by Chris Bodenner
Many straight readers are sounding off as well. One writes:
You see, when I was underage (late '80s, early '90s), the local gay bar was the only one that would let me in and serve me. It was next to the Frontier Room in Seattle. Every Monday night they would have Reggae night. My friends and I all worked in restaurants and so Monday night was our Friday night. If you were a straight kid and acted nice and well behaved to the big bear doorman, he would let you in. We would go to the back and dance with the gay guys, the rastas and the white girls all sweatin it up to Sugar Minot, Steel Pulse and Black Uhuru. We would smoke doobies, drink Sea Breezes and have a great time. I wish I could remember the name of that place. Taking a chick to a gay bar to dance to reggae pretty much guaranteed some action later that night.
Another writes:
My first gay bar was the Spectrum Disco in Gainesville, Florida. For a highschool boy growing up in a redneck town in the sleepy South, the Spectrum was an eyeopener to the great world beyond. I was hetero then (as now) but damn it was a fun place to dance.
Another:
When I moved to SF back in '92, the Lower Haight was a fairly nasty place to live – stabbings, muggings, and none of the relative "nice" places that are around now. My more adventurous roommate and I, being thirsty 22-year-old straight boys, decided to flee to safer and more welcoming environs. Hello Moby Dick!
Good beer on tap, cheap cocktails and friendly staff and customers. Some folks we'd run into were mildly perplexed why we would choose to hang out there, but we loved it. The Dick was certainly an interesting intro into gay culture for both of us. We'd get some free drinks occasionally when the more forward older gentlemen would try to see if we were game for more … but this always led to some fun conversations and hilarity. Oddly, it was actually *easier* to meet girls at gay bars as many were straight girls just out drinking with friends.
My lasting opinion is that every straight boy needs a good gay bar every now and then.
Another:
First, some brief background. In my teenage years I was conflicted about my sexuality because I was not masculine. The fact that I was only attracted to girls and had never met a guy I wanted to kiss was apparently not enough evidence of my heterosexuality. I thought because I was not masculine that I might be gay. Along the way, I even had a girlfriend let me know that if I was gay I could talk to her about it. I became accustomed to people inferring I was gay.
My first gay bar was The Abbey in West Hollywood. I thought it was the best bar I'd ever been to. Men wanted to talk to me (guys don't socialize in straight bars). Women weren't rude, or simply indifferent, to me (they could safely assume I was gay). It was an incredibly sociable and liberating experience. I could look at or even talk to an attractive girl without her sizing me up or getting menacing looks from her overprotective boyfriend. I felt free to be myself. The kinds of masculinity and femininity that had made most previous bar/club experiences very uncomfortable for me just weren't apparent to me at The Abbey. Guys chatted in line for the bathroom. Hell, they even chatted in the bathroom. And maybe you, or some readers, can help explain this: nothing attracted more attention to me from the guys there than telling them that, while I was flattered, I was straight.
I had an amazing time that night, and I went back a few times during graduate school for equally liberating evenings. My overwhelming feeling was, "This is how the world should be. People should treat each other like this far more often. This is a glance at a better social experience for everyone." Of course, there was the ego-boost, too; I don't get hit on at straight bars. I got a lot of attention at the gay bars I went to. Obviously, that feels good. And for me, it's also a fun and safe way to affirm my heterosexuality. I can play with sexuality because I am so comfortable and confident in my heterosexuality, now. I wish more people could experience that.
The Dish 