If you're a longtime reader of Boy Culture, you know I'm all about NYC's the Adonis Lounge, where go-go boys go-go that extra mile (give or take) to give or take all the pleasure you can manhandle. My first experience there was one of my fave blog posts.
Two years ago, I spent the NYC Pride March with the Adonis Lounge float and had a blast with Duncan Black and all the other wriggling dancers. The video alone was worth the work. This year, I accepted the offer to come back and shoot the boys in their nearly au naturel habitat—and it wasn't disappointing. As long as you don't count spending three hours waiting to step off, only to find many people had gone home by the time we began our outer journey.
After I spent hours shooting the beginning of the parade—check those fun and occasionally erotic pics here—I made my way back to 40th and 6th, where we were allegedly supposed to meet. I was more high-maintenance than a dancer, bugging boss-man Tim about the details; I was just sure I wouldn't get through the police barriers or something else would go wrong, and my damn iPhone Negative-Four doesn't hold a charge.
But I had no problem finding the crew, situated on the same block with Gloria Allred, some transgender defenders and—thank Christ—a place that sold croissants. The truck was late but most of the dancers were on time. I heard Tim booked 18 and about 10 showed, which is stripper for “a big turn-out.”
Lucky for Tim and luckier for the crowds who eventually saw us, some of his hottest guys came out to support the Adonis Lounge by shaking their moneymakers without the possibility of anyone stuffing bills into their G-strings. (Mine is an H-string, but I'm working on it.)
I spent a lot of bonding time with Bryan Hawn, whom I now know well enough that getting future lap dances or encountering his astral projection in a masturbatory fantasy would be awkward, as well as fellow dancer Matt, with whom I quickly developed a Moonlighting-esque rapport. (He's from the West Coast and said dancing at the parade was good business, even if nobody paid, I replied, Capitalism fail. Oregon, right?) We did have a legit-interesting convo about re-branding the word hustling, and he came up with sexual therapist after I rejected his more euphemistic healer.
Though I'm sure his antics on the float had a lot of onlookers wishing they could get healed.
We honest-to-God didn't step off until after 6 p.m., the march was so big this year, but we weren't the last float; JetBlue was behind us, executing amazing flash-mob-style numbers, but I'm afraid we pulled focus every time a dancer got frisky and decided to moon Fifth Ave. (One beautiful dude who wasn't a dancer but was with RushboxApp.com, a co-sponsor of the float, kept hauling out his enough-for-two tattooed booty, which was much nicer than receiving a VOTE FOR NADLER sticker.)
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One positive side effect of the delay was when I shot an adorable young bystander—shirtless, in rainbow suspenders—and then turned around and discovered they'd recruited him to dance on the float. By sheer luck, he was wearing nice undies. Watch for his debut at the Adonis Lounge in the near future.
Though many people had deserted us in Midtown (they were probably home preparing for next year's parade) when we finally got going, the reactions were priceless—the guys attracted clusters of looky-loos with thirsty iPhones and seemed to get big hoots even from dyed-in-the-wool dykes.
Who doesn't like a cute person reveling in their own cuteness in public?
It was a whole other story when we got closer to the Village, where there were still plenty of extremely enthusiastic attendees. One mimicked CALL ME to a dancer, who made us all proud by pointing to the Adonis Lounge signage on the truck. Now that's a call to action.
The end of the parade was a li'l messy, but I wound up on the flatbed truck—no sides, little to hold onto except for a bunch of dancers in their skivvies—as we were whizzed from downtown back up to the 40s. If we had gotten rear-ended by a semi, along with generating the best New York Post headline ever, whoever came up with that old adage about wearing nice underwear because hospital workers will see it would have been so very proud of all the rainbow-colored Andrew Christian and Pump selections on our dead bodies.
The rest of my sizzling Adonis Lounge pics are here, and come back soon for another installment of the Adonis Lounge's “Ask a Stripper” videos!