I had another great, bust-up time at Westgay last night.
That’s the Frankie Sharp-hosted gay night at the wonderfully sleazy old strip club Westway, down by the river.
In the main room, JonJon Battles DJ’d–the word “Westgay” lit up in neon in front of the booth–and a light-studded runway centered the room, sexy gogo boys working it as if in a male version of Gypsy. They really radiate sex, from the Hispanic guy with tattoos and glasses to the one with a butt so pert it looks like dumplings.
On the outskirts of the runaway, cuties danced, writhed, mingled, and gave attitude. It was a heady mix of young hipsters, occasional apocalyptic drag queens, and one straight couple who seemed to have read the wrong guidebook.
After a while, the side room opened, with even more concentrated amounts of atmosphere, and then I found a third room, which is yet smaller, hazier, and more ambient (the bear DJ giving it some extra sass). A few people were openly smoking, and much as I hate going home smelling like Marlboros, it was refreshing to find a place where no one’s watching your every move.
I felt like maybe other things could happen too (but they don’t! Don’t worry, authorities.)
“This is great. It’s like a British club,” noted a friend.
Yeah, but without British people.
Just kidding. Everyone’s welcome–as long as they’re too cool for school.
Photos by Santiago Felipe