XLVII. The Guy Whom I Kissed In A Circuit Party

“Don’t you know there’s part of me that longs to go into the unknown?”

– Idina Menzel –

This story happened a couple years ago. It comes from the perspective of yours truly, a twenty year old twink with a shady fake ID trying to pop his circuit party virginity. Circuit party for the gays is like Coachella for Instagram “influencers” and Burning Man for woke tech hippies. The gays prepare for these highly anticipated events for months, almost like they’re ready to face the zombie apocalypse. Some gays even fly thousands of miles away for these parties, especially the huge ones like Songkran in Bangkok or White Party in Palm Springs (#internationalwhore). From their body fat percentage to the jockstrap to flaunt their assets, everything has to be on point. Unfortunately for me, at that time, I came to this one party unprepared because I knew none of these things.

What’s a circuit party, you might ask? Contrary to its name, it has nothing to do with any car or electrical current. Think about an electronic dance music festival, except it has more homosexual men and nudity. Just imagine over a thousand topless men in an overly sexualized underwear crammed inside one ample space, dancing to the music of iconic gay icons like Madonna and Cher. It’s paradise for some, and torture for others.

P.S. I’ve seen a video where they play EDM remix of “Baby Shark” at a circuit party one time. I would’ve packed my shit and immediately left the building because the last thing I want to think about when I’m hunting for men is dancing toddlers.

Fierce fan-ogarphy, harnesses, drug; you name it, and you’ll mostly see it in the party. A circuit party can usually last from a couple of days to a week, with a plethora of themes during each event. There’s the pool party, the main event, and the orgy the after-party, and you repeat that endless cycle of wiggling and twerking for the entire week. I know… being gay can be exhausting sometimes.

How most gays walk into the party, thinking they’re the shit

At the time, my close friend group was alarmingly heterosexual, and they were, understandably, not willing to participate in this overly homosexual agenda. It’s also nearing the end of the year, which meant most of my friends were out of town, and I was left alone with my trustworthy left hand and anal douche. So I decided to take matters into my own hands, and I was committed to change my destiny, Merida style. I told myself: “you’re going to get that sweet midnight kiss because you’re not a lame bitch who celebrates Christmas and New Year’s Eve alone!”

I conducted some researches to figure out the most LIT gay event for NYE, and I stumbled upon this circuit party in Downtown Los Angeles. Being a self-proclaimed anal retentive bitch, I checked out their website to analyze the quality of this party. There I saw countless hot men parading their ripped bodies in their gallery page, and I was immediately salivating. I saw the “Buy Tickets” button, and I had never clicked on anything faster in my life.

Money… who is she?

Although the temperature in LA never drops to zero during winter, it’s still chilly as fuck at night. I wasn’t planning to make my first time going to the circuit party my last, so I decided to wear an outfit that covered most of my skin and thirstiness. With all my dignity still intact, I placed an order on Uber with no sign of turning back. I was ready to pop my circuit party virginity. 

If there’s one thing the gays love more than iced coffee, it’s arriving fashionably late to a party. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t know the cardinal rules of a circuit party, and one of them was arriving at the party past 11PM. After getting past the judgmental stare I received from the bouncer, I sashayed into the dance floor only to find out I was one of the first five men to arrive there. What a great start to a fantastic party! 

On a related note, I didn’t blame the bouncer for giving me an intense stare, especially with how dodgy my fake ID looked like. Hashtag sorry not sorry. 

After leaving my bomber jacket and nervousness at the coat check, I sauntered into the main hall of the club. The place itself was spacious; it was a concert hall turned into a safe haven for the gays where there were numerous quiet spaces for some immoral actions. I was slightly skeptical when this nice-looking guy approached me. To my surprise, he only came to offer me a pair of earplugs to protect me from the gays’ sweet nothings ear-piercing club bangers playing through these massive speakers. Our conversation, however, didn’t result in anything scandalous as he could sense my suffocating awkwardness. He was definitely a good distraction because after we finished our never-ending series of bland ice breakers, I realized how packed the club had gotten. Men in various skimpy outfits started entering the club, and it became very apparent that moving around would be a difficult task. My anxiety suddenly skyrocketed.

What. The. Fuck. Did. I. Get. Myself. Into

The next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by deep stares from multifarious fierce gays. It was overwhelming. The men started taking their tops off, only to showcase torsos that appeared to be sculpted by Greek Gods themselves. My goodness, how many twinks did they sell to the devil to get THAT body? I could definitely count more abs than men in that room. Meanwhile, there I was… an awkward-looking Asian twink with slightly apparent abdominal muscles, which I achieved from genetics and constant starvation. And I thought, “there’s no way these aspiring OnlyFans influencers would look at me, let alone touch this sad-looking body.” 

I didn’t want to let the gays know about my body image issues, so I tried to blend in with the crowd and became another shirtless whore. I ran out of ideas to put my H&M slim fit black t-shirt in a safe location. So, I decided to neatly fold the cursed tee store it inside the back pocket of my uncomfortably tight skinny jeans. In hindsight, this was a horrible idea. But as I said, I was a newbie in this circuit party scene, and I wished someone could have shown me the ropes. But I was determined to put my insecurity and foolishness aside because, at that moment, I felt alive. Thirteen-year-old me would have never dreamed of being surrounded by hundreds of topless hotties, so I decided to savor this moment and live my dream.

After 30 minutes of aimlessly wandering around the club, below are some of my observations about the party:
These big ass fans were extremely beneficial. Not only did they serve as a fierce ass accessory, but they also helped to bring the temperature down. Efficiency and aesthetics in one solution! Yasss queens!
– The way the gays said hello to everyone in their friend group was to touch everyone’s nipples or french kissed the shit out of everyone.
– How did these gays manage to have steamy make-out sessions with everyone in their group while simultaneously managing to have platonic friendships with all of them? What about jealousy and insecurity? Was everyone only looking for instant gratification? Did they not think about long-term repercussions?
Was I the only bitch in that room with hyper-empathy syndrome? Help!

Oh look, I’d been emotionally impaled!

I managed to somehow attract this tall, slender, slightly hairy man who randomly got separated from his friend group. To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t my first choice. But then again, I might not be his. Yet, our alcohol consumption (and his drug intake?) had gone through the roof that we mutually agreed to disregard our preconceived judgments on each other. I mean… we were both looking for some flesh of meats to unload (I know it’s not the best choice of word, but I don’t give a fuck) our desires on. We were just two desperate homosexual men who spent a good fortune on human touches, and we were trying our best to get our money’s worth.

To my surprise, he was actually very kind. He demonstrated some fundamental human decencies, which was something he didn’t really need to do. He noticed that I was kinda (by kinda I mean very) drunk and took me aside and got me some water. He made sure that I was hydrated enough before he continued sealing my lips with his. Maybe he understood the importance of medical science, so he tried giving me more air through mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?

And then came that dreadful new year countdown. Ten seconds before the clock struck 12, my one-night prince looked at me with tenderness in his eyes and gave me a blissful smile.
This. Was. It. This was the moment we all came for.

As the countdown went to zero, I was in his arms as my lips were locked with his. Confettis and strobe light adorned those moments of affection and liberty. I saw my surroundings, and all I could see was everyone celebrating their freedom to love. At that moment, I felt glorious.

Me and the other gays screaming “Yaaas!” in unison

Our romance didn’t last long as he went back to his group of friends, so I went for another adventure of eggplant hunting. I was bopping my head up and down while trying my best to help the intoxicated twink next to me to stay alive, literally. I gave him a glass of water and managed to get him back to his pack, and he gave me an overly aggressive kiss to return the favor. At this point, this grandma was already exhausted and planned to call it a night. As I was getting ready to exit the sausage party, I realized that my t-shirt went missing. I went to the coat check to collect my bomber jacket, and guess what? It was also missing.

What. The. Fuck.

So there I was, standing semi-naked in the cold while I waited for my Uber, like a cheap prostitute waiting for his client to pick him up. During the entire Uber ride, I tried my best to dodge the driver’s judgmental stare. Let’s just say I took the phrase walk of shame to a whole new level.

Would I want to go to another circuit party? Yes, but I wouldn’t go on a biweekly basis. With that said, I do understand the appeal of it. It’s a place of celebration: a celebration of love, freedom, and community. For us, queer people, we underwent a phase in our lives where we questioned the legitimacy of our emotions. We often had to suppress our feelings for a long time until it’s rotting us from the inside. So to find a safe space where we, queers, are more than encouraged to express the most authentic version of ourselves, it felt like a massive relief. It was refreshing to see all these masculine-looking men embracing their feminine side, and I’m all here for it! Do I think it’s the only way to celebrate such emancipation? No, and everyone is entitled to celebrate theirs in their own way. But damn, for a bitch like me who loves shirtless men and thumping beats, a circuit party is undoubtedly a fun way to do so. 

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