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My First Time

posted by Liam Reed at 6:36 pm.

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While I hope you guys enjoyed the Frat Boy Diaries, it’s actually been a while since I’ve actually written anything and I’m getting kind of antsy to talk about my sex life again. So, with Studio 54 night coming up next weekend at C St., I feel it’s my duty to tell you about my first time.

I was 17 years old. I came down to U of I to visit my friends Mary and Ryan, two people I had known since high school and ended up here in Champaign. This was the second university I had ever visited (if you can count DePaul as a university) and I was so intrigued by foreign concepts such as “late night” in the dining halls and Corn Pops that came in weird little bowls with aluminum foil lids. As far as I was concerned, college was sexy.

My friend Mary was going to be in a play where she played a sexy seductress wearing bunny ears, so while she was getting ready for her show I hung out with Ryan and met some of his friends, one of them being a boy named Brian.

Brian, I’ll have you know, was incredibly charming. He had spiky blonde hair (don’t they all?) and blue eyes and fuck, we were going to the Cracker Barrel. Brian, Ryan, and I had a charming dinner full of green beans, rocking chairs, and those little puzzles made out of bent nails. College is so fucking sexy.

Apparently later that evening a bunch of Ryan’s friends (homosexuals at that!) would be going to this bar called C St., a gay bar here in town. I don’t know how it happened, but while I was at Mary’s show getting incredibly turned on, Brian and Ryan managed to get me an ID. I would be joining them for Studio 54 Night at Chester Street Bar, a moment that would go down in history as My First Time At A Gay Bar.

I had seen gay bars before. I mean, come on now, I had cable. Having managed to watch 1 or 2 episodes of Queer As Folk, I envisioned all gay bars as being giant factories full of scantily clad men wearing nothing but body oil and glitter. Oddly enough, C St. on Studio 54 Night is exactly this.

I was nervous that the doorman would catch my fake ID, but somehow I managed to get in. I slowly entered the bar, afraid that I would immediately be seen as jailbait. After all, I was wearing braces, and nothing is sexier to a 50-year-old man than braces.

I looked around the dance floor. Gay people were everywhere. It was almost terrifying. They were all grinding on each other and drinking and having fun. Some of them were incredibly sexy and others were the exact opposite. Drag queens were let out of their cages and up in the rafters was someone dressed as a zebra. A fucking zebra.

I didn’t drink that night. I really didn’t need to. The feeling the crowd was giving off was like ecstasy to a suburban kid who really needed to get out of the house more. I hung out with Ryan’s friends, one of them was this guy, yet another tall blonde guy who spoke German and is to this day one of the most charming people I know. I may only think that because when he talks philosophy he waxes poetic. It’s fantastic.

Most of the night, however, belonged to Brian. Brian promised to keep me safe from the hoards of looming queers by dancing with me all night long. He did this thing where he would slide his pelvis down my legs and then sort of bounce back up. My jeans as tight as they were, I needed to back off from the dancing every once in a while. Not only was I afraid of him finding out how turned on I was, but think of the dangers of chaffing!

I was ecstatic. It had been one of the happiest nights I had had in a while, and to think in retrospect that it happened at C St! But the night wasn’t over yet. No, when the lights went up on the bar everyone emptied into the streets. No one wanted the party to end so a couple people got their cars and blasted their bass. These beautiful black drag queens were dancing in the street and all of a sudden some guys in a truck drove by shouting, “You fucking faggots!”

Those drag queens could run. They chased that truck screaming at the top of their lungs. Their party would not be ruined on the account of some local hicks who have nothing better to do than drive by a gay bar at 2:30 in the morning.

They continued dancing but our group was hungry, so we drove out to one of the Steak N Shakes here in town. There’s like 5 of them so I can’t remember which one it was, but the place was empty except for us and a group of big guys at the table behind us. We had been there for a while, killing the night, and when we finally went to pay the guys at the table behind us saw the waitress busy with us and dashed out the door for their cars. There was screaming and before I realized what was going on there were cops surrounding the Steak N Shake. All because some guys stole a few burgers and some strawberry shakes.

This place was fucking awesome.

Now I live here. Suffice it to say, not every night in Champaign-Urbana is a Studio 54 Night. Now I spend most of my time reading books about dead people and writing papers about their lives. I have since learned that there are plenty of different gay bars around the world. One of my favorites thus far was in a basement off the streets of Vienna in a club called Viper Room. Imagine a gay club, if you will, filled with smoke because laws against it don’t exist. Imagine music more along the lines of punk rather than Britney, and dancing more along the lines of moshing rather than bringing your milkshake to the yard.

What I’m getting at is that there are gay clubs out there for all of us, whether we’re bears or twinks or punks or BDSM fans (which reminds me, I still need to get to that club Sling). In the meantime, all we have is C St., and next weekend is the absolute best night of the year to go. So even if you want to see this entire entry as an ad for the event, so be it! Just go. And hopefully I’ll see you there.

Liam Reed: 1987 model, runs fairly well, few dents, starts in cold weather, no baggage, loves flea markets and canned soup. Send all hate mail, love mail, and sexual advances to withtongue@gmail.com