Dancer from the Dance, 2013
You probably clicked on this video because there is a beautiful man as its emblematic image. I am glad that you did.
I watched hundreds of men my age, younger, older, much younger, much older plagued by a thousand arrows coming from a disco ball.
Of course, the spirits were high and the music was sloshy and I couldn’t quite find my footing because my hands were down someone pants.
And to my left there are dark corners where people are counting the scenes, and the looks, and the “shows”. To my right there is a dancer on a stage lost in his vulnerability, unable to step down because that dollar honey is strong.
Belly rotund, fingers to his lips, his hips find the pulse, the thrust, the cum, the music.
The times at westgay were fun, albeit riddled with shame and discomfort, pouring out of the tiles on the floor and the lights on the ceiling.
This is tradition, this is homogeneity, this is just right, a lime, not a lemon.
This is nightlife, this is private, and this is New York in the 1980s and in 70s and in 2010s and the 20-teens, and the y generation, and the x generation, referenced in no chronological order, freitzeit en masse.