Does Indulge Wednesdays at Whiskey Blue Attract the Gays?
|Courtesy of Whiskey Blue|
|This photo, which was taken by a professional and not at this event, fits tonight because Whiskey Blue was almost this empty|
I'm at Indulge Wednesdays at Whiskey Blue, a ritzy joint on Fort Lauderdale Beach. Two big co-ed parties sit in booths in the back while a few gay men are sprinkled along the horse-shoe shaped bar. Wednesday here is gay night. DJ Danny Stern is spinning, but no one is dancing. "Are you trying to figure out," a gay man named Jeffrey asks me, "if the gay vibe has made its way down to the W, which it's trying to do?"
My friend and I find a hole at the bar to get drinks. A sunburnt man in his 50s sits alone. He wears a red-and-white striped dress shirt, shorts, and sandals. Mike's a man of many words -- and 90 percent of them are profane. "It's Indulge Wednesday," I say. "Yeah," says Mike. "It's the one in a million chance, you know what I mean?" "No, what do you mean?" I ask. "I might get a fucking blowjob," he says. "Maybe. You know why?"
"Why?" I ask. "My W-2 looks fucking great." "Have you ever gotten a blow job here?" I ask. "This is new. This place is fucking new. The Hilton? Yes. The W? No." After tequila shots, Mike said, "You hit the homerun tonight." "What do you mean?" I ask. He whistles and points to himself. "Me," he says. I begin to contemplate his sexuality. What comes next is incredibly vulgar and disturbing. He shouts, "You grab your ankles right now."
I turn to my friend -- who might now be my "girlfriend" for the night. "Is this a gay bar?" he asks. "On Wednesdays it is," I respond. "Fuck me," he says. "I'll pay you $20 bucks to hold my hand because the guy next to me is pinching my ass." I take a look. "The guy next to you has his hands nowhere near your ass." "He cupped my ass," Mike swears as he cups his ass. "It was a cup."
"Are you bisexual, straight, or gay?" I ask. "A fucking arrow, baby... straight as an arrow," he says as he makes the hand motions as if he actually was shooting an arrow. That arrow missed its target.
|Photo by Mickie Centrone|
|Yes, this guy turns out to be just as lonely as he looks|
"I'm not gay. I went out with a Playboy model you know. I'm here for business." My friend returns, and then he focuses on us both. "Who is coming up to my room #***?" He turns to me. "I think your beautiful too. And I am a baller. So, please show me a good time and I'll show you a good time." He turns back to my friend. "You are so beautiful." Back to me. "I swear to God I am totally cool."
"You're putting your cigarette in your mouth the wrong way," I tell him. "OK, I'm totally drunk," he says. "I went out with a Playboy model for 2 1/2 years, and she broke my heart." He put on his sad, puppy-dog Nadir face. "She wanted to be famous, and I am rich! So who cares? I'm good looking and I can get whoever I want." A few moments pass before he adds: "I'm lonely. Life is lonely, man."
"Why are you shouting this out?" I ask. Solid advice: Don't tell strangers you're lonely. "I'm here by myself," Nadir says. "How much lonelier can you get?"
|Photo by Mickie Centrone|
|An insight into his personality? His sign is the dollar sign, he told me|
He goes on to tell me about an overweight man who walks along Fort Lauderdale Beach in a two-piece G-string bikini. "That's not a sex story," I say. "No," he responds. "But I love watching him. He's such a character." "What about Wilton Manors?" I ask. "I haven't found my niche there yet," he says. "What do you mean by niche?" "Bars there are segregated. Gay country go there, gay women go here, etc." Well, characters surely come here -- but not too many gays yet.