I head to the Hole, the ’hammer’s basement bar and play space, which is under construction and not very busy. It’s early, and aside from some guy moaning and pumping his left hand furiously in one corner, there isn’t much to see.Īt Jackhammer (6406 N Clark St), an old, nude Asian guy (who is a fixture on the gay scene and reportedly some sort of judge) is twirling around buck naked in the main bar to the amusement of onlookers, eventually sitting down near the stage where the go-gos shake it. I make a beeline for the stable out back where things go bump (and grind) in the night. In the front room, there’s gay porn playing and the “cop” who just shot his load can’t seem to shake off that last bit of post-coital jizz (I hate that!). I ditch this lame dud of a dude and call it a night.ĭetermined to have better luck on Saturday, I hit the Manhandler Saloon (1948 N Halsted St, 77), a cruise bar tucked away discreetly in the heart of Lincoln Park. (I guess this means no holding handsies while perusing Top Shop together, either). I hit the steam room and hot tub instead, and while pumicing the evening’s filth off my body in the gang showers notice a spectacled young thing moving in.
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The guy I’m chasing lights up a fag and ignores me. I follow a handsome gent to the rooftop, which I realize is a smoking lounge (picture the burnouts at your high school, but in white towels). After checking “seeing my friends naked” off my to-do list, I wander alone through the second floor’s labyrinth of doors and mirrors, which never fails to remind me of the opening sequence of Godard’s Alphaville. Instead, I allow two friends to talk me into a 4am trip down the street to Steamworks (3246 N Halsted St), Boystown’s ebullient bathhouse. But familiar faces are numerous and my pejunkle recoils like a house cat frightened at the sound of a whirring vacuum. A machine pumps out thick puffs of fog that give the space a chalky heaviness reminiscent of the Dagobah System, and there’s enough booze rattling around in my brain that I’m tempted to make some lascivious decisions. Shirts and pants start landing on the floor in piles that resemble clumps of autumn leaves, and I’m surprised to see a handful of guys abandoning their sartorial senses for full-on nakedness. Sure enough, as the witching hour nears and the clueless masses disperse into the night, in-the-know bunches of men in their twenties and thirties fill the joint. According to the bartender, who is ominously slicing into a mighty large cucumber while chatting me up, it’s an invite-only party in which doors are locked, lights are down, shirts or pants must come off and the sale of booze is strictly verboten (although complimentary Colt 45s are handed out to ease the tension).
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I end up in Lakeview where I’ve been tipped off that a Boystown bar has begun hosting a “gentleman’s social hour” every Friday night after last call.
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The show is whip-smart in its take on Grindr, threesomes and uniform fantasies, and titillating enough that suddenly the night feels ripe with possibility. On the Friday night that kicks off my dirty gay weekend, my curiosity is initially piqued by a press release that reads, “Dominant gay muscle couple seeks submissive sketch comedy audience.” It’s the tag line for Pinque Pony ( Donny’s Skybox, 1616 N Wells St Fri 21 at 10:30pm), a sharp new sketch revue starring comedian Andy Eninger (whose physique I used to drool over at XSport Fitness) and John Loos, his much younger and equally hot boyfriend. It’s Sunday afternoon and the end of a long weekend of raunch that I swear started innocently enough. As the erect cock of a girthy, middle-aged gent at Paradise Sauna (2912 W Montrose Ave, 77) extends toward me like the offering of a firm handshake, I’m wondering if this is really my life.