Click here for Part I.
I convinced Bohoken to put his outfit on (which wasn't too hard because he'd been drinking a good bit), and we walked down to TaPS (the Trash around Penn Station). When we arrived at Frat Boy's duplex penthouse, we were immediately accosted by a lesbian who would have been mistakable for a really cute boy if she didn't have such big boobs. She insisted that we go into Frat Boy’s bedroom and her girlfriend take a photo of the 3 of us. We were so engaged with them that it was a good 10 minutes before we actually saw anyone we knew at the party since everyone was upstairs in the kitchen area.
Upstairs, was super crowded. The
which included Frat Boy's usual awkward mix of gay and fratty straight, had
gone through most of the liquor and all of the cups. I refused to open the
bottle we'd brought until Frat Boy pulled out the reserve sleeve of Solos
because I knew just how fast that bottle could disappear.
By the end of my very strong (iceless) drink, the kitchen had gotten uncomfortably crowded. We bade the crowd farewell and headed to Posh, our last hope for pop music for the night.
After Posh, we ambled east to find that the line to get into Roseland Ballroom (where the Black Party is held) wrapped around the corner of Broadway and possibly all the way up the block. Luckily, I ran into a friend of RomaRomaMan's near the corner of Broadway, which saved us at least half the wait time.
The lines at the Black Party are a mixed blessing. Most people are covered up in the line outside, but there are always a few crazies who walk from their (friend's) HK apartment in just their leather shorts and harnesses. And as you approach the front of the line, there's usually some performer in an outrageous costume and/or makeup stepping out of a cab or getting checked off a list to come in. The line for the coat check is even better because people have stripped down to their outfits to check their street clothes. And unlike the outside line, it wraps back and forth, so it's much more social and view-friendly. Plus, it's right by the photo set up where you can have a few snapshots taken (for a fee) by their hired photog.
Once we had taken our photos (Bohoken's feet may or may not have been touching the floor the whole time), we waited in line for the bathroom. It's important to investigate the line you're standing in because often at the Black Party, the line that comes out the door is for stalls. You get inside, and you're pissed because there's nobody waiting for urinals.
Relieved and armed with drinks (I insisted that we take shots because we may not make it to another bar before they stopped serving at 4am) we ventured up to the main floor. As usual, the dance floor was packed with a few go-go platforms that guys dance on between performances. Around 2 sides of the dance floor were places to sit, and the notorious dark gauntlet lined on one side with benches lay between the 2 bars.
Bohoken and I spent most of our time wandering around and gawking at all the hot, nearly naked guys. As usual, the uniform seemed to be jock straps and harnesses. Built guys, slim guys, fat guys, hairy guys, smooth guys. Somehow, they all seemed to fit, and they all seemed comfortable showing skin.
Anyone who knows me will tell you I'm a pop junkie. I really don't like the common-time house or whatever it is they play at typical circuit parties. But just to get the full effect, I took Bohoken onto the dance floor. We saw part of a show on top of a car in a roped-off area near the dance floor and an aerial show above the crowd. And for about 5 minutes, I had to ditch Bohoken and have my Tina moment, rocking out on top of the go-go box. It was insane to see the size of the crowd, especially with the light show (and to imagine what was happening in the middle of it). There was really no way to sense the scale of it unless you saw from above.
One essential experience that I opted out of was the dark room. I really wanted Bohoken to witness (as an observer only) the unspeakable acts that happen upstairs at the Black Party, but they had security at the stairs. People were crowding at the bottom, and I only saw a few people at a time being let up. The last thing I needed was to be pushed and have my boots stepped on for a half hour to be told I wasn't allowed upstairs for some arbitrary reason. So if an organizer of the Party is reading this: no more of that, please.
Before we made our 7:30 exit, we ran into DJ Corey Craig, who was rocking a Chinese beanie (going with the Asian theme of the party) with a fake braid coming out of the back. I can't with her.
We walked half a block to Galaxy Diner on 8th ave, which is the perfect place to watch cracked out queens still half in costume leaving and arriving to (still!) the Black Party.
Did I mention how completely composed and not-cracked-out I looked as we stumbled the 10 blocks down 8th ave back to the hotel? Yeah.
Click here to check out The Black Party '10 (or not).