I couldn't believe I was going out to my first gay bar.
I didn't really know what to expect. Depictions of gay bars in the movies and TV shows of the time usually went for one of the two extreme stereotypes...Ultra-Fem or Super-Butch. Either a satin-draped pink and lavender lounge featuring Greek columns and statues of naked Adonises playing soft piano music in muted candlelit romance, or, dark, sweat-stained, cigar-smoke filled pits, crawling with Leathermen Masters, Old Bears and their Chicken Slaves. (The term "chicken" back then was the equivalent of today's "twink".)
Michael seemed excited as he knew it was my first exposure to the gay world. Other than him and his friend Jerry, I hadn't really known any other gay guys. (I knew, even then, that John could not truly be classified as gay. If it were times like now, John might have been comfortable with the label of bisexual.)
I remember spending a lot of time discussing with him what to wear. In those days, the preppie look was at it's height, and Michael and I were hardcore preps to the core. I'm not sure exactly what I wore, but it likely had a Polo Ralph Lauren insignia somewhere and reeked either of the cologne of the same name or Halston Z-14.
We went to his friend George's house as we were going as "threesome" (pluetonic, of course). George was in his late 30's or so, and just happened to be one of the history teachers in my school. Remember, I was still a senior in high school...I was only 17.
I remember Michael and George talking about their transportation plans if they were successful in "hooking up".
While Donna Summer belted out a high-energy mix of "I Feel Love"from George's hi-fi stereo, the conversation moved to sex and George stared seductively at me and admitted it was hard for him to find the right lover because they (his sex partners) just couldn't keep up with his stamina...
Okay, George was chunky, balding, (what I then considered) "middle-aged" and of Middle-Eastern ethnicity. I was Sooo Not Interested and by being cool for the rest of the night with him, I think he got the message.
But I do have to hand it to him though, he pulled through in a time of need.
When we arrived at the club, a country club style sprawling compound called "The Loft" set in a rural suburb between Woonsocket and Providence, I could hear the beat of the disco music inside getting louder and louder as we got nearer the front entrance...it was firing me up! But the excitement was almost snubbed out when the bouncer wanted to see our ID's (Michael's and mine...not George's).
Michael whispered to me to play it cool and just say I forgot it and pretend I was old enough. But the bouncer wasn't very convinced and he seemed on the verge of not letting me in when George stepped in and said "He's cool". In the span of just a second or two, it seemed George and the bouncer exchanged knowing nods, and I was let in.
Inside, it was far from the Sodom and Gommorah or Pansy Foo-Foo Palace of mass-media portrayals. It was, kinda, well, kinda, normal.
The main floor had a long bar and several tables along with a pool table and entrance to the outdoor pool area (closed now, of course, being the dead of winter). We checked our coats (for a fee), after paying a cover charge and proceeded to the bar to buy drinks. Luckily, Michael or I were not "re-carded" at the bars that night and were able to order freely (though not cheaply). One of my first impressions of a gay bar was that it was expensive! As we were just there as pals, no one was buying me drinks (yet...but that soon changed) and I had to shell out my own hard-earned HoJo's money.
Before we went upstairs to the main dance floor, I noticed a smaller bar off to the left of the stairway and asked the guys what was in there. They said "You don't want to go in there..." and smiled. Well, of course I went in.
It was like stepping into a whole other club. It was much smaller and darker than the main club and once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see why. The leathermen club known as "The Falcons" gathered here...and here they definitely were. Furry, handlebar-mustachioed, burly men in black leather chaps, studded torso harnesses and biker caps were strewn about the place, some making out, others doing a bit more (frotage), but most sucking back beers outta the bottle and suddenly, and intently, staring at me as if I were a juicy hot dog about to be devoured. I wasn't afraid, but I sure didn't want to encourage them either so I did a slow cruise past the bar, looked out the window (as if that's what I had wanted to do all along) and non-chalantly, albeit, blushingly went back to my friends now upstairs. Whew, that was close! ;)
The sound system was amazing along with the colored rotating spotlights, the strobes and, very new then, lasers and smoke machines. It was fantastic. As they do still to this day, gay bars invest much more in the drama of their dance clubs and expertise of their DJ's then "straight" clubs, anytime! IMHO, anyway.
Several guys were pretty hot. This club generally catered to a more affluent clientele. But the age range was a bit older than, as I later would learn, the downtown Providence or Boston clubs. The college in this area, Bryant was a conservative business school and though I'm sure there were a few students from there, it was mainly either local residents like us or guys from the city who wanted a more relaxed country atmosphere.
Some of the guys I met that night I would later bump into, sometimes literally, again and again at the various clubs in the area.
There was the heavy set somewhat fey guy who reminded me of a young Harvey Firestein who kept wanting to talk my ear off about how gorgeous I was.
There was the cute blond college-aged guy who couldn't believe I was old enough to be there and kept pressing me to admit to him how old I was as he nuzzled up to me and we sucked face. When I finally told him, rather than get scared, he seemed titilated by it but to my chagrin once his friends found out, they cautioned him to avoid me. I was, unfortunately, literally jail bait.
There was the older guy in the black satin "John Travolta" shirt (which by then was falling greatly out of style) and multiple gold chains around his neck, draping over his slightly hairy chest. He was the most free with his money and bought me many of my drinks-of-choice (Jack Daniels and soda...oh yeah, it was all about getting fucked up as quickly as possible!) During one dance he started pressing his thigh to mine and...my, oh my! He was hard as a rock and hung like a freaking horse! Must have been a good 11 or 12 inches! His looks were plain and not my type, his style was definitely not up to my standards, but oh, my mind wondered...I refused anymore advances from him though as it was getting late and I didn't want to get in over my head.
At midnight, Michael, George and I wrestled ourselves away from our various ephemeral erotic daliences, found each other, raised our glasses of champagne in toast, hugged and kissed and wished each other a happy and gay 1982!
I didn't really know what to expect. Depictions of gay bars in the movies and TV shows of the time usually went for one of the two extreme stereotypes...Ultra-Fem or Super-Butch. Either a satin-draped pink and lavender lounge featuring Greek columns and statues of naked Adonises playing soft piano music in muted candlelit romance, or, dark, sweat-stained, cigar-smoke filled pits, crawling with Leathermen Masters, Old Bears and their Chicken Slaves. (The term "chicken" back then was the equivalent of today's "twink".)
Michael seemed excited as he knew it was my first exposure to the gay world. Other than him and his friend Jerry, I hadn't really known any other gay guys. (I knew, even then, that John could not truly be classified as gay. If it were times like now, John might have been comfortable with the label of bisexual.)
I remember spending a lot of time discussing with him what to wear. In those days, the preppie look was at it's height, and Michael and I were hardcore preps to the core. I'm not sure exactly what I wore, but it likely had a Polo Ralph Lauren insignia somewhere and reeked either of the cologne of the same name or Halston Z-14.
We went to his friend George's house as we were going as "threesome" (pluetonic, of course). George was in his late 30's or so, and just happened to be one of the history teachers in my school. Remember, I was still a senior in high school...I was only 17.
I remember Michael and George talking about their transportation plans if they were successful in "hooking up".
While Donna Summer belted out a high-energy mix of "I Feel Love"from George's hi-fi stereo, the conversation moved to sex and George stared seductively at me and admitted it was hard for him to find the right lover because they (his sex partners) just couldn't keep up with his stamina...
Okay, George was chunky, balding, (what I then considered) "middle-aged" and of Middle-Eastern ethnicity. I was Sooo Not Interested and by being cool for the rest of the night with him, I think he got the message.
But I do have to hand it to him though, he pulled through in a time of need.
When we arrived at the club, a country club style sprawling compound called "The Loft" set in a rural suburb between Woonsocket and Providence, I could hear the beat of the disco music inside getting louder and louder as we got nearer the front entrance...it was firing me up! But the excitement was almost snubbed out when the bouncer wanted to see our ID's (Michael's and mine...not George's).
Michael whispered to me to play it cool and just say I forgot it and pretend I was old enough. But the bouncer wasn't very convinced and he seemed on the verge of not letting me in when George stepped in and said "He's cool". In the span of just a second or two, it seemed George and the bouncer exchanged knowing nods, and I was let in.
Inside, it was far from the Sodom and Gommorah or Pansy Foo-Foo Palace of mass-media portrayals. It was, kinda, well, kinda, normal.
The main floor had a long bar and several tables along with a pool table and entrance to the outdoor pool area (closed now, of course, being the dead of winter). We checked our coats (for a fee), after paying a cover charge and proceeded to the bar to buy drinks. Luckily, Michael or I were not "re-carded" at the bars that night and were able to order freely (though not cheaply). One of my first impressions of a gay bar was that it was expensive! As we were just there as pals, no one was buying me drinks (yet...but that soon changed) and I had to shell out my own hard-earned HoJo's money.
Before we went upstairs to the main dance floor, I noticed a smaller bar off to the left of the stairway and asked the guys what was in there. They said "You don't want to go in there..." and smiled. Well, of course I went in.
It was like stepping into a whole other club. It was much smaller and darker than the main club and once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see why. The leathermen club known as "The Falcons" gathered here...and here they definitely were. Furry, handlebar-mustachioed, burly men in black leather chaps, studded torso harnesses and biker caps were strewn about the place, some making out, others doing a bit more (frotage), but most sucking back beers outta the bottle and suddenly, and intently, staring at me as if I were a juicy hot dog about to be devoured. I wasn't afraid, but I sure didn't want to encourage them either so I did a slow cruise past the bar, looked out the window (as if that's what I had wanted to do all along) and non-chalantly, albeit, blushingly went back to my friends now upstairs. Whew, that was close! ;)
The sound system was amazing along with the colored rotating spotlights, the strobes and, very new then, lasers and smoke machines. It was fantastic. As they do still to this day, gay bars invest much more in the drama of their dance clubs and expertise of their DJ's then "straight" clubs, anytime! IMHO, anyway.
Several guys were pretty hot. This club generally catered to a more affluent clientele. But the age range was a bit older than, as I later would learn, the downtown Providence or Boston clubs. The college in this area, Bryant was a conservative business school and though I'm sure there were a few students from there, it was mainly either local residents like us or guys from the city who wanted a more relaxed country atmosphere.
Some of the guys I met that night I would later bump into, sometimes literally, again and again at the various clubs in the area.
There was the heavy set somewhat fey guy who reminded me of a young Harvey Firestein who kept wanting to talk my ear off about how gorgeous I was.
There was the cute blond college-aged guy who couldn't believe I was old enough to be there and kept pressing me to admit to him how old I was as he nuzzled up to me and we sucked face. When I finally told him, rather than get scared, he seemed titilated by it but to my chagrin once his friends found out, they cautioned him to avoid me. I was, unfortunately, literally jail bait.
There was the older guy in the black satin "John Travolta" shirt (which by then was falling greatly out of style) and multiple gold chains around his neck, draping over his slightly hairy chest. He was the most free with his money and bought me many of my drinks-of-choice (Jack Daniels and soda...oh yeah, it was all about getting fucked up as quickly as possible!) During one dance he started pressing his thigh to mine and...my, oh my! He was hard as a rock and hung like a freaking horse! Must have been a good 11 or 12 inches! His looks were plain and not my type, his style was definitely not up to my standards, but oh, my mind wondered...I refused anymore advances from him though as it was getting late and I didn't want to get in over my head.
At midnight, Michael, George and I wrestled ourselves away from our various ephemeral erotic daliences, found each other, raised our glasses of champagne in toast, hugged and kissed and wished each other a happy and gay 1982!