Sunday, September 30, 2007

Thinking outside the box

You may not have guessed this, but I'm not much of a titty-bar guy. Sure, I've been dragged along on a bachelor party night - I actually got a "private dance" once. It's very weird. Do you know how those things work?? The dancer put me in a chair in that little room and the proceeded to rub up and down in between my legs. I'm probably not explaining that well, but I mean she basically is rubbing her tits on my crotch. I was getting so bored I finally had to tell her I was primarily same-sex oriented and asked if maybe she could actually dance around a little bit for me. I mean really, that's what I paid for.

And she smelled like cotton candy. Is that hot for straight guys?

Anyway, nobody was more surprised than I was when, after a few drinks out on Park Ave with the Frat Pack, it was announced that the next stop was Bouzouki II. "The Deuce."


Do this when you say "the deuce"


Bouzouki II, née "The Grind," is located at the northernmost point of downtown Detroit's final frontier, Capitol Park. It's really just like a little brick box, across from the downtown synagogue and that weird speakeasy place that is open once a week but nobody I know has visited. It's a total dive, at least as far as strip joints go. It's practically an ultra-lounge compared to regular dive bars like The Well, but it definitely lacks some of the slickness of the clubs I visited on my bachelor party sojourns.

That is potentially a poor word choice.

All I can say is that it was awesome. It was a Thursday night, and we pretty much had the place to ourselves. There is just a tiny two-pole stage in the middle of the bar, so you are never far from the action. The music was typically bad, but it added to the charm. The dancers were way more attractive than I thought they would be. Someone bought shots. There is something about having a place all to yourself that is somewhat empowering. Even though there were only about ten customers there, the energy level was high.

The dancers were great - have you ever seen those girls work a pole? It's unbelievable. They were incredibly fit, and I was continually amazed at their acrobatics. It was like that Wonder Woman drag show kind of showbiz amazement. I really enjoyed watching them.

(artist's rendering)

We got to meet all of the performers which is, of course, always a thrill. Cinnamon spent a lot of time at our table. She was an interesting young lady, in the way that people trying to act sophisticated when they are not is interesting. I had a whole Pygmalian fantasy about her while we were chatting - I could make her a stripper superstar! My favorite part of that conversation was when she started talking about how hot it was in there, and how thirsty she was, and everyone at our table just kind of looked away in awkward silence. Sorry sunshine!

The craziest thing, though, was when the bartender, who looked exactly like Hatchet-face from the John Waters film "Crybaby" ...


... came over with a beer bottle between her jugs (and they were jugs) and forced my friend to drink from it. I don't know if that was supposed to be some kind of mother's milk thing or what, but it mostly came across as strangely fellatic. Which, you know, feels weird with naked boobs around.

Well, the night ended too soon after one last Cintron energy drink-based cocktail (that stuff is insane) and last call for private dances. As I wandered out, I thought about how this would be such a great little place to hang out all the time - become a regular, schedule business meetings there, impress my friends. The Guerrilla Queer Bar could take it over for a night, and instead of guerrillas they would be cunt-quistadors.

But then I thought about the price of stripper bar drinks, and the irritation of the girls when they discovered I just wanted to watch them dance around a little bit, and I decided that maybe this just needs to be a special gay treat, an occasional indulgence when I'm "out with the guys."

Besides, I'm never going to change our gay world hanging out in a titty bar. Talk about a gay neutral zone. I gotta remember to keep this straight: I'm living in the D, not living in the V.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Supergay, didn't the Bazouki II used to be the site of Crazy Craig's gay bar?

Another bar, The Famous Door used to be located right on the east side of Capitol Park a block to the south, before it was replaced by a parking lot. The Famous Door was the major Black gay bar in town. All the best people attended, and what with it being on all the major bus lines, so did many, many of the not so best people. It was so hot! There were multiple levels so various activities could occur simultaneously on different floors.

Every once in a while, I made my way down to The Door from my smart, for me at the time, apartment in Indian Village. It was all so sleazy.

A more knowledgeable young friend used to tell me, "If you want to see really sleazy, go to Crazy Craig's." So one night I did just that. At something like 9:00 p.m. on a Wednesday night, dressed in my usual blue button-down oxford cloth shirt, khakis, and nicely polished penny loafers, I bolted in, went right up to the bar and ordered my usual soda with a twist of lemon. When I got a chance to check out the crowd, I realized that there was none. The bartender, a friendly guy, and I were pretty much it. The bar was basically deserted. I figured out that I was way too early and on the wrong night. Oh well.

Wanting to give Crazy Craigs (and myself) another chance. I went quite late one night the next weekend. Same outfit, same drink, same friendly bartender; but this night there was a crowd. A rough looking crowd. I was the only white person in the place until in came (let's call him) Kevin. Kevin was a stone alcoholic, drug addicted, white drag queen that I slightly knew. He was escorting a very rough looking black woman who appeared to be equally drunk.

Kevin and his "date" made a bee line for me. I really did not want to talk with them because I thought that they would ruin whatever image I thought I was creating for myself. Before they staggered out to the dance floor, she proceeded to tell me to buy her a drink and to have it there for her when they got back from dancing.

I thought to myself, there's no chance of my wasting any of my hard earned money buying those suckers a drink. That was settled, there would be no drink waiting for her when she returned. My very next thought was, I don't want to be here when she returns to find no drink. I left the rest of my soda with lemon on the bar never to return to Crazy Craigs. Ah, good times in gay Detroit.

SupergayDetroit said...

Thanks for the great story! I had no idea about either of those places. Around what year would you say this was?

Love the outfit too!

Anonymous said...

Back again. My best guess is the late 1970's for my visit to Crazy Craig's. The Famous Door probably was still going in the late 80's. Then again, don't bet the farm on the exactness of my dates.

Jean-Claude said...

"instead of guerrillas they would be cunt-quistadors"

racist

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