Where the Boys Are

Two-for-one cocktails and more male hotties than a Chippendales cattle call can only mean one thing: Wednesday night at BS West

"I find that if you're doing what makes you happy in your daily life, then working out ridiculously isn't important," he responds. "Of course, I'm also a dancer, so that helps too."

"Yeah, 'cause what makes Kreme happy in his daily life usually comes ˆ la mode," joshes Jett. "Actually, Levi and I know each other. You should tell Fat Albert here about what happened to us on Cinco de Mayo."

"Well, I was out at Amsterdam's, and I spotted this chick in the crowd," says Levi, nodding at Jett. "So we're talking, and she says, 'This guy I'm with thinks you're cute, blah-blah-blah.' We all go to his place, and she happens to hook up with his roommate, a chick. And the next morning, this guy makes us all breakfast."

"Eggs and bacon," says Jett. "And strangely, rice. Because he was Asian, I guess."

"Good times," says Levi. "And she and I've been friends ever since."

"Nutty. Maybe I should switch teams," I sigh. "I'm in awe of the sex lives gay people lead."

"But then you'd have to work out," chides my Sapphic sidekick. "Queer guys are in shape. And didn't you tell me you're hung like a grain of rice? That won't fly."

"Yes, but I'm full of inner beauty, Jett," I tell her. "The outside may look like a pre-op Al Roker, but inside, I'm Brad Pitt in Troy. Anyway, I need another drink -- be back in a sec."

I leave Jett and Levi in the pool room, and head for the bar. As I'm ordering my greyhound, I catch the eye of a tall, attractive African-American fella who compliments me on my Jim Jones-like shades. We take our drinks to the sidelines where he says his name is Orsur, and that he hails from St. Croix in the Virgin Islands. He explains in his très charming accent that he's been in the PHX for about a year.

"I originally came here when I was in the Air Force for training, and I fell in love with Arizona," relates the handsome 27-year-old, who's wearing a brown sleeveless tee. "So I came back. And now I work in a bank, believe it or not."

"Why BS tonight?" I query.

"The people are excellent here, it's a great atmosphere, and of course, it's a great drink special on Wednesdays," he says, smiling. "Right now I'm drinking Frangelico on the rocks with a lime. It's a really good drink to have if you just want to be laid-back."

"Do you have a boyfriend right now?" I wonder.

"No, but I'm looking! Nobody wants to hook up with me for a relationship. They all want a fling. But I don't want a fling."

"What are you looking for in a man?" I toss my hair, all atwitter.

"Whatever catches my interest," he says. "They could be good-looking, they could be not. I guess it's the whole vibe."

"Wait a sec, you mean you might go for a guy who's not good-looking?!"

"Sure, why not?"

"Th-th-th-then I might actually have a chance!"

"Yes, but that vibe has to be there," he says, sipping his drink.

I get it. Orsur's letting me down easy. So I waddle sadly back to Jett, who's talking to one of the few babes in the place, an auburn-haired gal named Jessica, who says she works for a cell phone company. She parties at BS with her gay friends because she likes to dance and not get hit on endlessly.

"I'm straight," she confesses to Jett. "But I have to admit, I'm really into women."

"That so?" replies the L-Word Don Juan, supremely confident.

"Absolutely. I've even made out with girls before, but that's it. I'd say I'm 80 percent heterosexual, but that other 20 percent is lezzie."

Jett's eyebrows arch. "Gimme a call if it ever swings 70-30 the other way. Once you get the training wheels off your bike, maybe we can go for a ride," she says.

Jessica's gay pal, a Latin boy named Antonio, nudges up next to her. "Are dju making a love connection, baby?"

Jessica looks longingly at Jett. "Not tonight, unfortunately."

Jett and I mosey on. "You're turning down a roll in the hay with that dime?" I ask my vagitarian bud, holding my hand up to her forehead. "You got that West Nile or something?"

"Get your paw off me, fudge-bucket," she snorts, slapping away my digits. "I'm not taking the first kitty out of the litter. I've got standards."

"I wish I had that luxury. Fortunately, I have a little piece at home waiting for me."

"Really? So what are you whinin' for?"

"Problem is she's made of vinyl and has a slow leak," I confess. "Otherwise she's perfect."

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