Almost Wild WestA Chapter by Judas Hammer I has always wanted to see Broadway and check out the night life which was hanging at my finger tips. I took the Doc and we went on a mini bar crawl and good time before the end... We returned back to her place and watched a little TV. We ordered pizza and picked it up at a place downtown. I ran down the street to Falcon liquor to pick up some shots to have with the slices. The owner was a tall older Asian man with glasses and handsome golf shirts. We tore into the pizza, mixed some drink and listened to Bachata playing on Pandora. The night was falling and it was almost time to roam the streets of the Ghetto. We dressed as one as one would dress for a club or lounge in Long Beach, causal with a touch of dressy. We hit Third Street and took Flacon to Broadway then made a left. It would be the Mine Shaft tonight. It was an almost comical name for a Gay club but seemed fitting. The outside looked as if it could have been pulled from Frontier land at Disney World. The front was wooden and built in a Forty-niner, California theme. It was almost most over done as though this was the beginning of a line to an exciting ride. I had been there before dropping off applications for a bartender. On that day the inside was dark filled with ancient homosexual nursing imported bottles. The Bartender was tall and lean with an everyday American boy face. He was cool and friendly as he scanned my application, “I’ll show it to the manager we might need some extra people for pride.” That I would out later was a lie. The gay bartending community was very small and they all knew each other on personal, friendship and sexual level. The model like males just rotated bars when they were fired or fell out of favor. The gay community was just another one of the cliques in the cliquish city of Long Beach. As one of my friends told me later: Long beach was the city of quick cliques. People ran in groups or rather packs. They liked their circles: small and similar. For a group that so much desired to be mainstreamed, I found it odd that once among them, they were much like those who oppressed them from the outside. If you were not one of their own: they had not time nor desire to know you. This would be a constant theme and changed my approached once I got deeper into the scene. I had also passed the Mine Shaft in October with my daughter’s mother a year before. When the area was new and fresh with an air of mystery and intrigue, like the beginning of a virgin adventure. So here I was again: another time different person. The woodened logged entrance stared down on us. Outside wall filled with deep, small window that allowed pedestrians to peek inside, as though they were watching a reality show on the homosexual club culture. We opened the door and walked up the ramp and off to the side. At the door was a very dark black man with long, graying dreadlocks. He had a stone face and for being an older man of probably early fifties: kept a solid frame. He took our IDs and scanned them while his blackened eyes gave us the once over. The bar was a sea of people: mostly men. The front of the bar area was built in the same Western wood design as the exterior. We decided to go with a pitcher of Blue Moon. The bartender was a Gray headed, chubby man wearing a black tee short with the bars logo over his heart. He was friendly and if I had seen him I would have never known he attracted to the bearded and Baseball loving sex. He poured our beer and sent us off with a smile. We walked to the dance floor which had a DJ both to the back being manned by a skinny ethnic man, I didn’t know the race, could have been Latino, could have been Filipino but the music was top notch. In the center where two brightly lit pool tales with games going. One was being dominated by an over six-foot transvestite, wearing pumps and a blue dress that came up to his knees. He was thickly built like a football player. His short, bob wig staying on his head and his hit powerful cross table corner pocket shots retiring one would-be billiard player after another. Toward the back wall were wooden bleachers: four levels from the floor. The Doc and I took our pitcher of beer there, to drink and watch the man on man dancing and pool playing. It was a good energy. We were high on the bleachers outside of potential man love. The two of us; Heterosexual refugees I thought, but the Doc had told me about frequently carousing lesbian bars in the city of Chicago, and her woman with woman rendezvous in the city of sin. As a matter of fact I remember pillow talk involving a few girl friends she had kept around back in her days of sexual confusion and her admission to being pretty good with a strap on. We drank plastic cups of Blue moon easing into out surrounding, but watching as if we where at some San Franciscan pool extravaganza. It was a vibrate experience with intense energy and techno music. After an hour maybe a bit longer we left the Mine Shaft. I had had suggested that we try the Sweetwater saloon, another Wild West themed Gay bar on Broadway and Orange. The Saloon was directly across from the 7-11. I had been to that 7-11 five years before. I had rode with Dubs as he picked up one of his sixteen year old love interest. She was a curly haired, mixed girl who still lived at home with her mother. The Saloon was a large two-story building. On the top floor was a cozy apartment were the owner always left the curtains open. The roof had two billboards facing the street. The bottom level was painted green with huge picture windows. Old fashion, western gate like flaps hung on both entrances. It was like walking into the old west with the exception of the plaid shirt, short haired, lesbians with the rolled up blue jean bottoms and leather wrist bracelets. The inside was spacious and dimly lit with a large bar directly in the center and two pool table in the center occupied by homosexual hipsters of both sexes. I heard they had an all-lesbian pool league on Tuesday. I never went. The Doc and I strolled in and sat at the bar, a little off to the side. I had a Blue Moon and Doc copied my style. It was a clean, friendly with a meet and greet type vibe. The patrons were mostly women with a few gay males sprinkled in for spicy good measure. There was no unwelcome feeling. I got the sense everyone was one in a human cluster of love. No jealous stares. No whispers. Everyone did what you are supposed to do it a bar. Drink and attempt to act cool. The bartender was a tall, skinny somewhat pretty fellow. He seemed like a good chap: checking our drinks orders and seeing if we needed another. We ordered one more round for the road. We had finished our two gay bar crawl. The shroud had been lifted off my straight man eyes. They were just normal bars. It could have been the valley. It could have been San Pedro. This could have been the desert. The bar culture stayed the same everywhere. We finished the night and exited, on our way back to the Doc’s condo. We enjoyed the good times and the together times. The times of love and future planning, when we still hugged, kissed and had sex four to five times an evening. Soon the good times would change and I again would be on the edge trying to survive. © 2013 Judas HammerAuthor's Note
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Added on April 3, 2013Last Updated on April 3, 2013 Author
Judas HammerThe City of Angeles, CAAboutI like to write, live in La and write and make short films. and more..Writing
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