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The Black Party is on Saturday. I went last year and had a blast. It’s not something my friends would typically do at the time, so I wrote up a Facebook note the week after to tell them all about it (and to hopefully encourage them to go this year). Any major edits will be in a different color.
So, for those of you who don’t know about the Black Party, we don’t have much time to catch you up. It’s a circuit party that’s themed around leather. If that doesn’t explain it enough for you… whatever keep reading.
(this may help explain the party and this may help explain leather in the gay scene context… you may not want to open either at work)
Circuit parties are huge events, usually with live performances (many include big names like Madonna and Kylie Minogue) and hundreds (if not thousands) of attendees. Tickets are usually in the realm of $120-$170, and most profits go towards some gay-centric charity. Each of these annual parties different one has a theme, and (supposedly) many of the same people travel across the country/world to attend, hence the circuit. Drugs are usually in heavy use, and there’s usually a number of related pre- and after-parties at different venues.
So, I met the guy online. Let’s call him The Count since he’s an accountant. First in-person meeting on Monday, randomly decided to hang out on Wednesday, and Thursday he offers to buy me a ticket to the Black Party. That’s how I got in (b/c you know D. Kareem is not trying to pay $140 for admission to any party… and that’s pretty standard admission for a circuit party).
The drama starts before I even get there. When I accepted the invitation, I realized that any of the guys with whom I’ve been messing around with any regularity may possibly be there, but there were a few that would be particularly inconvenient to run into. Duplex was in Florida last time I spoke to him. The Architect was probably too busy with Fire Island house arrangements, and tOWGA… well, it’s just not his scene (even though he would look killer in a harness and jeans).
tOWGA had declined my invitation to come to a house party on Friday and decided not to tell me this until he was already home in the suburbs. I have ridden home with him on Friday nights pretty consistently for the past 2 months, even if we hadn’t gone out together. Anyway, he texted me around 6 on Saturday, the day of the Black Party, to ask me what I was up to that night. So I told him the Black Party. “Wow, I didn’t know you were going. How’d you swing that.”
Yeah, I didn’t have the heart: “I have friends in low places who get stuff done ;-)” He responds, “Well, I guess that answers that I won’t be seeing you. Who are you going with.” Fuck, tOWGA, do you really want me to answer that question? I had to go against everything I stand for to keep the peace b/c I couldn’t deal with a text fight (plus I was trying to grab a nap!): “Meeting up with a couple of friends who are going,” and I did have a couple of friends who were going with whom I was sure I’d meet up. Ugh, I hate myself for that. “Well I’ve been, so enjoy. Miss not seeing you.” I guess he meant he missing seeing me, but he should have thought about that last night on the Cross County Parkway! But this isn’t about tOWGA; it’s about the Black Party.
Around 10, I go to The Count’s apartment, which is conveniently located about 4 blocks from the Roseland Ballroom (where the Party is held). A few drinks to pre-game, of course. He was wearing a couple of arm bands, a choker, and lace-up leather pants. I just had jeans, a cut off tank top, and a choker. Nothing too hardcore.
We show up around 11:30 (which I thought was way too early, but I figured I’d let him run the show). There’s a short line, but there’s almost no wait for the coat check (yeeees!). They handed out little flashlights at the entrance, which turned out to be pretty handy later. At the entrance past the ticket booth, there’s this guy dressed up like a boy scout in a caged in area. He’s about 5’2, and his dick, which he was lightly stroking, was about half his height. How he didn’t pass out, I have no idea. On the other side was a guy sitting in a tin tub (like something you would wash a small farm animal in) full of mints with a dunce cap on accompanied by a rather busty drag queen on a stool.
Right about then Duplex texts me: “Hey.. whats up? U out partying this wknd?” (sic sic sic sic sic) Fuck! The last thing I need is Duplex’s jealous ass rolling up to the Black Party! I text back, “Of course.” Wasn’t he supposed to be in Florida still?! FUCK! “cool…anywhere interesting? I hipe I get to see you” (he has a Blackberry, so no T9). “Um, the Black Party. Very random.” Please, God, don’t let him start asking questions. Finally he responds, “Oh cool…have fun! It’s definitely one of a kind..call me when you’re outta there.” Right. As if he ever picked his phone up after 2:30 anyway. Tragedy averted again.
We took a lap around the first floor, which was mostly a huge dance floor playing hardcore ‘gay music’ (non-vocal house? Trance? Tribal? Who knows, but it reminded me of the Roxy). There were a couple of bars, and there was a long bench along a corridor that bordered the dance floor (separated by a curtain). Of course, everything’s very dimly lit. Guys are wearing leather chaps, leather jock straps, cotton jock straps, harnesses, ball gags, leather boots. A couple of guys were wearing sneakers and a leather cock ring. And maybe socks, but that’s it.
We had to go to the bathroom, so we went to the basement. Down there, I ran into one of the Architect’s friends from the ski lodge and the fire island house. Great. I could have totally avoided b/c I don’t think he saw me, but he’s the nicest guy ever. Plus, I didn’t want to be shady. So we spoke, and I introduced him to The Count. Then another one of the Architect’s housemates comes up. Um, great. It’s not even a minute before the Architect himself chasses over in a harness and leather pants. He smiled and greeted me as a friend. He was surprisingly non-touchy-feely, and he didn’t seem to be faking his happiness to see me (with another guy!). After about 5 surprisingly non-awkward minutes, we took our leave of the crew and headed upstairs.
On the second floor, there was a live show. One guy was dressed like a demented doctor. The other guy on stage had his shirt off and was getting hooks placed into the skin on his chest and stomach. The hooks were connected to… well, basically they lifted him up over the stage by these hooks in his torso, and his skin looked like it could have ripped at any point. Then the Dr. Demento starts spinning him. Quickly. The Count couldn’t take it any more, so we checked out the tent, which had 5 cots on each side and nothing going on. *yawn* Yet.
So then we wandered into the ‘back room’. The Count was very excited about this because he couldn’t find it last year. Remember those flashlights they handed out at the door? These became our voyeuristic survival tools. At the entrance, they handed out condoms, lube, and antiseptic wipes. It was crowded as HELL in there (of course). There were a lot of guys sucking, kissing, touching, etc, but it seemed like most guys were just watching, being perverts like us. The great thing is that the guys actually doing the sexual stuff are exhibitionists, so watching is encouraged. Participation is also, btw.
We went into the second room, and in the middle there was a tin tub (like the minted dunce at the entrance) full of condoms and lube. Wooden clothes pins (i.e., bootleg nipple clamps) lined the rim of the tub. The Count and I both giggled as we each grabbed a few. Then we turned to our left and saw exactly what we came in there for. Maybe a bit more. About 5 dudes had their pants down jerking off in a circle. In the middle: a guy bent over taking it balls deep. Condom? Not so much. I guess the pressure to perform for an audience got to the top because about 2 min after we started watching, he couldn’t keep it up anymore. At that point we’d had our fill of the smell of poppers and sweaty ass, so we ventured back to the first floor. And I’m NOT explaining what poppers are.
Our next project was to “tag subjects in order to study their migration habits” (i.e., see if we could get the clothespins to clamp on guys’ exposed asses). This provided a shameful amount of entertainment.
We passed by this really ripped guy, and I commented on his knee-high boots with contrasting laces. He was holding a face towel over what I figured was a jock strap or some kind of underwear. I guess The Count had asked him what was under the towel b/c I caught a very long, thick, and veiny cock out of the corner of my eye. Then The Count’s hand slips under the towel. That lasted for about 10 seconds, and then we moved on. Apparently he was uncut.
We went back to an open area between the entrance and the dance floor, and across the way I see the porn god of all (gay, white, muscular, hairy, over 40) porn gods: Colton Ford. Google him when you get home. He sings now, and I had just replenished my wallet’s supply of business cards for my songwriting. An excuse to cop a feel network! So I excused myself from The Count and scurried over, chanting, “Don’t look like a groupie” in my head. I introduced myself and told him I was a “huge fan of your work, both on screen and vocally.” I slipped him a business card and gave his biceps a feel. I really hope I didn’t skip as I made my way back across the room. I was in a slight daze. Then like a cunt, I texted TTT: “Remember when you saw Colton Ford from across Gym Bar? Well I just met him and gave him my business card.
Around that time Loosefur and ASFKAB started texting me (I think it was about 2). Loosefur excitedly exclaimed that he had bought a harness (btw, those things are NOT cheap), and ASFKAB was “in heaven”. I ran into Loosefur shortly thereafter, who of course looked ultra-hot in his harness. His roommate and friend had gotten matching harnesses. Loosefur introduced me to his friend and my jaw about hit the floor. Picture a 6’6 mountain of man-ness, ripped, handsome (or at least he was in the dim lighting filtered through how many screw drivers?), and donning a shiny metal cod piece. It actually reminded me of this video. But I recall nothing queeny about this knight. I was about to type, ‘hopefully I wasn’t obvious,’ but The Count had just grab another guy’s cock. Whatevs.
We talked to them briefly before moving on. At one point, I ran into Colombiano and his motley crew. They were all variously leathered out. Colombiano was on a leash (made of a leather choker and hardware store rope) that was being pulled by none other than a gay I recognized from Portland, Me. He now lives in New York. Apparently they knew each other from when Colombiano was in Portland (during my senior year at my non-Ivy-League school [thank god], yet I never ran into him there). His mega-hot Venezuelan friend gave an occasional tug as well. They passed through very quickly to the dancefloor.
More clothespins were stuck, more body parts were seen, more outfits were adored, and more hot tranny messes were identified (I hate myself for writing that phrase). The Count got lame around 4. He said I was welcome to stay and come to his place when I’d had my fill. I thought about meeting up with Loosefur and his friends, but I figured I should be at least somewhat accommodating on our 3rd ‘date’ for which he paid a lot more than dinner and a movie. Plus it's not like I had keys, and most of my stuff was at his place.
The party goes on til 4pm on Sunday, You think I’m joking? What’s worse is that another party (called Alegria) starts a few hours after this one ends and attracts much of the same crowd. Sick day(s) anyone? The Count and I got up and went back around 11:30 am. It was weird b/c it was still crowded on the dance floor, but you could tell it had definitely hit its peak. There were free fruit, cookies and juice at tables around the venue, so we had a makeshift breakfast.
The back room was closed, but all that action had moved to the tent with the cots. We pushed our way into the overwhelming smell of sweaty man, but all I could see were a bunch of ookie-cookie circles where the cookie was replaced by Steven or Henry. It was funny b/c they guys on their knees were pretty hot, but the guys getting head were kinda hideous. Then The Count broke through the wall of voyeurs and found the buttsex (score!). Actually, we passed a couple having sex in the corridor on the way to the tent (of course with 7 guys around them jerking off and touching them), but they were not so hot. The hottest guy in the room was eating the top’s ass. I really wanted to observe the progression from random strangers to random sex partners between two guys, but popper deposits were starting to form inside my nostrils. We hung around downstairs for a while, bumped into a friend of Duplex’s (oops), had a drink (once the bars were allowed to serve liquor at noon), and wandered around a bit more.
I felt a lot more at ease when I got the Architect’s text: “Great to see you last night. Put me in a good mood for the party. Hope you had fun!” Thank god. Not only is he a great friend, but he has a sick house on Fire Island. You don’t wanna piss off that friend.
One of the featured performers (they have all kinds of live sex shows on a main stage on the dance floor) was porn star François Sagat. I’d never heard of him, but The Count was really excited when we walked past him in the corridor beside the dance floor. He was in just a jock strap and had an amazing ass. In fact, his single flaw was his painted-on hair (which I thought was just for this party, but, as you can see from the above link, that’s his thing). I have to say after seeing his work that I'm not a huge fan.
Earlier in the night, he was hanging out with the model from the Miami Winter Party (another circuit party… guess where it’s held) and a bartender that I have a crush on that works at the Hangar and the View. So we run into them, The Count greets Frenchie, and I give the bartender a tap on the shoulder to give him a finger wave. I didn’t even think he’d really recognize me, but he looked, smiled, and pulled me in for a huge, hairy, man-funk-heavy hug (I almost sprayed my shorts). Maybe he was on drugs, but I like to think it’s b/c he likes me.
So some suggestions in case you are thinking about attending this annual event (and you should be). You probably don’t want to get there before 2am unless you’re really into hardcore tribal music or unless you’re on really good drugs that’ll keep you going. Peak time is probably somewhere between 4 (when the bars and clubs close) and 7am. Wear something interesting (nobody appreciates the ‘irony’ of an Old Navy T and cargo pants at the Black Party… at least do an arm band and a tank top). If you’re really desperate, they have a table that sells leather gear at the party. Be prepared to see, smell, and (if you get too close) touch mansex if you venture beyond the dance floor. Bring cash! And make sure you’re coherent enough to remember what went down so you can fill in all your friends who for one reason or another didn’t go. Oh, and don’t carry anything you need in your back pocket. That guy you think is feeling your ass up in the back room or on the dance floor could be a skilled (and really hot) pickpocket.
AND MOST IMPORTANTLY: you can get in for $40 after 4am if you’re younger than 28. So if you’ve never done it, believe me, it’d very much still worth going at that time! If you can handle it. Ivy League Crew, we’re definitely doing this next year.
This story would have been great with pictures, huh? Well I don’t have a digicam, but if you wanna buy me an i-phone or make a contribution towards the purchase, my birthday is in June. A check works, but I can give you my paypal info for credit cards.
The following was sent soon after I posted the above note. Not sure who wrote it, but it could come in handy tomorrow!
Props to Fung Wah for sending these my way... except that I didn't see them until after I had gotten home. Wow, Fung Wah, how did YOU come across these? Hmm....
Black Party 10 Commandments
All, right! Unlike Moses, I expect to come down from the mountain and see a full-fledged orgy.
A veteran gives the Ten Commandments on how to get the most out of the Black Party:
I Thou shalt bring a large bag that can fit your jacket and all the stuff mentioned below. For a dollar or two tip, the coatcheck staff will be happy to let you retrieve it, get what you need and return it. Bring: change of socks (nothing feels better after a few hours of intense dancing!); toothbrush, toothpaste and mouthwash (ditto); cough syrup, antacids or aspirin; sunglasses (for the Walk of Shame back home). Oh, and Viagra. If, um, you ... whatever.
II Thou shalt wear street clothes—and change or strip down at the party. If you’re planning on a marathon, change from your leather outfit to jeans for the Morning Music—the really serious dancing. Don’t be shy about changing in front of everyone downstairs; a naked man is hardly shocking at the Black Party. (Leave your middle-class sense of shame at the door.)
III Thou shalt carry with you your primary-care physician’s business card; one piece of nonessential I.D. with your address and home phone; lots of dollar bills (for tips); ear plugs (just in case); a non-credit, pin-access-only ATM card.
IV Thou shalt not carry around, but check with your coat: your wallet; credit cards; driver’s license or passport; keys; your cell phone or camera. The Black Party is the Vegas of dances: what goes on there stays there. Which leads to:
V Thou shalt not blab to the media or girlfriends if you see a co-worker, a celebrity or public figure, or your best friend’s boyfriend in a compromising situation.
VI Thou shalt stagger your entrance. No matter how well lubricated you are and how much sleep you got the night before, no one can dance for 18 hours. If you like more driving music, get there early; if you want to hear pretty music, get there later in the a.m.
VII Thou shalt not drink alcohol after 4 a.m. or before noon Sunday (or so sayeth New York State law). Soft drinks and apple juice are traditionally free. If you’re from LA or Miami, you can safely drink tap water (NYC tap water is even OK for HIV+), so you can refill your bottle. The back bar provides free coffee, milk, sugar and cookies. The perfect pick-me-up: caffeine, glucose, fats, simple carbs and a smidge of protein!
VIII Thou shalt scope out the medics (usually to the right of the stage). This is not just for you but in case you see someone in trouble. If you’re not feeling well, go; they’re there to help, not to admonish. They'll treat an upset tummy to a total fallout -- no questions asked.
IX Thou shalt establish your territory on the dance floor with landmarks. If your friends wander off, you’ll know where to find each other. But don’t waste the party looking for them. It’s easy to make new (ahem!) friends.
X Thou shalt introduce the man (or men) with whom you’re leaving to someone you know. Please take this seriously! There have been several unfortunate incidents lately—don’t become a statistic.
# # #
Midnight-2 a.m.-- the circuit boys who want the anthems, the bright lights, the twirly fun on the dance floor
3-5 a.m.: h-e-a-v-y. They want the peak time, the intense scene, maybe some ya-ya- in the Love Lounge
6-8 a.m.: the morning music lovers. Often old Saint hands, they want the pretty downtrip
My favorite comment on this Facebook note came from a banker gay:
What? I'm not invited to the black party? fuck you.
PS: Do they make Searsucker harnesses? that's more my color than black leather...
To check out more of me hanging out with rich people (they had a Picasso), click here.
Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.
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