This relates to my earlier blog entry dealing with how to say hello to a porn star. I wear kilts. Inveterately. I mean, really, my heritage is Scots. So I was out this eve in my Black Watch kilt, full dress, with friends, and ended up at Boston’s gay mecca Club Cafe. The eve was just ended abruptly by what I presume was a fan, someone I didn’t know, reaching up under my kilt from behind and fondling me. Security swooped in and threw ME out, no explanation, but a hell of a lot of “You invited..” and “Well you’re a porn star so of course our patrons…” Boston, really? In NYC OR Chicago or SF or LA, maybe someone might be shown out for being caught in the bathroom doing drugs or something surreptitiously in the stall. I was standing in the middle of your bar… Trust me, Boston, your gay scene sucks anyway, but Club Cafe will never see me inside their doors ever again. And no loss as far as I’m concerned; if their patrons are going to treat me that way, good fucking riddance.
ADDENDUM: It’s the next morning, and I’m a lot less steamed, so I suppose I can say this in defense of the security guy who saw the event and showed me the door: he probably didn’t see me react negatively to the grope fast enough. My first thought was that it was one of the friends I was talking to being overly fresh and I just disregarded it figuring they’d stop in a moment. When I realized that all hands were accounted for, I had to stop and look at this guy and ask myself if in fact I did know him. By the time I was pretty certain I didn’t and was starting to fix him with the best withering regard I could muster, security was on me. Still, only I and my buddies were shown the door; the offending stranger slipped back into the club.