Join GayCities, the fun way to discover the world

The Club’s exterior façade bears little reference to the actual disco. The dark morose purple/blue exterior lighting and décor is reminiscent of the Regine’s Disco thru the early 90’s, the rope chain, a classic Studio 54; to prevent VIP’s from coming in contact with the wannabes. The ones waiting in sub zero temperature for a change to be let in. On my first visit I arrived early, very dapper, and was quickly greeted by a lady with impeccable manners, and a voice deeper than Barry White. She complimented me on my clothing, and, surmised I was on business or vacation, and quickly ushered me in. I paid the entrance fee and there is a long hallway that promises to open up to a super disco place; NOT! The entire entrance is like smoke and mirrors to project. The actual dance floor, bar and bathroom combined on a lower second level floor must be less that 4K S.F. The sunken dance floor looked identical to a small circular underground swimming pool, surrounded by a small deck, and converted to a dance floor; That’s how small, and claustrophobic if looks. There is only one bar, and by luck it would be located at the extreme end of the circular deck. Getting a drink is a challenge, and I decided to get a VIP lounge; the size of a bathroom stall, not private, and bar service to the VIP section is glacial at best. The bartenders and some waiters had the disposition of angry, unfed alligators; maybe the attitude is part of the disco theme. One bathroom for all sexes, and is multi-tasking. It servers to relieve yourself, have a quick torrid soirée, offers to sell you drugs. I was even offered sex for monetary compensation; I think it’s called prostitution. Those Brits really know how to maximize bathroom down time!! The bathroom attendants are oblivious to all that’s going on, they will pull a napkin to clean your hands and expect a pound in return; a spray of men’s cologne will set you back 3 more pounds. People really drink in these places, and one guy got really drunk. Next thing I see is the charming lady that greeted me at the door almost hoisting the guy with one hand on the shoulder at putting out on the street, it looked like a scene from the Bionic woman. We became best friends. I went several times again, intrigued by the dichotomy of extremely charming lady, and the strength of a Sumo wrestler.

I've stayed in several of the clothing optional resorts, and was looking doe one where being nude was not an option. Believe me the models featured in the ads will never materialize. These resorts are all within an earshot of each other. All are permutations of 50'/60's motel type buildings. Some fresh paint, that's it, and the perennial hot-tub that fills up at 1:00am and people actually interact at a minimal social skill level to get laid. This is a cozy, elegant, excellent staff and service. They don't skimp on anything, from great breakfast, to sumptuous rooms. The resort is outside the sound wave from nearby construction, so you will not be up at the crack of dawn once the construction activity begins. There is a beautiful pool, and no surprises. The other guest seem more approachable than the clothing optional resorts; you know looking for the bigger and better.

I was told by some of the local gays this bar was an upscale bar; the "Masters of the Universe" frequent the bar, and to dress appropriately. I arrived in full Versace evening wear, only to find 98% in jeans with ripped holes, muscle shirts, and baseball caps for receding hairlines. It's a small bar with a modern minimalistic design; a room with an elliptical bar at the center, and bathed under constant blue light. This is not a place to strike conversations. After a while the small bar fills up with wanabees, and clutching to the cell phone like their life depended on it. A trip to the bathroom is glacial, and then a line. I made a joke if their installed tampon machines, only to get a highbrow from the waiting line. After easedroping into several cell phone conversations, and not by choice, I quickly realized the night is young and time to damage in South Beach. Most of the conversation make the National Enquirer read like Plato.