Paul M.
Yelp
Imagine my disappointment when I received the following message from one of my former Yelp fans:
"I have decided to stop following you, because, frankly, you've lost your edge. You used to really push the envelope with your reviews. Now, it just seems like you've been 'calling it in,' like so many other yelpers."
Ouch. Well, there IS some truth to the critique, so in an effort to keep myself relevant, I give you my review of Slammer in all its unadulterated glory.
Did someone say glory hole? No? Well, may I pretend as though you did? Excellent.
Although I came out of the gay closet while many of you were still in diapers, I have yet to come out as a total slut. (Well, except to a few of the hotter and gayer among you.)
And I am a total, proud slut. And Slammer is the perfect place to get your slut on. What is Slammer, you may ask? It's a sex club. And how is a sex club different from a bathhouse?
Let me break it down for you uninitiated:
In a sex club, you roam about either totally clothed, or at the most shirtless. There are some mazes, public darkrooms and lockable broom closet-sized rooms where one can suck, get sucked, or do whatever else one may want to do.
In a bathhouse, you roam about in nothing but a towel, and you can rent a room for EIGHT HOURS. Said room usually has a video screen that shows porn and has electrical outlets just in case none of the guys who are roaming about are as satisfying as your vibrator, which you are free to bring along in that Donna Karen manpurse of yours.
Alas, this is not San Francisco, where I hear tell that there are such places for our female and trans sisters and brothers, but Los Angeles has always been a bit conservative in comparison, unless you are fortunate enough to be under 20 and friends with a big name Hollywood producer, in which case, the world is truly your oyster until you turn 22, and/or said Hollywood producer is indicted or releases a flop worthy of exile to the Virgin Islands. And not one of the fun Virgin Islands, but say, St. Thomas. Egads. But I digress.)
Slammer is one of the more gritty examples of the aforementioned sex clubs. This is where one can find all sorts of "rough trade" and an occasional twink who took a wrong turn on Santa Monica Blvd. and has probably not found his way out since 2012 thanks to a particularly strong dose of GHB (which, for the record, is absolutely forbidden in a place like this. Of course, so is "unsafe sex," and well, let's just say enforcement is somewhat problematic.)
I have had quite a bit of fun at Slammer. The howls from the next door kennel lends a certain souissant to one's escapades. (At least, I hope it's a kennel. )
Just be sure to do your thing before sunrise. If you think being caught when the lights come up during last call is tragic, for the love of all that is unholy, trust me when I tell you that you DO NOT want to be seen here when the rosy fingers of dawn begin to tingle your naughty bits.