For the boys who dance

With just seven years to go until the new millennium begins, gays in America survive suffering on the right side of history, coping with good people who think gays are bad, the holy who believe homos are going to hell, and politicians elected to make queers criminals.

As a new president comes to the rescue, they’re approaching a new year that demands action after an election year that promised compassion. Perhaps now the nineties will start being nicer especially since the eighties were so awful.

Most of Kansas City would consider this place of business a place of sin if they knew it existed. Fortunately, everyone out in the suburbs think gay bars in the Heartland are urban legends.

Kansas City's hottest gay club requires direction and instinct to find since it tries very hard to be indistinguishable and blend in with the rest of the nearly abandoned neighborhood. Covered in stucco on the outside, the exposed brick walls inside give its cool,  authentic pre-gentrification aesthetic.

There’s the bar, a stage, and two large screens on opposite ends of the dance floor that project videos the deejay syncs to music that gets young, thin shirtless men dancing while heavier, older men in shirts watch.

Out-of-towners from the coasts consider this place cute because it’s quaint. For travelers who drive in from nearby small towns across the middle of the country, it is more than they ever imagined. As far as Kansas City’s remaining and aging mafia members who converted it from an auto repair shop, they stay hands-off and out of sight since the queers keep it profitable, peaceful, and under the radar.

Drakkar mixes with sweat, covering any scent of poppers. Drag queens strike poses, modeling clownish glamour women weaponize to win a man. House music beats back disco and makes room for techno, keeping muscled men and sexy sissies in moments when straight men don't matter.