Adam C.
Yelp
In the midst of a drunken romp through Capitol Hill, my friend Nicky and I decided to open the door and check this place out. There was a cover, providing more than enough excuse to not venture past the entry way. As we learned this, I noticed a sign that said it was "Hanky Code Night" and I asked what that was all about.
"Well, step inside and I will explain," the doorman said, taking down a chart that laid out the rules.
Turns out any of a multitude of colors of hankies in one's back pocket is a signal to other visitors as to what your, um, tastes are.
The sign said a blue hanky in the left pocket indicated you were a top while the right pocket indicated you were a bottom.
Mustard left meant you were packing 8+ and on the right meant you were looking for more than 8.
"I stay away from the reds and the browns myself," the doorman told us.
I looked at the chart. Red on the left meant you took a fist, and on the left meant you gave a fist.
Brown on the left was a scat top and on the right was a scat bottom.
We had a good, albeit nervous, chuckle, thanked the doorman for the education, and walked backwards out the door.
We're not allowed to post 2 reviews, so here is the sequel, a month later.
Linda, my housemate, is the older sister of Nicky, with whom I had the previous adventure and education at the Eagle.
The other night, Linda and I were walking around after a meal at Baguette Box and as we passed the Eagle, the story of Hanky Night came up. Just then, a man with white toothpick legs, above-the-knees denim shorts, and a loose wife-beater tank top burst out the door and onto the sidewalk as if there'd been an explosion inside. He had dark hair, glasses, and a mustache that looked so much like a caterpillar that I thought it would crawl around.
Linda peeked in the door before it closed again. "Oh you couldn't even handle it, honey!" the man said to Linda.
"I dunno, I can handle a lot. I've heard about this place," she said.
"Then follow me, I'll take you on a tour."
I never wanted to go back, but I really hadn't seen the interior, just the entry, so I followed.
"Oh man, I'm gonna get in trouble for this," scrawny dude said. "I'm not allowed to let girls in. But whatever, it's early evening so it's OK."
Linda likened the tour to a twisted Disneyland ride. It began like this:
We were seated in an invisible little car that placed us next to each other and behind the dude. The safety bar lowered and, slowly and with a lot of anticipation, the car began its ascent up the stairs to the left. It was a narrow stairwell and I looked up to see a few gentlemen shooting a game of pool. Nothing out of the ordinary, I thought to myself, before remembering a Yelp review that mentioned gay porn near the pool tables.
At the crest of the stairs, a group of men stood casually, drinks in hand, peering at something to our right.
Our imaginary car rotated to the right, but continued in the same direction. I am pretty sure there was a mirror behind us, reflecting the image of what we saw: beyond the pool table was a wall-size projection of some good old fashioned anal fisting. Cue the spooky music and ghoulish laughter of the Haunted House ride.
I was too chicken to make eye contact with the guys watching, and was honestly a bit astounded that not just gay sex, but anal fisting, with a rubber glove, was being shown at a bar. And how casual the whole thing was.
The car continued it's forward motion, rotating back to the initial direction. Outside, in the summer sunlight, a group of men were sharing drinks on an outdoor patio. I like outdoor patios. I think I'll pass though.
The car took a sudden right turn, plunging down a stairwell that took another right, to lead us back the direction we came. To our right was a bar, decorated with cyclone fence. A wide array of bottles. And up above us the anal fisting continued, lazily, as a buildup for what was bound to be some great butt sex.
A man played video poker at a barstool, others probably stared, but I could see the exit was within reach.
As our ride came to a close, I remembered to keep my hands and arms inside the car, but was quite ready to leave.
Our dude said something about how he was going to get in trouble for that little tour and that he had to give Linda a kiss to make it all better. I watched in horror as the lip warmer made its way towards poor Linda's pouty lips. Linda and I have gay friends. We let them kiss us. But there was something about this guy. I was relieved that he hadn't turned to me.
And then, he did.
"OK, I have to give you a kiss too-ooo!"
"Uh no."
He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me close to him. The caterpillar, it was moving into a pucker shape. I covered my mouth and turned my head. "Nuh-uh." All I could think about were the myriad penises that had passed that lip warmer. The fluids, diseases. No!
"Come on, it's time to pay up!" he said.
"On my cheek." Oh no, out of characters! Cliffhanger ending!
