Shall We Bath?

There's a fairly long running party that's been switching owners. First started by someone homo I don't know, it wasn't well advertised and was held in the remote location of the South Street Seaport, where most native New Yorkers fear to tread. Thus Baña was saved by the party promoting expertise of Daniel Nardicio. His skillful promotions (promising naked boys and the possibility of gay butt sex) brought the party into the light, and it became quite popular.

However, the light is a bad place to have lewd and perverse acts happen, since police raids are bound to follow. (You'd think he would have learned after what happened at what was formerly The Slide.)

With Baña's popularity way up, it's closing couldn't have come at a worse time. Still, they say the harder to wait, the better to have. Dangling the carrot (penis) in front of the donkey (ass {gay men}) long enough, Michael "Formika" Jones restarted the party once again. And so it's stayed that way for a few months now, and until last week, I had never gone.

It's one of those parties that plays with the idea behind the classic fantasy of what happens in a bath house. Well, not so much as an idea OR a fantasy as much as it makes it happen. Like everyone else there, I checked my civilian clothes (so unlike me ). Having worn my finest square-cut bathing suit, I was ready to partake in the poolside festivities.

In 5 minutes, the suit was around my ankles.

In the middle of my ventures, I found myself in a steam room being yelled at about some show starting. Thinking it to be more sex, I pulled the boys off me like leeches trying to train my blood, and walked to the stage that was set up. To my surprise, it was no sex show.
No, it was Lady Bunny.

Her performance, while long, was a hilarious remix of her own parodies of popular hits (and it was long). Laughter is indeed the best medicine, because after her punchline exit, I found myself a little more energized, and continue my ventures.

So many hot boys, so I can't go into all the details, but needless to say, I haven't stayed out till 6am in a long, long time.

Celeb Watch Tuesdays: Day One: It Takes A Village (Person)

About two years ago, a friend of mine told me a story that changed my life (for like 3 months): There is a famed gay nightclub called Beige, held at the historic East Village bar/restaurant BBar every Tuesday. This club was well known for attracting all varieties of the celebrity community. Now, one night, while he was out gallivanting about the bar with his friends, he came across my teen dream, Danny Roberts, of Real World New Orleans fame. One thing led to another, but my friend ended up having a magical evening of talking, and eventually fucking, with Danny (and his boyfriend Paul).

This began my campaign of going to Beige every week, searching for my piece of the (Danny) pie. I only stopped because I couldn't afford to pay $8 a drink (x4) every freaking Tuesday night.

However, I recently decided to rededicate myself to this cause, not just for Danny, but for all celebs, as I am a bit of a celeb whore. Thus, I begin my campaign once again: CelebWatch '08.

^{Brad Evans and Lars}
Upon my first night, the club was pumping with beats and fashonistas, as it was still Fashion Week. Divas were vogue-ing, designers were giving face, and there I was trying to search out my first victim, $8 beer in hand.

I came across Michael Musto first, whom kept running away every time I was coming close to approaching him with a question. He only got away because the bar was packed shoulder to shoulder. But I wasn't going to sleep with him, oh no.

I found some of my friends hanging around, trying to rub elbows with the fiercest famed fashion faces, but I wasn't up for that bounty of rags. I managed to find my porn-star friend Lars, along with porn starlet, Brad Evans. I hung around with them a bit, until at around 3, I gave up on my quest. Defeated, I asked Brad (Lars had left), if he wanted to go to The Cock with me.

Tuesdays at The Cock, while still sleazy, are not quite as fun. We stuck it out, though, and eventually, I got a celebrity encounter worth writing home about: Randy Jones of the Village People talked to me (and felt me up). Not the most "Macho Man" (lolz!) in the world, but who can say no to him?

^{Randy Jones (the Cowboy) and Yours Truly}
No, of course I didn't go home with him. I decided to go for the porn starlet instead. There's some defense mechanism that keeps me from taking off my clothes for someone my parents had idolized when they were kids...

Is This A Dagger I See Before Me? Nope. It's a Cock.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.