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Does Indulge Wednesdays at Whiskey Blue Attract the Gays?

This photo, which was taken by a professional and not at this event, fits tonight because Whiskey Blue was almost this empty
This photo, which was taken by a professional and not at this event, fits tonight because Whiskey Blue was almost this empty
Courtesy of Whiskey Blue

New Times Broward-Palm Beach Calendar Editor Mickie Centrone has the enviable job of knowing about every event that happens within the boundaries of the two counties, and then some. When she attends some of the finest events from a given week, we'll post the details of her travels here. On Wednesday, she attended Indulge Wednesdays at Whiskey Blue at the W Hotel on Fort Lauderdale Beach.

I'm at Indulge Wednesdays at Whiskey Blue, a ritzy joint on Fort Lauderdale Beach. Two big co-ed

parties sit in booths in the back while a few gay men are sprinkled along the horse-shoe shaped bar. Wednesday here is gay night. DJ Danny Stern is spinning, but no one is dancing. "Are you trying to figure out," a gay man named Jeffrey asks me, "if the gay vibe has made its way down to the W, which it's trying to do?"  

My friend and I find a hole at the bar to get drinks. A sunburnt man in his 50s sits alone. He wears a red-and-white striped dress shirt, shorts, and sandals. Mike's a man of many words -- and 90 percent of them are profane. "It's Indulge Wednesday," I say. "Yeah," says Mike. "It's the one in a million chance, you know what I mean?" "No, what do you mean?" I ask. "I might get a fucking blowjob," he says. "Maybe. You know why?"

"Why?" I ask. "My W-2 looks fucking great." "Have you ever gotten a blow job here?" I ask. "This

is new. This place is fucking new. The Hilton? Yes. The W? No." After

tequila shots, Mike said, "You hit the homerun tonight." "What do you

mean?" I ask. He whistles and points to himself. "Me," he says. I begin

to contemplate his sexuality. What comes next is incredibly vulgar and

disturbing. He shouts, "You grab your ankles right now."

I

turn to my friend -- who might now be my "girlfriend" for the night.

"Is this a gay bar?" he asks. "On Wednesdays it is," I respond. "Fuck

me," he says. "I'll pay you $20 bucks to hold my hand because the guy

next to me is pinching my ass." I take a look. "The guy next to you has

his hands nowhere near your ass." "He cupped my ass," Mike swears as he

cups his ass. "It was a cup."

"Are you bisexual, straight, or

gay?" I ask. "A fucking arrow, baby... straight as an arrow," he

says as he makes the hand motions as if he actually was shooting an arrow. That

arrow missed its target.

The

outside patio is dark and empty -- except for Nadir, a short, exotic

man in shorts and white sneakers. He quickly develops a crush on my friend.

"See, she ran away with my lighter. But I'm gonna get her back." "You

know it's gay night in there," I tell him.

"I'm not gay. I went out with a Playboy model you know. I'm here for business." My

friend returns, and then he focuses on us both. "Who is coming up to my

room #***?" He turns to me. "I think your beautiful too. And I am a

baller. So, please show me a good time and I'll show you a good time."

He turns back to my friend. "You areso beautiful." Back to me. "I swear to God I am totally cool."

"You're

putting your cigarette in your mouth the wrong way," I tell him. "OK,

I'm totally drunk," he says. "I went out with a Playboy model for 2 1/2

years, and she broke my heart." He put on his sad, puppy-dog Nadir face. "She

wanted to be famous, and I am rich! So who cares? I'm good looking and

I can get whoever I want." A few moments pass before he adds: "I'm

lonely. Life is lonely, man."

"Why are you shouting this out?"

I ask. Solid advice: Don't tell strangers you're lonely. "I'm here by myself,"

Nadir says. "How much lonelier can you get?"

"So

it's really dead here," says Craig, a clean-cut, good looking

businessman with a white goatee. He just moved here from Seattle and

has just made friends with the guy sitting next to him at the bar and

me. Yay, he's gay! "You've been to nights in Wilton Manors?" I ask. "I have," he says. I ask, "What's your best story?"

He

goes on to tell me about an overweight man who walks along Fort

Lauderdale Beach in a two-piece G-string bikini. "That's not a sex

story," I say. "No," he responds. "But I love watching him. He's such a

character." "What about Wilton Manors?" I ask. "I haven't found my

niche there yet," he says. "What do you mean by niche?" "Bars there are

segregated. Gay country go there, gay women go here, etc." Well, characters surely come here -- but not too many gays yet.


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