NOTE: IF SEX MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE
When I was 16, I made my way to DC on a night away from my parents house out in Southern Maryland. My parents moved out of DC after the riots in what has often been referred to as “white flight”. In 1977, there was no “gay” heading in the yellow pages. I had no clear idea where I was heading. Only that I wanted to explore sex places. I had found the “peep show” sex shops about month prior. Remembering one across the street from the Greyhound Bus station on New York Avenue. My prior trips had been in daylight or Sundays when I had told my parents I need the car to go to High Mass at the Shrine and then kick around the Smithsonian. I had to throw in the church part to make sure no one would (my brother) want to tag along for a trip to the Mall. This gave me an opportunity to explore the sex shops. At that time they all (that I found) were centered on the New Your Avenue and 14th street area near the bus-stations.
This was a Saturday night. I landed back at the sex shop but it was different now. There were men in there dressed in leather jackets and blue jeans. Not the business suited men of the day trips. These looked the gay guys on TV that were protesting in San Francisco. I think I had spotted a real gay!
After walking though the shop I went back to my car to ponder my options. While sitting there coming up with my options, I noticed the leather jacketed men were walking around the corner. I got out of the car and walked in that direction but had lost them. I waited a little longer and noticed some other men head to a door in what I thought was a bank. These men were wearing leather pants with the front cut out. Kinda like a cowboys but tight and all black. Most important, I did not see any women go in. I think I hit pay-dirt!
Now at that time I was a freshman in college going on 17. It was early fall and I still had my summer tan. Tall, 6”2” blond hair and bright blue eyes. I usually wore blue jeans and a flannel shirt and blue jeans jacket. These guys were dressed like that too. Comfort level 1 reached!
The doorman, big, burly and bearded, asked me for $5 admission. I reached in my pocket, not only to get my wallet, but, to wipe the sweat off my hands. The doorman grabbed my hand to return the change. He then ran his finger along the nails, said “nice” and buzzed me in. I made it !
It was a smallish, dark room with a bar in the middle. I moved over toward the side wall to watch. I wanted to see how they ordered beers just to make sure I did it right. The drinking age in DC at the time was 18 for beer and wine, but I still worried that someone might catch me for being too young. Did I mention the bar was dark. Well the area along the wall was even darker. I did not realize that there was a person right next to me until I felt a hand on my thigh. I froze!
I then felt the hand slide up and down my leg until it then stopped at its goal. A destination with a mind of its’ own that was working despite the overwhelming fear. Freed from confinement it soon felt warm and wet. After a short period of time, I started breathing hard, saw stars, then he walked away. I had scored even before my first drink!. I think I’m going to like this gay bar stuff. The bar eventually moved to a new location on 5thavenue.
My stories from this bar are reading for hand job books. I will say for my first year out in bars, I did not know gays dated. I figured we just went to the bar, had sex, and went home. They asked me to leave the first time I went to the Lost and Found. But that’s another story.