All the men are hanging around the bar, creating a U-shaped crowd around the dance floor, which remains empty. The bar is on the left side of the room and acts like a magnet. Everyone is standing too close to each other, as if the dance floor is made of lava. Half of them are trying to drink up some courage, while the other half is shuffling back and forth in place. It’s as if everyone is waiting for someone in the group to take the lead and take the first spot on the dance floor. I get it; the night is still young, and everyone is still a bit uneasy. I, too, feel a bit out of place about what this night will bring. After all, it could go any direction. It feels a bit like the last school dance at elementary school, the one that marks the end of the first part of your education. Everyone hits puberty, and everything feels new and uncertain. But the hormones are already racing across the dance floor. At least, that’s what I imagine it would feel like. Because I skipped my last elementary school dance due to bullying. Because of that, I ended up without friends in the final year and didn’t see the point of going to a farewell party. Maybe Frank was a friend in that final year, but by the end, I felt like the friendship was more of a way of pity. Strange how those kinds of memories come rushing back in the middle of the night. I have lost my train of thought, and I am back in the room again. I realized that in my nervous awkwardness, I’d quickly knocked back my drink. The courage will hopefully follow soon.
My gaze drifts upward, and I suddenly see the handmade plastic decorations hanging from the ceiling. The party has been going on for fifteen years, so the organizers got as creative as possible with the decorations. But to save costs, the gifts seem to have been taken from the Sinterklaas archive. This makes it feel a bit like a children’s party. A quinceañera for the fifteen-year-old party, but without a decent budget. Several boxes are hanging from the ceiling by silk threads, wrapped in shiny paper. Colored translucent foil is stuck over the lights, and here and there, a stray balloon can be found. I know they probably did their best with what they had, and the rest of the budget probably went to the DJ’s. I stare at the lights and hope that this doesn’t cause any fire hazards halfway through the night. Although, in some ways, it would be a bit comical to see a club full of half-naked men hysterically running outside because the stupid decorations have caught fire. I am a bit stuck at the thought of a weird children’s party that’s on fire. All the while, adult men still nervously drink some courage so they can make the dance floor their hunting ground. Another group of men is waiting for the drugs to kick in so they can get swept away by the music. A strange group of dressed-up adults waiting for approval to play. The more I break down the situation, the more comfortable I start to feel with the environment. Queer parties still unnerve me from time to time. A sense that I still don’t always belong in these spaces.
The DJ is doing his best to get everyone on the dance floor, but he knows that his set at this point is only there to get the crowd warmed up. If I was starting out as a DJ, I’d actually find this quite nice. Everyone listens to your music, but doesn’t give you so much attention that the pressure to mix it all together perfectly is too high. Of course, this is nonsense because this first set is what sets the mood for the entire evening. People could even leave now because they think it sucks. But I don’t see anyone leaving; on the contrary. A few people had now taken the lead and started dancing on the side of the dance floor. A safe option is not to be in the spotlight right away and slowly get used to the arena in the middle. The rest is still a bit of lava. It’s not literally an arena, but this is how I see it for now. Apparently, the first few brave people dancing are enough to get the rest to join in soon after. And the arena slowly fills up with men until all the lava and nervousness is gone.
I realize that I’ve been hanging by the bar for a while now, staring at what’s unfolding before me. After exploring the rest of the space, I took my David and Ferry with me to the dance floor, who were still a bit hesitant. By the way, it’s totally fine that I’m dragging them along; I like to take the lead at parties in our little group of friends. If my current career falls apart, I could always go into tourism as a happy and active guide. “On your left, you’ll see a group of bears struggling with the clasp of a harness. Maybe it’s a better idea next time not to buy the harness on Temu—pro tip from the guide. On your right, someone is struggling with the cap of a bottle of poppers. Let’s hope they don’t slip and ruin someone’s neoprene shorts.
We decide to push ourselves onto the dance floor and shake our last nerves. After ten minutes, the party drugs are awkwardly shared and taken between the three of us. I take one half of a pill of ecstasy in the bathroom with a dry mouth, and of course, it gets stuck halfway down my throat. It’s always the first half that I struggle with the most. But usually, it goes down a lot better than it does now. I walk to the sink and wash it down with some water while glancing at someone who’s just left the bathroom. It’s going to be a fun night. The cheerful toilet ladies don’t say anything, they probably see this happening all night long. As long as the men pay for the use of the restroom, everything is fine with them. And, of course, as long as no one makes too much of a mess. I’ve already entertained them by teaching them the term ‘pee-partout’ for people who get a stamp to pee all night long. Later in the evening, I would see them banging on the bathroom doors because people were going in with three people at once to do everything but pee.
After the pill slowly dissolves in my stomach and mixes with my new mood, the arena slowly turns into my playground. I don’t need substance to enjoy nights like these, but escaping reality is exactly what I need occasionally. Tonight is one of those nights. Soon, men start taking their shirts and tank tops off, and the dance floor becomes a sweaty place filled with fleeting encounters and strange conversations. I run into acquaintances like Rick and Bu, who came to the party together. I see Rick at almost every party I go to, so the encounters have almost become a kind of slapstick joke. I have meaningless conversations about trivial things because there’s not much else to discuss with these people at the moment. Funny how you can know people for years and still never get past the three standard questions. How’s it going? How’s home? And how long have you been here? I meet new people and play the guess my age game. I meet someone in their fifties, and I’m surprised at how young he looks and how enthusiastic and energetic he is. Fully enjoying the party and everything that it has to offer, including me. The sudden kick of ecstasy definitely helps raise my eyebrows in surprise and interest. He beams at my reaction, because, of course, this often happens to him. And his reaction is justified; I’d also be proud if I looked like that at his age. But I doubt that will happen to me. Eventually, my focus on the man has dissipated, and I must move on again. I gave him a warm smile and dived back onto the dance floor.
I kiss acquaintances and strangers in my tiny black shorts and forget what everyone’s name is. I’ve never been very good with names or birthdays, so people have to forgive me for that. It’s genuinely not that I am not interested, but it just doesn’t quite stick in my head. But it doesn’t matter tonight; probably, everyone will forget who I am anyway. I meet two men and I immediately assume that they’re a couple, but after a quick chat it turns out they’re just friends, probably sleeping together on a boring Sunday night. At first, I think the taller man of the two is flirting with me, but eventually, the shorter, muscular, and hairy man shows interest in me. I’m not really in the mood for deep conversations at this point, but he doesn’t say much either, so that helps. After some intense glances, he finally mutters that he thinks I’m very attractive, and we briefly kiss. It’s quite annoying sometimes, the height difference. I rarely meet men who are the same height or taller than me, as I am quite tall. But still, I try my best to bend over ergonomically responsible. I notice my focus is drifting off again, and I want to keep things moving. Nothing personal against this guy, but walking in circles might be my second favorite activity on a night like this.
Suddenly, a fleeting obsession forms as a beautiful Eastern man appears in front of me. His muscles were glittering with sweat. I keep convincing myself that muscular men like these aren’t my type, but the constant evidence of my sudden interest speaks for itself. It’s mostly because these types of people usually aren’t interested in me, so I flirt back somewhat reservedly. I always assume that muscular men will reject me immediately. But I often forget that this is all in my head and probably remnants of a time when I wasn’t feeling great about myself. I can’t and shouldn’t think for others, and by not approaching muscled men, they can’t prove the opposite of my assumption either. I start a conversation with the guy, and after kissing, he tells me he has a partner. Funny how this always happens after kissing. Taste the appetizer, but don’t stay for the main course. He briefly tells me he has to leave and quickly disappears with a wink. I linger too long at the moment and realize I still want something from him, so I look for him again for one last kiss. Uncomfortably, he looks at me at the bar with his friends, who probably didn’t see us kiss. I observed the situation, nodded politely, and walked back into the arena with my tail between my legs. I can’t get everything I want tonight.
Everything picks up at rapid speed after that, and the rest of the night rushes by like a whirlwind. We take another half-pill of ecstasy and dance all worries and cares away. I no longer feel how much sweat I’ve lost on the dance floor and what is still clinging to my back. Still, I refuse to take off my leather harness, which is starting to feel uncomfortable like I am a chicken twisting around in an oven. It’s probably because I’ll find the imprint of it on my skin more irritating than its current comfort level. More short conversations follow, or more mumbling, really, and flirting. And before I know it, the lonely hour has arrived. The slow ending of the party and the night. The arena is suddenly half-empty again, just like the night started, and a sad feeling sweeps over me. I’ve never been good at the sudden end of a euphoric evening. But it could also be drugs. Someone from the stage leans in and whispers in my ear, asking if I’m going to the after party.I wasn’t planning on it, so I politely say thanks to the man on the stage right next to me. It kind of feels like a pitiful invitation if you are one of the last ones standing. Or maybe he was just genuinely being friendly. He’s dancing alone as if the party isn’t over yet, which I admire. It’s nice that he still feels that way, which is probably why he invited me to the after party.
My friends and I decide to leave with everyone else, afraid of being the last ones out of the club. Sweaty and sticky, my shirt clumsily goes back on at the lockers after my leather harness is removed. The shorts have to come off too, so that I can put on normal pants. Thankfully, everyone shares the same embarrassment as we changed in the sterile white LED light. All still either high as a kite, or tired and desperate to freshen up and go to bed. I looked around and didn’t really feel like saying goodbye to everyone. The night has been too intense for that, and I need a smoother transition into reality. I’ll miss the group intensely if I immediately jump on a train right now. The magical dance floor with my friends around me, dancing so freely. It all becomes a time vacuum and I can never remember everything that happened, but that’s probably for the best.
I have no real idea of what the outside world looks like right now. It could be snowing, and I wouldn’t find out until I step back into reality. On the way out, I politely said goodbye to all the staff, as if I’d just been to a ceremony, thanking them for the great service and the snacks. It seems pretty funny to imagine all these men leaving this building in various states of disintegration. But the staff remains perfectly polite and formal. They’re probably also quite happy that they can finally go home and dive into bed soon. Once outside, the pills are still working their magic, and we’re all still spaced out in the fresh air. It has not been snowing, so that’s a good thing. The three of us look at each other, slightly surprised, while adjusting to the sunlight and suddenly being outside after eight hours without music. Just like the evening began awkwardly, we now have to adjust to the new situation we find ourselves in. The school party is over while the building burns on, and all the kids are standing outside.
The same man who whispered in my ear from the stage earlier suddenly ran out of the club and into the street. He seems almost in a panic, but the smile on his face betrays that he’s more interested in the next part of the night. I told David and Ferry that he invited me to an after party, and I turned him down. While I’m saying this, the man spots our group in the distance, and I mutter “shit.” He runs over and asks me again if I want to come to the after party. His gaze shifts to the rest of our group, hoping he might convince someone else if he can’t get me to join him. I’ll probably end up going after all, my spine can only bend so far. “Together out, together home”, is what my mom always taught me. The place where the after party is turns out to be very close, literally across the street. Doubt suddenly starts to creep in, and I look at my both of my friends for an answer to the question I don’t want to answer. Oh, now I suddenly want to be responsible? The night is still young, we’re all still high, and we can’t really sleep yet. I’m usually the one making decisions like this, and I know the consequences all too well now. So, for a change, I asked my David and Ferry, leaving it up to them to decide what we’d do. They only need to say “yes,” and then I’ll take over again.
To my surprise, they all wanted to go to the after party, so we headed across the street with a group of nine people. At that moment, it was completely unclear to me whose house we’d be going to or what we’d find there. Will our organs be stolen and sold on the dark web, or are we just going to sit down for tea and discuss our future plans? At least our bikes are directly across from the house where the after party is. So the escape route is near and easy. I tell my friends that if any of us don’t like where this is going, we’ll leave immediately and head back home to Rotterdam. After all, the house party could end in a wild orgy, and I really don’t feel like doing that today. Not in this state of decomposition.
The group of people at the after party is a mix of all kinds of men you can find at a circuit party. Naturally and sadly, there was not a woman in sight. The group is a mix of big and small, young and old, and everyone has a different background and culture. As usual, I’m a tall, white giant, especially compared to David and Ferry who are quite small. Unfortunately, there are no other giants around at the after party for good conversations at the same height. It turns out that the hosts of the house are a couple, and they tell us to just do whatever we want. I wonder where they’ve hidden their expensive knife set to harvest our organs later. Slowly, everyone finds a spot on the couch or in the kitchen. It seems like most of these people have been here before because everyone quickly makes themselves at home. I stood for a while next to the couch with my friends, in a position ready to run a marathon if necessary. Eventually, David and Ferry sat down on the couch and started talking to other people, while I focused on the older owner of the house. He has a rather creepy, thin pornstar mustache and boxers that seem one size too big. A horny twink with a six-pack can’t stop hitting on this man. Unfortunately, the twink shortly after set his sights on me, after doing his first round with the owner of the house. I make it clear that I do not want any attention from him. The owner of the house does seem to enjoy it somewhat but also gets increasingly frustrated because he wants to focus on getting to know the new people in the house instead of being distracted. It quickly became clear to me that the muscular twink is probably on GHB or a combination of drugs. While the other eight men are relaxed, sitting and chatting, he seems a bit out of place and alert. But he seems to be completely unaware of it himself. Meanwhile, the porn mustached man is talking about his artificial intelligence-rendered artwork, all of which features muscular white men who aren’t entirely anatomically correct. Is it still art if you’ve barely done anything yourself to create it? To each its own, of course.
The rest of the after party is a constant stream of bad conversations with people tangled up on the couch. I’ve become restless and pace back and forth between the couch and the kitchen, unable to find my rhythm, like a dog in a bed twisting around in circles before finally falling asleep. Occasionally, I have a cigarette with the host of the house, who turns out to be called Omar, and I check in with David and Ferry to see how they’re doing. They’ve both found someone to cuddle with. Apparently, there’s more happening that I only find out about later on the train, but I’m a bit indifferent to it. Omar has now shown enough interest in me to head to his bedroom, but my mind is not on it. So the twink joins in instead. Go have fun, I guess. I let Omar give me a few kisses though, as if I certainly haven’t had enough of those tonight.
As the sun slowly rose, I started to feel a sudden sense of discomfort. The after party abruptly ends in an argument between porn mustache Omar and the GHB bunny, making the atmosphere in the living room quite awkward for everyone else present. It’s clear they have some history together, and this is now reaching a critical point. I sense some jealous irritation from the GHB bunny because Omar has been focusing more on me in the final moments of the after party. I see this as my sign to leave, so I thank Omar and his partner, who I seem to have completely forgotten about, for their hospitality and for hosting the after party. There always comes a point at an after party like this where everyone’s bubble suddenly bursts and everyone scrambles around desperate to leave. But usually it ends on a bit of a happier note. “Together out, together home,” of course. I grab my friends from the couch, and we gather our backpacks, which have been waiting neatly in the hallway all night and morning. We headed down the stairs together to the rented bikes and let out a sigh of relief.
Once we’re on the bikes, we look at each other and chuckle. You never really know how a night will go, and now we have plenty of more things to talk about on the train ride home. It’s that moment when your mind still can’t decide whether the after party was a success or not. For me, it was okay; I’ve had more fun at after parties with people I know better. With strangers, it’s always a bit of a gamble how the after party will turn out. By now, I felt like a defecated corpse longing for a bed or a final resting place. The long train ride home looms over me like a dark cloud, but my bed is the light at the end of the rave tunnel. I suggest we all put on a jacket or a sweater while cycling to the station, since none of us can really feel whether it’s warm or cold outside right now. We’ve all been awake for so long that our brains are fried.
We cycled with the sun in our faces through Amsterdam and returned our rented bikes to the station. It feels like I could easily cycle all the way to Rotterdam, but I’m not that stupid just yet. I’d probably collapse halfway. We don’t have to wait long before the train arrives, and we travel gently for about an hour until we get home. Ferry falls asleep early on the journey. So, I talked the whole way home with David about what happened that night. It turns out he was much naughtier than I was, which makes me laugh. Once we’re in Rotterdam, we hug goodbye and head off to our own homes. And once home, I don’t even have the energy to shower or eat. I strip off all my clothes and fall into bed like I could slumber for an eternity. A few hours later, I woke up with a stomach ache from the hunger. Oh right, I have not eaten in half a day. I grab a bowl of yogurt and fruit to start my stomach again, and I eat naked while staring out the window. The warm sun shining above Rotterdam warms my face. Summer has begun again.
Martijn Winkel 