A RANDOM NIGHT
Was this the adventure you were looking for dear, Freddy: staring down from the balcony at Paradiso at the sea of half naked, sweaty bodies, swaying relentlessly to the the bumping beats ...
Fuck Bas. That’s all he had been thinking after he never responded to his last text two weeks ago. After running into each other at X the few exchanges they had over WhatsApp were starting to feel like a friendship. It began when Freddy texted, hey man, it was fun dancing with you! Within hours, Bas promptly replied, yeah man! The next few days the text exchanges were a kind of debrief over the night’s events: thinking through the DJ sets and what they liked about them, their respective thoughts about the venue and the crowd, and talking come-down tips for the days that followed. Freddy learned that Bas was relatively new to the underground scene, mainly tagging along with Daan and Daan’s friends. He seemed eager to hear Freddy’s take on techno and the different sub-genres of House music. When he finally got up the nerve to invite Bas out for the following month he’d hoped for an affirmative reply. Instead the texts became perfunctory, with days in between each new message: who’s DJing? What’s the cover charge? Freddy was starting to get the feeling that Bas was unsure about the party and it frustrated him. What could be stopping him? Wasn’t discovering new things part of the allure of going out in the first place? Has the world become so curated to our individual needs that the thought of doing anything that felt remotely uncomfortable was now a hard “no”? What happened with people’s sense of adventure?
But was this the adventure you were looking for dear, Freddy: staring down from the balcony at Paradiso at the sea of half naked, sweaty bodies, swaying relentlessly to the the bumping beats of circuit house; the high-pitched diva vocals echoing through the vast church-like space, never finding a soft place to land? Upon entering the venue in an attempt to make it to the doorway that led up to the balcony, Freddy let the heat emanating from the bustle of moving bodies engorge him as he absently tugged at his t-shirt. This club was full of men, beefy, muscular. Grown men, tall, with coarse hair sprouting from their chest and forearms and backs. It felt like a cos play convention for rich vikings or retired lumberjacks, all same-sex lovers with nipple piercings. When you’re average height in a club packed full of jacked, giant bodies, the trick is to match the the rhythmic pace of the space and strike the balance between being pulled by the tide while knowing when to break away. Freddy was so close to the wall of back flesh in front of him that he could smell the stranger’s blend of body odour and cologne. It was this over-sized shield of pink muscle that made it easier for him to navigate his way to the staircase that would take him to the balcony. Just a few feet away from the doorway to the staircase, the man in front of him stopped in his tracks and Freddy stood helpless, unable to move. Best not to panic. Breathing helps. He stood in place, shifting his weight from side to side, pretending to dance. The room was completely full that it was almost hard to describe what people were doing. There wasn’t that much room to do anything but slightly gyrate or grope each other into ecstasy. When Freddy spotted another viking crash through the flesh toward the doorway he quickly latched on to the new body and finally made his way through the door and up the stairs.
It had been quite a while since Freddy had been to a circuit party like this. Five years maybe? Six? It was comforting to see it thriving in its own bubble, yet it made him feel a bit melancholic. The scene had done little to evolve. (Why fix something that ain’t broke?) This was a community of affluent gay men, career driven and ambitious with money to spend on lavish trips to attend circuit parties such as this before heading to villas in Italy for an after-rave respite. Freddy had been invited by Antoine, an old friend from New York who had come to Amsterdam as part of a birthday celebration. We’re on the balcony! is all that Antoine had texted. At his final location, Freddy still couldn’t seem to find him or his party. An older man came up beside him. “You enjoying the party?” Freddy simply smiled and gave him a thumbs up. He pulled out his phone and texted Antoine, on the balcony. Where are you? A younger guy the same height and age (though shirtless and shredded) as Freddy pulled up beside the older man. “Where the fuck have you been? I was waiting for you by the bar. And now you’re chatting with someone else?…” Freddy slowly receded and found another spot on the balcony. He passed the time looking for other guys wearing T-shirts and counting how many women he saw on the dance floor (fifteen).
An hour later and still no sign of Antoine. Fuck Antoine. What was he doing here anyway? The thought of a large french fries from McDonald’s was enough to call it a night. Back through the gauntlet of gays, Freddy felt his phone buzz as he slowly tried to work his way through the muscular bodies to one of the exit doors. It was a text from Bas: sure, I’m down.