Well, e-readers like Kindle and Nook may be doing in straight book store chains (look what happened to Borders), and legit gay bookstores with a literary bend started banging up long before the web age once straight stores began sporting “Gay and Lesbian” aisles. But for all the radical changes in “The Life” over the past decades, gay bookstores – you know, those bookstores where few people pick up a book – are still alive and well.
Now, despite being a career faggot, I’ve never done the bookstore scene, never, not even once. Not because it was beneath me, but because (a) they’re often in shitty neighborhoods (like the seedy bars of the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s I loved were on Park Avenue, right?); (b) I thought I’d be somewhat intimidated about fucking around in that environment (yep, piggish me); and (c) I figured they’d be populated by closet cases (so? a dick’s a dick, right?). The result: I just naturally gravitated to the baths and sex clubs where, rightly or wrongly, I felt I could do more with a guy.
But a friend of my swears by them, in fact, is convinced they are the happy havens of real men – read married guys – and chides me for paying so much for sex in a bath or club when he gets what he wants usually before breakfast for pennies.
So, long after the intelligentsia gay book stores have all closed up, the baths are sold off because their aging clientele have finally entered nursing homes, and leather bars go straight or chic to survive, those seedy gay bookstores will still be there with a fresh coat of paint on their video booths and bright new neon signs in their windows to beckon the horny.