do you girls need help?” Do you need to make a phone call?”
“No, thanks. We’re gonna make to the path train by one. Our friend is gonna pick us up after.”
“Okay, take care of yourself. I would suggest wearing shoes though. You don’t want to step on a dirty needle or anything.”
“You’re so sweet.”
“No, not really.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Alright, have a goodnight ladies.”
I grabbed my bike from the Dream, and felt sober enough to ride. I rode slow, and steady. The air was sticky. I pulled off my Guayabera and wrapped it around my hand. I went down First Avenue to avoid the drunken NYU crowd. I connected to the Williamsburg Bridge, and ascended. My ears were buzzing from the loud house music. I thought about the girls on the way up. I hope they made it back to Jersey.