A Star Is Born
Yes, they closed down bathhouses in the Early Eighties, but little do you heterosexuals know about the new gay underground.
Pay attention—your straight boyfriends may frequent our new spas.
Gifted poets come up for the names for the modern world’s answer to a place where closeted, married men can go where nobody knows your name.
“Blatino” was one of my favorites. Shawn and I went one evening ‘just to watch’.
They hand out condoms at the door and guys bring their own fancy lube. ‘Blatino’ moves location from private house to private house. There are no longer doors for the city to close down.
Bouncers check pockets at the door, but they are not looking for illegal drugs.
“No white boys,” they said to me.
“Show them Bert, suggested Shawn.”
So I whipped it out and the bouncers blushed and lifted the velvet ropes.
We were embarrassed to be there. We hung out in a corner as if we were monogamous and in love. “I love the living room furniture, don’t you Charles?” my lover asked with a devilish look in his eyes.
“Let him suck you, Shawn,” I proposed.
“Are you sure you are okay with me doing that?”
“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be here. Now whip it out because my lips are sore.”
Down the Blatino Queen went and I watched the game, like straight men do in ball parks.
I excused myself and went upstairs to see if my neighbor had decorated the bedroom with 600 count sheets.
They had a video camera mounted on a tri-pod focused on the bed. The homo-thugs stood around the walls of the bedroom nervous and too afraid to initiate anything in front of the light of the camera.
I was tired, so I took off my clothes and crawled into bed, feeling as if I were undergoing a sleep study research project.
“Yo, let me hit dat?” asked the boldest of all the hard core thugs standing along the wall watching my ballet.
“Only if you come to my house party next weekend—it’s called Cock Asian.”
Shawn walked in the room and stepped in front of the camera while I was filming the open shot of my first major motion picture.
Pay attention—your straight boyfriends may frequent our new spas.
Gifted poets come up for the names for the modern world’s answer to a place where closeted, married men can go where nobody knows your name.
“Blatino” was one of my favorites. Shawn and I went one evening ‘just to watch’.
They hand out condoms at the door and guys bring their own fancy lube. ‘Blatino’ moves location from private house to private house. There are no longer doors for the city to close down.
Bouncers check pockets at the door, but they are not looking for illegal drugs.
“No white boys,” they said to me.
“Show them Bert, suggested Shawn.”
So I whipped it out and the bouncers blushed and lifted the velvet ropes.
We were embarrassed to be there. We hung out in a corner as if we were monogamous and in love. “I love the living room furniture, don’t you Charles?” my lover asked with a devilish look in his eyes.
“Let him suck you, Shawn,” I proposed.
“Are you sure you are okay with me doing that?”
“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be here. Now whip it out because my lips are sore.”
Down the Blatino Queen went and I watched the game, like straight men do in ball parks.
I excused myself and went upstairs to see if my neighbor had decorated the bedroom with 600 count sheets.
They had a video camera mounted on a tri-pod focused on the bed. The homo-thugs stood around the walls of the bedroom nervous and too afraid to initiate anything in front of the light of the camera.
I was tired, so I took off my clothes and crawled into bed, feeling as if I were undergoing a sleep study research project.
“Yo, let me hit dat?” asked the boldest of all the hard core thugs standing along the wall watching my ballet.
“Only if you come to my house party next weekend—it’s called Cock Asian.”
Shawn walked in the room and stepped in front of the camera while I was filming the open shot of my first major motion picture.
posted by Charles George Taylor at
10:06 AM
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