I went to bed far too late last night. I couldn't turn off the music, you see.
I didn't get home from the studio until after ten, and then I had some work to do for English Company Canada. I tuned into Gaydar Radio, which was broadcasting out of London, and... joy! Utter joy!
The combination of English accented DJs and fabulous, fabulous music brought me right back to G.A.Y. at the Astoria, and Sunday Tea Dances at Limelight, and Monday nights at Heaven, when a drink could be had for a couple of quid, and a boy's number could be had for less - if one was pretty and had a penis.
Those of us not blessed with outdoor plumbing were content enough to writhe rhythmically to a multitude of gay club anthems, surrounded by sweaty, half-naked, gorgeous boys.
God, I miss it.
We'd been to straight clubs in London, of course, but by far, our dancing was not done in a co-ed crowd. A lucky combination of a queen, two twinks and a selection of fruit flies ensured that our Fridays and Saturdays were decorated with only the prettiest of shirtless boys. (And to think that we wondered why we never had boyfriends?!)
But it was the music... and the glitter... flirty boys and fabulous girls and towering drag queens with high heels and low voices... disco balls and black lights and the almost religious feeling that came over the crowd when It's Raining Men was sampled into the incessant beat of bleeding-edge dance music...
There was the comfort of knowing that even though we'd stated at the beginning of the night that going home didn't mean having to hunt everyone down to tell them you were leaving, we'd probably all leave at the same time anyway. We were like that - everyone enjoyed the highest points of energy at the same time, and when it fell, we all knew enough to head towards the door. Just like we all knew that we'd be stopping for chips at the Greek place on the corner. Just like we knew that we'd all get our chance at trashing that guy we saw making out with some other guy on the way to bathroom, because he got one of our boys' digits last week, and never bothered to call. Just like we knew we'd do it all again the next night and the next week, and if we were lucky, the week after that.
God, I really do miss it. You know?
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