Back Where

So, I told him I was tired and wanted to go back to my hotel off Mallory Square, and, eventually, he’d reluctantly let me go. He’d offered to let me stay with him in the small house we provided for him on the Truman Annex, but I wanted to wake up in someone sweet’s bed, and he surely would have been shocked if I’d brought a little honey back to his place for the night.

I was driving the Jag, so I took it out to Duval and parked it on the street in front of a gay bar I’d already researched as someplace I wanted to visit.

The Bourbon Street Pub was right on Duval, and the crowd around its entrance left no doubt that it was a gay bar. I got enough cat calls when I pulled myself out of the Jag before pushing through the crowd and entering the dimly lit bar area that I knew I wouldn’t be lonely tonight unless I wanted to be. It was noisy and crowded. Soft-core porn films were flashing on screens on all four walls, and the shadows on three sides of the room enveloped booths offering some semblance of privacy, although I could see from the undulating bodies there that all forms of pleasure were being explored from smoking weed to blowing cocks and even more intimate pursuits.

This was what I was looking for and this is what I loved about Key West. Anything goes there; no need for inhibitions. One of the deep-side walls was fronted its entire length with a long bar, and along this at intervals rose shiny metal poles running up from the bar top to the high ceiling. Barely legal young men in thong bikinis were playing the poles to something close to the beat of the loud, heavy-metal music.