“FABULOUS FRIDAY”A Trashy Night of Sex In A Gay Bar
21 February 2K
It was a warm Friday night in July at “Bullfrogs,” a neighborhood corner gay bar in the New Town district of
Chicago. This particular night in 1993, it became the site of exactly the sort of smutty, reckless sexual behavior
you might have heard goes on in gay bars. But this particular evening of merriment went far beyond anything
even I, a seasoned and jaded nightclubber since the early 1980s, ever saw prior or since. In fact, it included one of
the wildest group scenes I’ve ever witnessed. I sincerely hope you will continue reading this story -- but as Bette
Davis said in her famous line from the motion picture “All About Eve,” “Fasten your seat belts -- it’s gonna be a
bumpy night.”
I would estimate there were about 80 men, mostly in their 20s and 30s, who were knocking down the booze at a
steady clip and most of them feeling no pain. The music was loud; the patrons were louder. At exactly 12
Midnight, right on schedule, the erotic dancers, hired to give a two-hour performance, began their strip show.
This particular club did not regularly feature dancers, and the management, not knowing how far things might go,
took the precaution of closing all the window blinds. I assure you, it was fortunate for the neighbors that they did.
The three strippers appeared to me to be just as intoxicated as most of the patrons, if not more, and their lurid
wagging of body parts in time to the music could hardly be called “dancing” in anyone’s book. Nevertheless, they
gave spirited performances in a variety of costumes; one in some sort of military garb, another in a Native
American costume, and the third in some sort of schoolgirl dress that looked like it might have represented
Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz.”
The costumes, however, were not by any means the main allure for this audience. The dancers were
keenly aware of this, and obliged; they were not held back by any problems with modesty. (I guess someone who
is going to do that sort of thing for a living couldn’t be.) Within a few short minutes, each was as naked as the
proverbial jaybird. You understood me correctly -- no “g-strings” or any coverings of any kind -- 100% “au
naturel,” clothing off, stark-staring, bare as the day they were born nude.
Now if you the reader are familiar with the City of Chicago, you might be wondering how they got away with this.
After all, full frontal nudity by erotic dancers in a public place like a bar is against the law here. You might imagine it
involved some sort of underhanded bribing of city officials -- but it did not. Though we have not completely
put our Capone-like days behind us, those things are not as commonplace here as you may have heard. No, it’s a far simpler
explanation than that -- one which will become clear toward the end of my story. For now, let’s get back to the
dance floor.
The event had been publicized in advance, and the crowd had been primed for it. It was a bit unsettling for me to
watch them, moving nearly in tandem and seeming almost of one mind, each acting as though he were a limb on a
giant 80-legged beast which had a quest for cheap thrills uppermost in its mind: A quick feel by one patron, a
brazen grope by another. One fellow planted his lips on the nipple of one dancer; the next fellow helped himself to
a handful of the genital region of another.
As the old saying goes, “Monkey see, monkey do:”
One guy hatched the idea whereby he would lie down on the floor with a dollar bill lying across his nose and lips
and let the dancers devise some -- shall we say, “innovative,” not to mention erotic -- means of fetching it. This
they did. After seeing the scene successfully played out by the first man, many of the others couldn’t wait
to have a turn at the same game. Man after man dropped to the floor on his back, nose in the air, dollar bill at the
ready. Each dancer obliged, hunkering down into a semi-split posture, and in an anatomical contortion I would
never have imagined possible, actually picked up the currency by somehow wiggling around and wedging it into
the body’s nether regions. Now these dancers were giving some of their benefactors not only cheap feels, they were
giving them cheap tastes. Group acts of oral sex, taking place right out on the dance floor of this gay
pub! And not only that -- with money changing hands that made it prostitution on top of it!
By this point in time, you may be wanting to ask me a question. What was I doing there in the first place? And
even if I might have gone in not expecting anything so outrageous, why did I stay, once I could clearly see what
was unfolding?
We are now at the point where my earlier reference to the illegality of public nudity in Chicago can be explained.
This was a private party, and this combination restaurant/gay bar had been chartered for the evening. On nights
when you rent out an establishment for a group, the city allows you to close the blinds and let your guests do
whatever they wish without fear of a raid by the vice squad. You are charging admission to an invitation-only
crowd; thus, for the duration of the event, the facility is not considered “public.”
In some readers’ minds, this may now have reduced the level of immorality in this story. After all, we’re
talking about consenting adults (albeit it nearly a hundred of them) in private. Others may not take such a
liberal view, however, and be all the more convinced of the shocking immorality and general depravity of the gay
population. In fact, some readers of this article may go totally off the deep end when they learn what I am about to tell them: This particular gay bar had been engaged to entertain the male friends of a couple who had been living together as lovers, and decided to have a “partnership” ceremony. The “groom-to-be” was indeed one of those doing the “dollar on the nose” routine. His partner was not in attendance.
But I have purposefully held back from you, until now, one last key detail of this story:
Though this crazy sex-fest did indeed take place in a gay bar in Chicago’s New Town neighborhood, the one with the largest
concentration of gay residents, the guests at this party -- down to the last man -- were straight.
The dancers -- bumping and grinding and picking up dollar bills with their privates -- were women.
The owner of the establishment, even though it was indeed a gay bar, was a straight man -- a friend who employed me for a few months in a
management/consultant capacity to help him improve his business ties with the gay community. On this evening,
he agreed to rent his bar and grill for a discounted rate to a friend who wanted to throw a final bachelor party in
advance of his “partnership” ceremony -- his wedding.
The entire staff , myself plus the waiters and bartenders -- all of us gay men -- never said anything rude to the
guests, of course. After we closed up for the night and privately recounted the events of the evening among
ourselves, naturally it was a bit of a different story -- yet while we were unanimously, absolutely revolted by seeing
the sexual acts those other men did out on the dance floor, we didn’t feel any hatred for them. Certainly, the thought of forming a posse to go beat them up never even remotely crossed our minds.
Some of the staff, however, wondered aloud if all heterosexual people always acted like such complete sluts in a
bar. And I would ask you, the reader: How do you imagine gay people must feel when forced to witness straight
people “flaunting” their heterosexuality in such fashion?
That last paragraph was intended to make a point.
For you see, I have seen things in gay bars equally shocking -- though I can say without hesitation, never on such a large scale. In fact, as to a “Fabulous Friday” in any Chicago gay bar, I think “Fat Tuesday” in New Orleans -- Mardi Gras, where many, many straight people quite literally “let it all hang out” -- has them beat by a margin of a hundred-to-one.
But I am well aware the behavior at Mardi Gras, as well as the behavior I have related to you in this true story,
represent only a minority of straight people. You, in turn, must understand that the stories you may have
heard about such libertine escapades among gay people represent only a minority of us, as well.
There is one final, even more important point to be drawn from this account: We are talking of a place of business which closed its doors for the night to accommodate a private party. Should this have been going on in a public place, however, like a park or the beach, the participants would have been in violation of public indecency laws and been hauled off to jail. That is as it should be -- for gay or straight persons to engage in public nudity or sexual acts cannot be condoned. But this event was inaccessible to the public --it was strictly “consenting adults behind closed doors.” And though my personal opinion truly is as I have stated; namely, that they were being “libertine” and “shocking,” it is irrelevant. It's none of my business.
Or yours.
[AUTHOR’S NOTE: This piece is rated “R.” Though I will not use any obscene expressions, I will
be candidly discussing situations and actions of a sexual nature.]
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