Jul 10, 2015

Living the LA lifestyle for a week

I've been living in Berlin for a handful of years and have gotten used to the gay scene here. There's a lot less color (everyone wears black), a lot less topless guys in the clubs. I've gotten used to the laid-back attitude where we just don't care what you do or how you look. But as I learned during a one-week holiday to Los Angeles, a little bit of superficiality and a hell of a lot of beautiful bodies can be fun too.

The first thing I noticed when my plane touched down in Los Angeles was, predictably, the weather. Flip-flops everywhere, guys in tanks. It was only April but I felt like I landed in summer. Within an hour of my arrival, I was already clued into life in LA. My shirt was off and I was by the pool at the Roosevelt Hotel, drinking Micheladas (a Mexican tomato beer cocktail). As I sat there, watching people watching other people by the poolside, I thought to myself: I could get used to this.

Seven days later, with thousands racked up in credit card debt, a new iPhone6 and a depleted stash of condoms, I only had one thought: get me out of here!

Four of my six nights out in West Hollywood, I was on the dance floor at The Abbey. Allegedly one of the world's best gay bars, sure, it was fun. I had more than a few good nights there, often ogling the go-go dancers with bodies too perfect to be true while getting high on poppers and spilling drinks by the DJ. And even when my phone was stolen right out of my pocket (hey, who cares, you win some, you lose some), there was something disastrously fun about the bar. I put the phone down as a loss—right next to my dignity which I lost on a Tuesday as I was getting a blowjob on the sidewalk.

Oh, West Hollywood.

He was a guy I'd met earlier in the night—a friend of a friend, a transplant from NYC now living in LA. All night we'd been sneaking glances and more than a few too-close feels. As we moved from bar to bar, down Santa Monica Boulevard, things got sloppy. Sometimes you just have those nights—usually because of too much tequila.

It was 2am and the bar was closing, so when our mutual friend checked out for the night, we found our way outside waiting for my Uber driver to show up. As he unzipped my pants, I knew what was happening was slightly crazy. But hey—this is LA and if celebrities can get away with it, who's to say we shouldn't have a bit of fun ourselves.

It just seemed like a natural progression for the night. Going out in West Hollywood was every bit as crazy as I'd imagined. I felt like a sex-crazed rockstar that week, moving from boy to boy, club to club.

My booze-fueled week of debauchery was spent almost entirely on a short stretch of Santa Monica Boulevard. There were drag shows at Micky's, go-go dancers at The Abbey, tequila shots and sloppy selfies, fried chicken sandwiches at 4am (at Kitchen24) and Uber rides with drag queens.

There's nowhere really like LA. I had one of my most incredible weeks ever, but too much of a good thing can be dangerous.

Returning to reality is never easy after a holiday. But in LA, reality doesn't really exist. I suppose that's why so many people in LA are living out their dreams in a world of wishful thinking (and probably more than a few broken dreams). But for me: I need some solid ground to stand on. At least every once in a while.

Where to Go


Where to Stay

 

by Adam

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ABOUT US

WHAT IS DANDY DICKS AND WHY SHOULD YOU CARE?

And who the hell am I? If you’ve been following the blog at all, you may have wondered out of which horny hole this perverted punk has stepped. I won’t reveal too much – a bit of mystery is sexy, right? But a few things may be in order.

First, I was born in that part of the world that most people think is actually Canada, but it’s not. I was born in Alaska. Who would have thought that place could produce more than oil and Sarah Palin – two decidedly unsexy things.

Second, I’m no stranger to sex on screen. I appeared in two arty porn films with DVD releases: one in San Francisco and one here in Berlin. There may be other footage of me out there, but if so, I don’t know where. And yup, I moved to Berlin from gay ol’ San Francisco, where I learned to be a proper fag and how to be a writer all at the same time.

There’s more from San Francisco coming your way via Dandy Dicks, so stay tuned.

But I left San Francisco. And took my heart with me. Five years now in Berlin and I can’t think of a better place to be. I’ve been making it here as a writer ever since and I’m happy to report there’s no going back.

I think I’ve given you enough of the basics. More you’ll just have to find out either through this blog or a little Google. But I hope with that you stick around Dandy Dicks – for this blog and of course, the boys!

Walter Crasshole