Monday, January 14, 2013

American Whore Story

I stepped into a beautiful Silverlake townhouse nested in the hills.  Parking was on a narrow slanted street curving upward - we were not longer in the hood. We were appropriately dressed to match the party theme: American Whore Story... well partially.



Fully dressed priest, doctor, psychiatric people.

When we stepped in, the decor knocked all of my themed parties out of the water.  There was black plastic pinned along the wall and tiny torch lights to make it look like a dungeon.  The host told me it took 2 weeks to prepare and his finger tips bled a little putting everything up.  I noticed 4 cooked turkeys, meatballs, pulled pork, and crackers set on various tables.  He told me about other Christmas parties - he's hosted 12 since living there.  A few years back was Brokeback Mountain in which he invested in haystacks transported from farms.  Another year was "Martha Stewart in Jail" - prison and crafts themed.  His creativity made me envious.

We were entering the territory of another subgroup of gay with actual disposable income.

Spectacular View
The crowd?  Older.  Daddies.  These were real Gay Daddies which included even more sub sub groups - leather daddies and bears.  Our twenty-something gaysian group was obviously out of place... and had a lot less facial hair and body mass.  As we huddled together I realized that this was different, the people around us were disinterested in us.  I was used to being poked and gawked at by older men in the space.  But not here.  This was a daddies for daddies party and we were lost children that happened to stumble in disrupting their fun like acne.  We wandered around the amazingly embellished house and I noticed a curtain covering an upward stairway.

"What's that?"  I inquired.
"It's the playroom."  The stranger my dad's age explained flatly.  I continued up and discovered the following:  Black fabric draped from the ceiling.  It was dark, aside from small mood-setting lights.  I followed the brighter glowing light and found VHS porn playing on an old TV sitting in front an even older couch.  Oh shit.. "Playroom..."

I turned another corner around the draped fabric, I was in a flowy labyrinth alone. And there it was, a sling hanging and rocking waiting to be occupied. It was a grown up swing - with a different purpose.  I would have never guessed this was here.  I snuck out and told my friends fellow giggling hairless children what I discovered.

We were all intrigued.  It was another world.  Some of us ventured back into the playroom to witness party guests make use of the props that the host carefully assembled.  And I wondered, if we weren't among friends would the idea of "joining in" be more of possibility. I stayed away. The thought quickly vanished as we found a safe corner in the patio with an amazing view.  As we talked, three party guests found themselves in the gazebo behind us... and then they found their mouths around each others'  gazebos.  I spoke louder to drown out my awkwardness.  They did not speak a word to us.

We slipped out before midnight having consumed all chips and dip and taking advantage of the personal bar.  I took home a suvenior - the host was handing out costume-y rosaries.

I thought that this sort of exhibition only existed at the Folsom Street Fair in the Castro or random bathhouses scattered around cities.  Never would I have thought that I would attend an actual party with a "playroom" tucked away.

I am thankful to have experienced for a brief moment the space of another subgroup of gay; it was like eating a new cuisine from a different country.

I was inspired by the party themes and elaborate decorations.

And I found an appreciation for a newly discovered extremity of "casual sex."

1 comment:

thwany said...

This story sounds like the beginnings of some kind of porn haha.