1
Fuck it." The words whipped through my head as I stood in the cold hallway with my hand on the door leading to the stage. A sign on the door read: THIS IS NOT AN EXIT. The music thumped loudly -- all beats, whooshes, and wails, like a gospel diva trapped in a washing machine. I took a rushed breath, twisted the doorknob, and walked inside, going from the sunshine of the hallway to the midnight of the theater.
I couldn't see a thing, not really. It took what seemed like a full minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the brick room painted black. I started to make out the outlines of figures seated in the rows of seats in front of the stage and standing along the back wall. The music continued to thump, louder now that I was inside, and the air smelled of Clorox and crotch. Beads of chilly sweat dripped from my armpits. My heartbeat quickened. Again those words, "Fuck it."
I started up the steps toward the stage and positioned myself in front of a large hanging screen that minutes earlier had been showing the fuzzy projected imag ... read full excerpt from: All I Could Bare: My Life in the Strip Clubs of Gay Washington, D.C. ebook
