So where can you get sex legally in Lauderdale, without buying a rentboy that is? Well, if you stay at one of the gay guesthouses, mostly clustered around Sebastian Beach, chances are good you’ll make a connection by their clothing optional pools.
Plus, we’ve got two bath houses and one of the country’s hottest sex clubs. First my take on the baths.
In an era where bath houses across the country (maybe with the exception of Steamworks in Chicago) have become, well, boring, even the two here in Partytown Lauderdale are past their prime. The Club, part of the declining Club chain, used to be filled with hot body boys who thought their shit didn’t stink. Now, while there’s still some under 35’s frequenting the place, most of the men I saw over the last few weekends when the Club serves a free lunch buffet (at least you end up sticking something in your mouth) had the same attitude guys of the old days only twenty years older without the firm tits or 32 inch waists. But, hey, there’s always the hot tub, clothing optional pool and sauna, right?
Clubhouse II, noted in the past for its seasoned rough and ready men, and which I went to religiously for years, has gotten so tired and old (when does an old, stretched out jockstrap just look old and stretched out?), I think showing a Social Security card won’t be enough to get in; you’ll need your pre-burial arrangement contract.
The Leather Inn, a small motel close to the airport with slings in the rooms and a clothing optional pool you can use on a day pass, isn’t much better, I’m afraid. Every time I’ve gone there, most of the men are past tense and, because the pool area is small, you have at most 10 or 12 guys there danglin’ their dicks. But sometimes you get lucky with at least one semi-hottie you can play with in its open air patio snuggled in the back.
I’m not going to condone the feeble resurrection of “backroom” action at a few of the bars not because you will be reprimanded with a whack on your dick by the bar’s penis police, but because it’s largely the “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine” school of adolescent sex, not a down and dirty slamming.
So on the subject of slamming, and no, the two guys who own Slammers here and in L.A. didn’t pay me to write this, nothing beats convenient, 7-11 style sex more than Slammers on Sunrise, also known as 321, its yellow address marquee lighting up the street like a Vegas casino neon sign.
Why? It’s got glory holes, first come, first served booths with locks on the doors, an orgy room, and other hideaways, all bathed in the kind of sleaziness that should bring your lust factor to the boiling point. That is, if there’s something to lust after. Remember, guys, even Viagra can’t cut it if there’s nothing that turns you on, which can happen. I find it ironic that the first thing a would-be suitor feels for is your hard-on when he sees you. Doesn’t matter if he ain’t got one or doesn’t have enough between his legs to matter if he did.
Still there’s Thursday Night when they let you in at a discount for wearing leather (no, a Prada purse doesn’t qualify), or the traditional weekends nights, including “Early Release” Saturdays and Sundays when, if you’re there by 8, you can get in for not much more than the price of a watered down drink at any of our town’s illustrious bars. On nights like these, there’s enough of a universe of men to, if not guarantee you a romantic interlude, at least raise your chances of getting off.
Just remember what I’ve often said. Sex is mostly fantasy, so when you stick your pole through one of those glory holes, don’t be like the rest of the jerks and look down at whose mouth is on your private. Or on the opposite end, only wait for the Hunk of the Hour to stick his dick in your face. Think of your favorite hottie of the night or the hottie you had last week (last month, last year. Hell, when did you last have sex?). It will make getting your money’s worth a whole lot more pleasurable.