As I sit here alone on a rainy Halloween night, I scan the club to see if there is anyone worth approaching. The entire place is illuminated by green lights, with white spotlights around the stage, and melted dry ice provides a feeling of classic spookiness.
Shall I describe what I am seeing on the dance floor? There are men of all ages crowding the dance floor, and the disco band has kept the music pumping. I enjoy watching all of the guys iron their sweaty bodies against each other. The enormous mirror ball casts small hints of light on gaudy costumes, and warlike face paintings. Leather flanks worn by butch men expose slivers of damp flesh, and practically absorb much of the glint. Scantily clad wallflowers enjoy the random company of men closest to them. The grotesque set pieces are largely ignored as ravenous men tear them down in the heat of passion. From where I am sitting, the smell of musk imbues the air, and my desire for a man skyrockets. As the vapor of dry ice continues to spread, I can see silhouettes of bodies amalgamating, and my memories start to creep.
My first glimpse of a man's bare torso came when I was about five years old. It was when I attended a company picnic with my parents. All of the men had just finished playing a rough game of football, and shirts were removed to substitute for towels. Some of them were wearing fitted shorts that came above their knees. Any time one would squirm for the ball, the hem would lift up, and for a brief second you could see the white cotton of their underwear. How I treasured those company picnics.
Shall I describe what I am seeing on the dance floor? There are men of all ages crowding the dance floor, and the disco band has kept the music pumping. I enjoy watching all of the guys iron their sweaty bodies against each other. The enormous mirror ball casts small hints of light on gaudy costumes, and warlike face paintings. Leather flanks worn by butch men expose slivers of damp flesh, and practically absorb much of the glint. Scantily clad wallflowers enjoy the random company of men closest to them. The grotesque set pieces are largely ignored as ravenous men tear them down in the heat of passion. From where I am sitting, the smell of musk imbues the air, and my desire for a man skyrockets. As the vapor of dry ice continues to spread, I can see silhouettes of bodies amalgamating, and my memories start to creep.
My first glimpse of a man's bare torso came when I was about five years old. It was when I attended a company picnic with my parents. All of the men had just finished playing a rough game of football, and shirts were removed to substitute for towels. Some of them were wearing fitted shorts that came above their knees. Any time one would squirm for the ball, the hem would lift up, and for a brief second you could see the white cotton of their underwear. How I treasured those company picnics.