RedRaw
Cloak room boy. A three hour shift in the Metro in exchange for free tickets to RedRaw. Hundreds of nice smelling coats, hundreds of nice smelling boys all coming up to me and entrusting their most valuable possessions to me for a fee. Free champagne and finger food from the organisers, together with a nice tacky tag to hang around my neck to declare to the world that I'm a volunteer.
How much better can this get.
Four levels of the Metro with each level dedicated to a different genre of music. The techno room is filled with Asians and the old-whites-who-like-them, whilst the house room has more of a mixed crowd with a splash or two of dykes here and there.
The main dance floor takes centre stage with beautiful Kylie-inspired disco lights coupled with deafening music from DJ's I'm not too familiar with.
Blazing lights and smoke screens fill the air as men (and women) remove items of clothing to bare flesh (and hair). A parade of divas and drags to launch the event, with our very own Grandpa Acid taking centre stage with a multicolour honeycomb headpiece with colourful blinking lights and large fabric butterflies attached to his wrists.
Some of the drag queens adorn extremely elaborate wigs and tops, with dazzling displays and dresses which would put any straight girl to shame. Cabaret has always been excessive in my eyes, but in a beautiful sort of way.
The boyfriend has come along too, with his mates. I only hang out with him every now and then, hopping from one dance floor to another on my own to look at people and to have fun while he does the same.
Insecurities cloud my mind as I walk through the crowd of semi-naked men gyrating to ear-deafening music. Even in the flashing laser lights you can almost make out the shapes and sizes all around you, from the fat bloke standing in the corner with his leather apparel to the muscular Asian guy dancing on top of the podium to Nelly Furtado's Promiscuous.
Wondering why nobody cute approaches me and tries to pick me up. Perhaps I don't look good enough? I see a lot of people who are coupled, and only a few stragglers like me occupy the sidelines.
Looking at my own body I sense a great form of disappointment at my appearance. Even though many of the 2000 or so people in here are from the not-so-beautiful category, I manage to blot them out and focus only on those who ARE body-beautiful. I constantly feed my mind with images of ripping chests and trunk sized calves. Everywhere around me, muscled men are the only things I see. Observing shaved/waxed/lasered chests, I feel a grave sense of insecurity, notably with regards to the fine hairs all over my body that are beginning to show signs of thickening.
In a distance, an old muscle-mary winks at me and I turn away in disgust. Not backing off easily, he approaches me and grabs my shoulders. What manners!
No energy for the after-party. Heading back home in the train at 6am I notice a bunch of cute gay boys I was eyeing earlier in the day, and to my surprise they alight off at the same train station as I and head off into an apartment nearby, one that I've always thought of living in myself.
Cold air in my face telling me to jump straight into bed, but a warm shower later and I realise that I'm all home alone without the boyfriend who has gone over his mates for congee before the after-party.
What loneliness.
How much better can this get.
Four levels of the Metro with each level dedicated to a different genre of music. The techno room is filled with Asians and the old-whites-who-like-them, whilst the house room has more of a mixed crowd with a splash or two of dykes here and there.
The main dance floor takes centre stage with beautiful Kylie-inspired disco lights coupled with deafening music from DJ's I'm not too familiar with.
Blazing lights and smoke screens fill the air as men (and women) remove items of clothing to bare flesh (and hair). A parade of divas and drags to launch the event, with our very own Grandpa Acid taking centre stage with a multicolour honeycomb headpiece with colourful blinking lights and large fabric butterflies attached to his wrists.
Some of the drag queens adorn extremely elaborate wigs and tops, with dazzling displays and dresses which would put any straight girl to shame. Cabaret has always been excessive in my eyes, but in a beautiful sort of way.
The boyfriend has come along too, with his mates. I only hang out with him every now and then, hopping from one dance floor to another on my own to look at people and to have fun while he does the same.
Insecurities cloud my mind as I walk through the crowd of semi-naked men gyrating to ear-deafening music. Even in the flashing laser lights you can almost make out the shapes and sizes all around you, from the fat bloke standing in the corner with his leather apparel to the muscular Asian guy dancing on top of the podium to Nelly Furtado's Promiscuous.
Wondering why nobody cute approaches me and tries to pick me up. Perhaps I don't look good enough? I see a lot of people who are coupled, and only a few stragglers like me occupy the sidelines.
Looking at my own body I sense a great form of disappointment at my appearance. Even though many of the 2000 or so people in here are from the not-so-beautiful category, I manage to blot them out and focus only on those who ARE body-beautiful. I constantly feed my mind with images of ripping chests and trunk sized calves. Everywhere around me, muscled men are the only things I see. Observing shaved/waxed/lasered chests, I feel a grave sense of insecurity, notably with regards to the fine hairs all over my body that are beginning to show signs of thickening.
In a distance, an old muscle-mary winks at me and I turn away in disgust. Not backing off easily, he approaches me and grabs my shoulders. What manners!
No energy for the after-party. Heading back home in the train at 6am I notice a bunch of cute gay boys I was eyeing earlier in the day, and to my surprise they alight off at the same train station as I and head off into an apartment nearby, one that I've always thought of living in myself.
Cold air in my face telling me to jump straight into bed, but a warm shower later and I realise that I'm all home alone without the boyfriend who has gone over his mates for congee before the after-party.
What loneliness.
Fell from the sky at 11:21 PM
1 Comments:
ahh... all those tease of eye candy and you are home alone
stumble over ya blog... quite like ya writing.
cheers
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