I moved to NYC in December 2012 so naturally there’s a wide swath of NYC party scene I haven’t had a chance to dip my stick into yet. When Hugo at Cockyboys told me about the upcoming Black Party and offered to get me a ticket for my birthday I jumped at the chance- he’d told me stories of his past experiences there which had turned my hair white (I won’t say more because he’ll beat me to death with a Fleshjack if he sees it).

So it turned out some friends had also scored tickets (which were going for $140+ full price!) and we duly planned to go together. In my European naivety I thought that meant leaving the house around 10pm. Oh no, my friends kept telling me. no-one even thinks of squeezing into their PVC pants until the early morning hours come ticking round. To me that sounds insane, 11pm-1am are my prime partying hours, as 2am hits I’m either too drunk to make sense or ready to flop into someone’s, anyone’s, bed.

But hey-ho I thought, what do I know, I’m a quaint English rose new to the rotten apple. I’ll do what they say.

It didn’t take long to plan my outfit because it’s about the only kinky thing I own- an assless singlet I got in San Francisco last year at the Folsom street fair (that’s another story). I’d only worn it once before in a SF dive bar and it got me into a lot of trouble so I thought it’d be the perfect lure for some hunky leather daddy at the Black Party. Here’s a pic of me with a lovely mock tranny. I look.. messy.

We arrived at the Roseland Ballroom at about 12.45am, my sluttish singlet safely tucked away under two woolly layers to keep the bitter March cold out, which had been a good call as there was a loooooooong line, so long in fact that it snaked around the block and then some. Hugo met us in the line holding my golden ticket and we waited. And waited. And waited.

It took an hour and a half to get into the place, then another fifteen minutes in the coatcheck, then another fifteen at the bar blah blah yes my complaining is over- finally, we were in, warmed up & ready to party.

It was packed There were nearly naked men everywhere, older, younger, hot and not and everything in-between. Which is my kind of party, as wall to wall over-waxed steroid studs gets old about as quickly as their muscles turn to water balloons when they hit 40.

The outfits ranged from fails (even a fine specimen of homogenised male beauty becomes a boner buster when he’s channeling Coco the clown)..

..to impressive  (though I’m not sure what the guy on the right was going for- the vomit fairy?)..

..to fairly standard leather ‘lite’. They obviously thought they could get away with minimal effort because they’re hot. Which is true.

So there I was, squeezing onto the dance-floor with my chemically emboldened friends and a few thousand guys buzzing their tits off, dancing to unrecognisable electronic beats in a warehouse decorated with all the trimmings a $50,000 decorating budget can muster (I plucked that number out of my ass).  At one point I was happily grooving away as two older leather daddy types fucked on the dance floor right next to me. This was the experience I came for, total unabashed sleazy fun that was the New York I’d had in my minds eye all these years.

Unfortunately the bar closed at 4am with no notice and the evil sobriety fairy did a spell on me. The enjoyment of walking round the massive complex started to fade along with my vodka buzz and I my fifth sense told me the sun was slowly rising on a grey morning outside. In desperation I flirted with the idea of slinking into the darkroom to check out the fairground action that had to be going on in there, but when the door opened a sauna like heat carrying a stench like a corpses fart came flooding out and put a kabosh on those thoughts.

Of course by this point I’d lost all my friends to the chaos and at 6.30am it dawned (pun intended) on me that it was time to leave- I was flagging and making puppy dog eyes at anyone who looked like they owned a bed, which isn’t a hot look. I got my little and only action of the night (excluding all the bottom fondling from strangers my singlet encouraged) while getting changed back into my street clothes; an attractive 20something who complimented me on my bare ass and then gave me the sloppiest, nastiest snog I’ve had in a long time. The perfect nightcap.

You can see more pics of the night here: http://wilsonmodels.blogspot.com/2013/03/black-party-at-roseland-ballroom.html