Dance with G.A.Y abandon.
As a woman who spends her days and nights surrounded by people of a thespian nature, a few months ago I was ambushed by a stray meandering thought. When was the last time I'd flirted with someone whose main objective was to get into my knickers?? ... And I was alarmed by the answer. Had I been so shrink-wrapped in the glitter and cabaret of nights out in Soho that I'd forgotten what it was to wink with sexual intent?!
So I decided to air my new fangled fear to my friends Ciaran and Matt, two young gay men (in fact in my rambles it's probably best to assume that all the men in my life are gay unless otherwise stated) and they came to a solution for my predicament in winning style. They told me they were willing to sacrifice a late night rendition of Whitney Houston’s 'I want to dance with somebody' for a straight, sharking, bump and grind night out on the tiles, if it would help appease my hetero cravings for a short while. I have to say they took to the challenge with the swift organisation they would bring to a late night grinder session. So, with the location for my seamlessly executed slut drops arranged (a delightful little club known as DIRTY) and an appropriately backless flapper dress picked out, we were good to go!
We made our grand entrance into the perfectly sleazy club and headed straight for the bar, proudly waving our eagerly sought after ' 241 ' drinks flyers. Then it was time to dance! ... But wait... how to dance to this drum and base, RnB stuff? Lacking as it was in a melody or a swooping and highly uplifting chorus. How was I to catch a sexy bar dweller’s eye and let him know that I was the saucy surprise he'd been waiting for whilst sandwiched between the two best dressed men in there? Then, heralded by the first wave of pre drinks meets Disorano, I slipped off to the loo and tried to arrange a strategy but, as I queued up in one of the mangiest bathrooms I'd ever laid eyes on, I felt all my anticipation and lust for what the night might have held ebbing away. As my turn came to enter a vacant cubicle I tripped over my own feet trying to un-stick my shoes from the floor and my buzz died. I went back to the boys truly deflated and craving a Burger King. Luckily whilst I’d been relieving myself they'd come up with an idea that would revive me better than any deep fried chicken burger ever could... A carefree dance in 'Heaven' the ultimate homosexual paradise. So, we pealed some more '241' flyers off the floor, downed our body weight in Tequila and hailed a cab.
We fled Tottenham Court Road and its dingy bar for the fanfare strip of Charring Cross only to have our hopes dashed for a second time by some lucky bastards who were having a private function in our sanctuary of ‘Heaven’! However we would not be perturbed, we would go forth and conquer the semblance of a night out we had left to us at G.A.Y late!! ... Located back on Tottenham Court Road. With our renewed vigour we happily over tipped the cabbie for our wasted journey and bid him a fond farewell.
Once inside, wearing our entry stamps with all the pride of battle weary soldiers, the crashing cascade of 'Wrecking Ball' welcomed us home. As we danced around the beacon of hope and high kicks that is the podium pole I was hit by the long overdue second wave of water retention. I sashayed and twirled through various doors in search if the nearest ladies, then, whilst shunting forwards in the queue, I tripped over my own feet trying to un-stick my shoes from the floor. Submerged in the strangest sense of déjà vu I gave my surroundings a closer inspection. I was back in the unsanitary toilets of DIRTY?! The two clubs were connected! In my slight delirium I was oddly moved by the symmetry of our night, as though I'd stepped through the looking glass to the more colourful side of life. I was simply happier here, dancing with two of the most wonderful people I knew with gay abandon and as for my need for some serious hetero flirting, I decided I'd rather flirt with life! ... and, well, if someone gorgeous and disarmingly sexy (preferably slightly tattooed) wanted to get into my knickers as a consequence of that ... then it’s “win, win” I'd say.