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THE BABB'S
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by Michael Patrick
After three years of gay
life and week - end
i regularity from sporadic
bar and bedroom
behaviour, I decided that
the time had come for one
old tired queen to indulge
in a bit of off-the-track
• fun. Knowing that my
haunting desire for a new
' first” had noticeably
narrowed, and my last big
"first” was when I lost
my cherry. I had to come
up with something to
arouse my egotism from
its shallow grave
At it would. I stopped off
in a quaint little bar on
5th and West Peachtree
because I had become such
a regular at all the others
that I felt I was disgracing
my own decent self-
respect. After I brushed
away the illusion of a
doorman checking my coat,
derby, and cane, I walked
into a black-light flare and
immediately recognized
that same pulsating music
that always tears away my
inhibitions and starts my
hips grinding to the beat of
a native drum long gone.
To say the least, the
patrons of the bar were
about as ready for me as I
was for them.
Glad to find that it was
more a cruise bar than
anything else, I easily
mellowed out. with the help
of ol’ Smirnoff., and made
my way in and out. back
and forth in the crowd of
queens and the like.
Crusing a bit and getting
not nearly as trashy as I
wanted. I managed to kiss a
few cheeks and grab a few
buns before my eyes
glazed over a sign that
embodied in three words
my eternal life quest;
those being none other than
"The Male Box.’’
Well “dahling.” nobody
but nobody hangs a sign
like that in front of my
face and expects it to go
unnoticed. So, hoping that
it really was “The Male
Box.” I half-floated, half-
swished up the stairs.
Maybe, just maybe , the
owner knew that I had long
been searching for a male
box big enough to send me
all the way to ecstasy,
which to me is one big
forest with a gigantic tree
rising in the midst.
Although letting myself get
looser with each new song
that came along, I noticed
after a while that the fire
had died in some of the
patrons’ eyes. Hearing
excited whispers for
"MORE...” I finally de
cided to let out all the wild
woman in me, and give
them more bump and grind
than they had seen since
Gypsy Rose Lee. Giving
them a little ass when the
time was right, and making
■pie “77
c|ecoicit<>rs
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2515 W. BROWARD BOULEVARD
FORT LAUDERDALE, FLA. 33312
OPEN TILL 4 AM MON.-SAT. (305)587-9895
BRASS COCK RINGS
For "STUD POWER!"
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TO
in
love to the* fed velvet
'curtains was more than
some of them could handle.
I felt myself getting looser
and looser, and eventually
left no doubt in their minds
as to what I had and what
l liked. They were smiling
so I wanted to be damn
sure they had a reason;
and honey. it was
marvelous.
What can 1 say? “The
Male Box” was. without a
doubt, the best thing I could
ever have intrusted my tree
to. While watching two
young men dancing and
exploiting their sexuality to
no end. I had four too
many screwdrivers and
soon found myself in a
closet, of all places, where
1 was to also don my
“gay apparel so I could
gyrate all over the stage
and bar. Taking another
couple of stiff drinks to
get me out of the closet,
1 finally made my way to
the. waiter’s station, which
was, t o be my resting
place between numbers.
To be sure, the linoleum
floor and red spotlights
did nothing to enhance my
vision of stardom and
debut, but the liquor on
my brain and the shivers
in my shorts convince me
that a lot of unused talent
and unappreciated music
was going to waste.
Summoning my courage and
trying to'be oblivious to the
crowd. I trembled my way
up to the tune of “Do it
(do it ‘til you’re Satisfied)”
and really did it; did it,
and did it. Was I satisfied;
especially when the bills,
along with a few hands,
found their way down the
front of my briefs, and
I could not even stay on
the stage for all the drinks
that were on a crash
course with my hand
When one dear gentleman
asked me the fourth or
fifth time to shed my briefs
in favor of a G-string, and
I got tired of saying, ’‘No,
*v not right now,” I finally
* laid it on the line. With
his final “why,” instead
of telling him that I was too
shy, I smiled and whispered
in my most seductive voice,
“ini wait until next time;
that way you’ll have a
reason to come back. ” With
that, he grabbed his topcoat
and hat, and rushed out the
door like the last mad
masturbator.
Finally, after hours of
dancing and smiling, and
drinking, the closing hour
came nigh, and doing my
best to hide the all-too-
obvious fact that I was
turned on by one of the
patrons, I slowly made my
v wW back to the dressing
rqom, hand over crotch,
and passedept on the floor.
Flossie Florida Reports
Bv Peler Thomas
Good grief! Where is
Flossie! Did the new
owners fire the dear old
thing. Heavens no! It was
Easter weekend and all
those ‘‘Where the Boys
Are” college, men kept
Flossie going so hard (and
I do mean hard) that pen
and paper were not to be
had, though we hear a lot
else was had &. had; Oh
will she have a lot to tell
us next month. The Easter
bunny will tell all!
is the pink hotel that sits on the sand that
rolls to the ocean...
the Poop Deck dining/disco that lives in the
pink hotel that views the sand that
rolls to the ocean...
the fabulous faces that play on our beach and ,
lay in our sun and swim in our olympic-Stze pool
and live in our beautiful oceanview rooms
that are ready for anything...
come to Lauderdale
live at the Marlin Beach Hotel
You never need to leave
'cause all we've got....;
IA
*
n
CM
IA
U)
8
is everything.
hotel, poop deck 17 south atlantic boulevard, fort lauderdale, florida.