Limelight

It’s 4:30 in the morning as I begin to write this. I just got back from the Limelight. I have a chatroom open, I’m eating some leftover rice because I’m starving, and I’m sitting here at my laptop. (That last part must have been pretty obvious.)

Limelight was fun. I went with Jay, one of the guys I’d met on the Cloisters excursion. Jay reminds me of a very straight law school roommate of mine, which is kind of weird. (Oh, and Jay isn’t his real name. You know, it gets harder and harder to think of aliases for people whom I mention here…)

Limelight is in an old church on the corner of 6th Avenue and 20th Street. We were waiting on the line, which was wrapped around the corner, and it started to drizzle. Jay had an umbrella, and after it had been open a while, two guys behind us huddled underneath it with us. They were a couple. They’d been out on Fire Island for the weekend but had gotten tired of it and had decided to spend the rest of their time in Manhattan. They were very nice guys, and after we’d all got inside, we were on line at the counter to pay, and the louder of the two of them spontaneously paid for Jay’s admission. Not mine, but Jay’s. Me, I had to pay the twenty-five bucks, god dammit. Twenty-five bucks! Jay sort of made up for it by buying me a beer, which was nice of him. That was the only drink I had over the course of the night.

The place was packed, and it seemed like 55 percent of the guys were shirtless and smooth. I spent some of the time on the dance floor, which was the church sanctuary minus the pews, and some of the time on one of the upper balconies, looking down on this writhing organic life form, each buff body one of its molecules; a smoky fog floating above the crowd, various laser lights playing off of different people. In between the flashes of a strobe light I could see guys making out on the floor.

Dancing in a sweaty crowd and watching two muscled shirtless guys kissing and feeling up each other’s bodies, right in front of you, is enough to drive you mad.

Before I’d left my apartment, after getting out of the shower, I was looking at my upper body in the mirror. I’m lucky to have a slim, nicely proportioned body without ever going to the gym (which means that if I did go to the gym, maybe I’d see some good results). The only drawback, as far as I’m concerned, is that I’m too hairy. Some people like that; I don’t mind it. But it means that at a dance club, I can’t take off my shirt, because no guy with a hairy chest ever takes off his shirt at such a place. It’s just another sign of the feminization of American male culture. Smooth bodies just look cleaner, more antiseptic.

Anyway, I’m wondering if maybe I’ll get my upper body waxed. It’s an idea. It would be interesting to see what it feels like, and it would be nice to be able to go to a club and take off my shirt and not feel self-conscious about my body.

Anyway… good night.