By Ray Stern
By Ray Stern
By New Times
By Amy Silverman
By Stephen Lemons
By Stephen Lemons
By Monica Alonzo
By Chris Parker
"Kreme, this is Ashley -- Ash for short," gushes Jett, playfully.
"Let's get this out of the way -- are you bi, bi-curious or . . . ?" I ask Her Royal Ashiness.
"I like women," states Ash definitively.
"What do you do for work?"
"I go to school, and I model," replies the captivating catwalker. "I model for Ford, but when the modeling is over, you've got to have something else going on."
"Where do you live in town?" inquires the J-unit, in full stalker mode.
"I just moved from Scottsdale to Phoenix," answers Ash. "I think Phoenix is a sexier town. There's more going on here, more nightlife. Scottsdale's more like fake people, fake places."
"What places do you like to hit in Phoenix?"
"Sky Lounge, and Amsterdam -- I probably go there once a week," she states. "I've been here a couple of times. Bruno Mali's is cool. The people here are very diverse."
"As a woman who likes women, do men do anything for you?" I query hopefully.
"Oh, yeah. I've slept with more men than women. But women are sexier than men. Men are too easy. I could get any man in here if I wanted," Ash asserts.
When I ask, pray tell, how she would achieve this, she suddenly lifts up her black tee to reveal a nearly perfect pair. "I'm very proud of them," she confesses.
"L-l-l-lovely," I stutter. "Nice of you to share."
"You're welcome," she says, smiling. "One is slightly larger than the other, though."
"That's natural," Jett assures her. "I asked my doctor about mine, and he says most women have one breast bigger than the other."
"Oh, all of us gay men know that," brags a rather fey fellow, a handsome chap who's accompanying Ashley, though he seems to have materialized out of nowhere. "Gay men see way more breasts than straight men."
"Oh, really!" I remark.
"I tell you, I have so many more straight women friends than I ever wanted, and they're always showing them to me, asking me to touch them." He tosses his head, sounding a tad disgusted. I find out his name is Jonathan, an interior designer by trade, and a rather wicked caballero. He's hanging at the bar getting sauced, as are we all.
"Jonathan, let me take your picture," Jett asks of him.
"Okay," he says with an odd trill in his voice, turning his back to us. "Take a look at this!"
That's when Jonathan bares both glutes, pulling his belt down below a juicy badunkadunk that I swear most straight males would love, despite the XY owner.
All of this scandalous nakedittity has gotten me hot and bothered, so I excuse myself to hit the head and splash some cold water on my face. Back outside, I bump into this curvaceous mama named Nicole, and strike up a polite confab with her. Before you know it, she asks me to dance, and pulls me out to the floor. We're out there with her girls Desiree and Nicole (yep, two Nicoles in the group), until I notice I'm the only dude in da house showing off his two-step. Time to exit stage left, where I run into Hiram, the man of the hour, who has put this night together. Hiram's a stylish cat, with a sort of golfer's chapeau on, an orange Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of tinted aviator sunglasses. I think, actually, one of the Nicoles may be his shorty, but apparently he doesn't consider a fat boy who can barely dance much of a threat to his game, and I don't blame him.
"Tell me, Hiram, how do you get so many people to come out and live it up on Sunday?" I ask.
"It's not too bad tonight," he responds. "Hopefully, in a couple of weeks we'll pick up and be even more active. Everyone's invited. It's just a little night to have some light drinks and some socializing."
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Jett doing shots with her new gal-pal Ash, tryin' her damnedest to get in the chick's pants. So, I chuckle, "Hiram, considering the kind of socializing goin' down, the only thing light about the drinking is how much the hooch weighs as they pour it down their throats!"