Juice > JuiceNaked aggresion, or the games people play
Everyone brings a little light reading with them on a trip. Blaine, our host in Atlanta, likes philosophy; I like travel essays. My friend Paige has a brand new copy of Urge magazine. Hers are the only shoulders that ever get read over.
Urge had sort of an Olympics issue of its own, showing male anatomy from all over the world. It was a pleasant diversion from all the family-style entertainment we had to put up with during the Olympics and which toward the end of our stay we had had just about enough of. But the Games make you get used to seeing beautiful bodies performing amazing feats live, and pictures just donít cut it anymore. We decided to see if we could find some more grown up exhibitions of the human body.
When you find yourself seeking out a strip bar in Decatur, Ga., itís probably time for a counselor, or perhaps a team, to quiz your priorities. We saw lots of cars in the parking lot of Guys and Dolls, but the crowd watching the girl in red vinyl boots dancing to New Wave was tiny. This, we thought, canít be it. Did business worsen because of the Games?
"Oh, yes," the bouncer told us, "People come (to Atlanta) with their families. And most people who are here to see the games are tired after walking around in all that heat all day. They donít wanna come out to a titty bar." Touché. But what of the packed parking lot?
"Thatís for the other side," a barmaid told us, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "The menís side."
How it had not occurred to us, weíll never know. We thought the guys were in the chairs and the dolls were on the stage. We didnít realize there were guys on the stage, too.
Menís strip shows, I think, are like window shopping or watching The Travel Channel. Why tease yourself? Isnít life frustrating enough? Also, I donít think itís any big thrill to have to pay gay boys with parade-balloon physiques a dollar to smile at me. But we were there to see athletic physiques. And what an eyeful we got. The boyís show was packed, with guys and dolls of every conceivable kind in the audience, with one thing in common: a taste for men.
There werenít any tables so we sat down at the bar. Almost the moment my fanny hit the chair, the sleaze stack dancing in front of me grabbed my beer out of my hand and gave me that sexy look -- heavy eyes, open mouth -- and made like he was going to pour my beer on his nearly naked body. I couldnít look back -- I had to turn away to laugh. "You have to look," he said. "The first one that looks gets to lick it off." I told him the old man across the room wearing the choker had dibs, as he had been staring since 1947. The dancer didnít talk to me any more.
We were told by two girls that it was amateur night. If you think there cannot be degrees of professionalism in pouncing around naked on a bar, youíre wrong. Itís embarrassing enough if you do it well; do it badly, and youíre but an eyesore. As we decreed this, I noticed one of the dancers in the audience was buck-naked. (Not that he was so great but in a room full of clothed people, one naked one will catch your eye.) "I thought it was illegal for them to take everything off," one of our party said. Well, either we were in the middle of criminal activity or nekkid dancing is legal in Decatur, because pretty soon it seemed like every man in the bar was doing it.
Oh, they started out innocent enough. They had their cute little outfits on, their cowboy get-ups, their New Wave drag. Our favorite was the gangsta who wore one of those trendy Mad Hatter hats and threatened everyone with a very realistic looking handgun. Letís just say that when he hung his hat, it was a very well-hung hat.
We estimated we saw 16 live penises that evening, a record in all of our books for one night. And it was kind of fun to be able to stare, though I couldnít for long. I kept bursting out laughing, which is one of the worst things you can do to a penis without touching it.
I couldnít help it. People who think these places should be shut down should see for themselves -- they are very unsexy. In fact, theyíre comical. The men gyrate around to house music with their private parts bouncing around like Flubber, so itís about erotic as when the unfixed neighborhood dog bathes himself in public. For the icing on the cake, wait till one of them has bent over to talk to the table next to you, which means you get the most up-close full moon you ever saw. For the roses on the icing on the cake, wait till he scratches his tush, which is as close to your face as only your beer bottle should be.
Many of these guys did have bodies of Olympian proportion and we hope to see them in the competition that will be added in the next Games. I donít think youíll ever see a spectacle more aptly termed "ballroom dancing."