My First Time at a Gay Bar

The first time I ever went to a gay bar was in Chicago when I was hanging out with a group of girls. One of them referred to herself as “the blow job queen of Chicago.” This struck me as uncannily similar to the “sausage king of Chicago” line from Ferris Bueller but, nonetheless, piqued my curiosity. After all, this sort of hubris is rare to find in the midwest. Basically, I would have followed ’em anywhere.

So we went to a bar named Spin on Belmont Avenue. This is in a section of the city called Boystown. (Chicago, where names are direct!) It was the first time in my life I had ever gone to a place that displayed a rainbow out front and I confess I was slightly nervous. After all, I was a young lad in the midwest raised on stereotypes. Would I be stared at with hungry eyes? Would men rub up against me? Would I suddenly begin to like Barbara Streisand?

It turned out to be nothing special. Just, like, y’know, a bar. With some dancing. I remember Prince was playing and the gals were really letting loose. (Note to straight fellas: Create a safe environment where women don’t feel threatened and they’ll suddenly let it all hang out in a way that you’ll really dig.) There were dudes around but they didn’t really care about me. I realized gay men at a bar make me feel the same way straight women at a bar make me feel: invisible.

Anyway, we had a decent time, but I didn’t come close to hooking up with the blow job queen. Last I checked, she was married and had a couple of kids. Even blow job queens need to settle down eventually. Y’know, it’s like Shakespeare wrote: “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown (for giving head).”