Extended Dance Remix

On my way to MyFella's house tonight, I popped in some of my old fave gay c.d.'s. I used to say that I loved any song when a gay guy took a 3 minute song and stretched it into 12 or 15. And even better when the intro is 5 minutes long, like Toni Braxton's Spanish Guitar. But I digress, the point is, I forgot. . . . and the music made me remember.

Young, or at least younger. It was '99 when I moved to the city, 10 years ago would make me 29. Still fairly skinny. The gay club was right down the street, at least one of them was and it was arguably the better club. Two sides, one for drag, one for dancing. Seemed like they remodeled every six months and switched sides.

Sweat, the long dance remixes. The way to hold your water bottle in your hand while you danced. The real skinny ones putting tucking their shirts in the back of their pants. The way the bass beat rumbled in your chest and the lights moved in rhythm. Sweat and the smell of it. Lean boys on raised up platforms with glow sticks twirling in their hands. Sweat and the smell of it. Familiar songs redone in extended mixes. A look from a guy across the way. Sweat and the smell of it. The strangers bodies pushing against yours. The guy is closer and his body takes the place of theirs. The pulsating rhythms push your bodies together and your sweat mixes, sweat and the smell of it.

I sometimes left the club as the sun was coming up and would sleep until noon. And if the dance was right, you could feel almost as good as having had sex even if you hadn't.

Oh, how I had forgotten. And how I miss the nights when I stood in the dance floor and let the music lift me, move me, make me. How I could lose myself in the crowd and the lights and the smoke.

I miss being young and gay. But at least I had it. It was mine for a while, right down the street. Many a night, many a weekend, many an over priced cover charge.