It was Clinton's speech that made me insist on booking a hotel and Amtrak tickets for DC during Inauguration weekend.
It was Bohoken's suggestion that we consolidate our luggage that made me leave my 3rd pair of cowboy boots at home for the 3-day weekend.
And it was EVERYONE's suggestion that made me curious about Secrets in DC.
|yeah, their asses didn't tell me what actually goes on at Secrets|
After spending Saturday morning packing up Bohoken's apartment (we're moving in together, y'all!), we popped over to Elmo for a quick brunch before hopping on Amtrak for our 6pm Union Station arrival. Our hotel was just steps from the DuPont Circle metro stop, which is only a few stops on the red line from Union Station. Convenient, right?
We'd booked a room at the Baron Hotel since everything else in the area was already booked (and we looked during the convention in September). It was the little things that made this hotel sub-par: only one bar of soap in the bathroom, no elevator, the holes in the towels, no full-length mirror, only one bedside table... But the wifi was free!
After a quick disco nap, we headed to the 17th St strip for dinner at Floriana. Our food was astoundingly tasty! Bohoken had a great duck risotto (this was the first non-Asian duck I'd ever really liked), and my salmon was possibly the best I'd ever had. It's the kind of food you'd hope for when entrees tip the $20 mark. Did I mention our martinis were great, too?
We crossed the street for a drink at JR's with a choir friend from college who resides in Maryland. He was a couple of years behind me, and during his senior year, I decided to be the sketchy old guy and come back to campus for the big spring party weekend with a couple of friends. The two of us were in someone's apartment drinking with a few fellow choral nerds, and it came up that this gay friend had never kissed a guy before. Being the
altruistic hero that I am, I couldn't let him go out into the post-college gay
world having never made out with another guy. And at our small, non-ivy-league
school, having an extended dry spell was normal if not expected as a gay on
|JR's crowd on a Friday evening.|
In my mind, the kiss happened in a very playful, humorous way where I came off looking like the sexy, suave mentor of this totally cute nerd who was stuck on the sexual desert island of our campus. It was like a movie. But realistically, this was about 5 years ago, and I was likely very drunk. Despite my hollywood-tinted memories, it was just as likely to have been a bit sloppy, contrived and somewhat awkward.
Anyway, after a couple of drinks with this friend (you’ll be happy to know that he has, in fact, become a fully functional gay man in the time since we last saw each other), we hopped in a cab to Secrets.
I was quite anxious to check out the scene at Secrets, especially since their website boasted totally nude dancers. Honestly, I'd rather see a go-go in a jock than fully naked, but every once in a while it's fun to have that shock factor. I'd only experienced naked go-goes at Daniel Nardicio's underwear parties, which makes sense because all the patrons are stripped down. Hell, even the dancers at The Cock put their dicks back in their briefs after they let you [insert absolutely any verb] it. But to be at a regular bar fully clothed with naked boys on the bar felt like a bit of a strange power dynamic to me. There was only one way to find out for sure.
Secrets is in a warehousey part of DC— an ideal place to dump a body. If it weren't for the crowd of smokers and the bouncer outside, I would have wondered if we'd gone to the wrong address. With a $10 cover (my wink-and-smile powers only extend as far as the west side of Manhattan), we found ourselves walking into the middle of a drag show. I was distracted for a least 2 numbers (tip your queens, queens) before I asked a bouncer where the stairs were. At the time, I thought I was being clever, but everyone knows what's upstairs. I may as well have led with "Where da dicks swangin'?!"
|and they were SERIOUS about this rule!|
At the top of the stairs was a huge sign that another bouncer refused to let me photograph (oops). When I walked through the door to the huge dance floor, my jaw dropped. 15 go-goes of all shades and heights (but basically all the same slim-to-muscled shape) wore only sneakers, socks and sometimes hats. And from what I can remember, no one looked average in length.
So when a go-go is naked, and you're not allowed to touch, why the hell would you tip them? Well, for me, it was the tricks. This one white guy (with possibly the a biggest cock in the room) must have been a gymnast in a past life because he had no problem popping into a handstand. Not to mention he was cute as hell. But yes, a few guys had to be acknowledged for special feats of acrobatics and choreography. Of course, you still had a few guys who would just stand there and look pretty. Yawn.
And then we saw the shower. Nay, more a tiled cell punctuated with shower nozzles behind glass with a crack in it for patrons to tip whatever go-go graced it for a show-show. So you can understand how one could easily stay until the ugly lights came on at 3.
|this photo could get me deported.|
Did I mention that we ran into an old friend of mine whose other friend who drove us home but got side-swiped by another car at a red light while my friend was literally trying to get into Bohoken's pants in the back seat? Yeah.
Click here for Part II.
Click here to check out my Inauguration '09 Weekend.