I recently survived a night out to some gay clubs in Cape Town…
This is what I was pondering about during and afterwards:
If I were a man, I’d do this shit just for fun.
You know, stand around licking my lips whilst checking out all the straight girls at the gay club. Just to creep them out and maybe take one home, albeit wedding sack style.
I’d hang out on the dance floor all night. Maybe flirt with the oom in the checkered shirt and then with the queen in the sequenced one.
Yes, life as a promiscuous drug dealer would be grand.
Unfortunately for me I’m not that guy. But I am lucky enough to witness his game and arrogant enough to make assumptions and generalizations about him.
Next to this dicey man, two skinny guys with skinny jeans and tank tops are getting it on. They dirty dance to “I had the time of my life, and I never felt this way before” next to a mirror that provides onlookers with extra angles to their sexcapade.
A girl shows off sexy pole-dance moves on the bar and makes everyone question their sexuality. All questions surrounding my sexual orientation are answered when we head over to the lesbian club and find women that look like men, men that look like women and women looking like fucking sexy women. Meh. They’re still women. Even though liking them would double my options I’m surprisingly uninterested.
I’m reassured by a man in tiny white underpants dancing on a bar top in another club. His air-humping and acrobatics change my opinion on Kenny Kunene’s human sushi platters from “what a gross objectification of the human body” to “I’d eat sushi off that.”
It’s early morning outside and mist softens the Cape Town cityscape. Dixon street has transformed to a much more romantic place than several hours earlier.
The air smells of salt, urine and stranger sex. Kind of like home.