After checking out Missie B's and Sidekicks, we ended up at the DB Warehouse Complexx downtown, which was the most crowded of the three. As we walked from the back alley to the entrance, we were bombarded with many incongruous stimuli: a straight couple fighting about an incident that had happened at Harpo's, a hot dog vendor on the sidewalk in front, and an overwhelming cologne smell that prompted David to quip, "Are we in the Jones Store?"
Inside was just as stimulating. The massive bar was crowded with guys of all varieties -- a multiculti mix of old and young, with fashions ranging from T-shirts and shorts to one shirtless guy wearing assless leather chaps over his jeans. The downstairs level was dominated by a dance floor with a seizure-inducing strobe light and a thudding beat; upstairs was more subdued, dark and mazelike -- though just as packed. (We also stopped by the gift shop, which included some Spencer Gifts-type items as well as cock rings, leatherwear, bandanas in different colors to signify what sorts of things the wearer is into, and metal rods for inserting into your urethra -- they came in a variety of widths and sold for $24.95 to $26.95.)
While waiting in the long drink line, we decided to go with DB's baby pitcher, an oversized mug containing 32 ounces of beer. (It's $4, though filling it with Shiner Bock and Moosehead costs $1 more.) Toting our mini pitchers, we found a spot near the dance floor where we could take it all in. There, illuminated by the strobe light, we caught a glimpse of white tulle -- yep, a bachelorette party. Gina, 29, was getting married on June 14, and after going to Harrah's, she and her three female friends were escorted to DB's by Norvin, her ex-brother-in-law. ("I'm gay," he helpfully added, giving his rainbow-colored chain necklace a jiggle.)
Gina was wearing an oversized T-shirt printed with a checklist of tasks she needed men to complete. Norvin had figured, what better place to find men than DB's? They said they had even found a straight guy to "cast a spell on someone with a bubble stick."
However, a different sort of bubble stick was being cast upon upstairs. In one dark, crowded corner, we could see guys enjoying blow jobs. Standing at the edge of a crowd that had gathered to observe, we could see one guy sitting on the stairs getting one while a girl sat next to him and watched.
"DB's was the first place I saw this kind of action, and I was, like, 'Ohmigod!'" David said.
We were soon befriended by a guy standing near us. "I asked some guy, 'Was it good?' and he got fucking pissy!" said Leon, 27. ("I'm the only white Leon you'll ever meet," he added.)
He kindly offered to take us in for a closer look, steering us through while calling out, "Fresh meat!" We stopped near the front lines. "Look down!" he said. Sure enough, there was a blower on his knees; the blowee was gasping, an intense look of concentration on his face.
"Um ... can we watch?" we asked Leon, though in our embarrassment what we really meant to ask was, Can/do people just stand around and watch?
"Well, we could, but I just bumped into him and threw off his concentration," he replied. "That's the downfall of doing it in public." Ah. Yet another Universal Truth exposed.