Oh, my goodness.  Lost in the Black Forest for eight hours.  Beautiful men.  Wood sprites and satyrs, centaurs and witches, as well as a Black Prince. It’s nearly four when we arrive – sailing in the entrance past a score of creatures from Brothers Grimm – hello, to the big bad wolf and Red Riding Hood – and downstairs to coat check where the lines are tolerable, and besides, there’s plenty to watch: boyz stripping down – to nothing, and boyz giving face for the camera – and time to think about the set upstairs we glimpsed on our way down: a lighting apparatus like a two-bodied tarantula stretching the length of the ballroom.  Steel legs rising and lowering, ready to snatch you from the crowd and dangle you above.  Oh, goody – can’t wait. 

We take a breath and get ready for immersion: deep into the forest, high above the crowd on the mezzanine – where it’s all there, spread out before us.  The whole Black Forest, with its Enchanted Castle at the ballroom’s far end, a kind of Addams Family ancestral home with all the requisite oddballs and perverts peering from the windows, and a huge clock atop the tower, its hands fixed at three-thirty, and at the room’s other end, a video screen nearly as large as the Zieg, and there’s Conan the Barbarian (now Governor Girlie Man) getting a blow job, over and over.  And all around the mezzanine, go-go boyz have taken to their boxes, dressed, or just barely, in black, with feathers and leather and chains, and there’s Peter Rauhofer at the helm, immersed deep under the shadows of a black tapestry forest of dark branches and forbidding leaves, and there’s the double-bodied tarantula rising and lowering, its shafts of pure white light playing over the dark premises all around us – and this is it, it’s happening now: Black Party 2006.

We’re feeling very dark and European.  That’s what this set does for us.  That’s what Peter’s music is doing for us.  It’s good.  It’s dark, but not oppressive.  It’s got a flow which takes us deeper into the forest.  He’s layering tracks, one on top of another, so that it feels like you’re hearing Katmandu, but then you’re not.  Just a tease.  Just a clue of what’s ahead, once you slip deeper into the fold of the Black Forest. 

And there they are, our boyz, John and Tim, waving at us from the floor.  They’re BP virgins, but it doesn’t look like they’re having a hard time finding their way around.  Already, they’ve sunk their teeth into the neck of a leather hottie.  That’s the spirit, boyz.  This is Black Party, New York City: the party that fulfills everyone’s worst fears about New York: that we’re dirty and nasty and live for sex.  And it’s all true.  It’s dark and delicious.  And as we make our way to the floor, there’s a bat with an eight-foot wingspan climbing the clock tower and now we’re cooking.  Everything’s right.  And right then we know that the much-heralded spirit of Bruce Mailman lives on – in this mass of beautiful people dancing to celebrate – sex, and the vernal equinox, and lust, and sex, and desire, and sex. 

Unlike last year’s Lucha Libre, where Jonny McGovern’s Viagra boyz were lining (and clogging) the mezzanine sprouting full-on, straight-ahead, which led to a kind of massive crowd orgasm well before four a.m., this year, the sexual temperature is more tantric.  Long and thorough, with no sense of rush.  There’s plenty of time to get what everyone needs, and Peter keeps it pulsing, hitting that spot, over and over, but not pushing us to the edge.  We don’t hear him that often, unlike other New Yorkers, so for us, it’s not at all a matter of familiarity breeding contempt.  We like what he’s doing, how he keeps us on the brink.

And there’s Ernie Sauer and his Jeffrey, a beautiful bird in a leather harness, and also Michael Circuit Dancer, and his adorable Canadian bf, Olivier – they’re so happy together.  And we’re making our way through a forest of wild and wonderful creatures, their plumage so varied and fantastic.  Same species but different strokes.  We’re not the same but we’re all connected.  Bound by the love, joined by the music.  And how wonderful to share it with people who smile.  “Pull my beard,” says a man in a leather apron.  “For good luck.”

And finally, we find Alan, and his Joey, who looks fabulous in a leather mask, and also Matt Kalkoff, his tongue down to his navel – on his tee, peeps, and he’s smiling, so that bodes well for his review, and now there’s a procession up the scaffolding of the Enchanted Castle, and bobbing from the main portal, there’s Buck Angel, the man with a pussy – and there’s no question he’s getting it.  He’s working it deep and deeper and soon the dildo goes arcing through the air and into the crowd – where the girls scream and scatter.  Oh, please, chick with a dick, man with a pussy – it’s all good.  No judgements from this crowd.  Whatever floats your whatever. 

Suddenly, it’s seven, and the switchover happens, with a smattering of applause, for Peter, for Offer, and now we’re off again, in a slightly different direction, but still, we’re deep in the Black Forest.  Kinda lost and deliciously so, and especially when we see Go-Go Boy Jay – oh, excuse me, new singing sensation, Jay – and his bf, who’s equally hot.  Yum.  So yum we need to cool off.  So it’s back downstairs where we find Kat and Gael, the two of them werking it for the camera, totally spontaneously, of course – they just f*ck that camera like they mean it, and then there’s Kevin Aviance with his two acolytes, the three of them presenting a montage of cunty fierceness, but wait, Kat’s still werking the camera, and still werking the photographer, and still—

And, oh, finally, here’s Joey Cumley, looking positively puckish in the skimpiest pair of briefs, c’est tout, and we’re relieved to see him, because the day before (or earlier today???), at Steve Weinstein’s brunch, Joey was having sex with one of the pitbulls and the ensuing orgasm was a veritable explosion of smegma – on Joey’s shirt, which nearly caused the poor child to pass out – or vomit, he couldn’t decide which.  Fortunately, Joey looks completey recovered from that sordid episode (and Steve W. reports that said pitbull was sated as well), and roommate Clay seems the perfect playmate.  Two Pans romping through the forest. 

Dark and European, it puts us back in touch with our roots.  What New Yorker can’t trace himself right back to that continent of darkness?  We’re dancing with Alan, our blessed ambassador, and there’s Michael Talley, who’s such a bundle of positive energy, it’s no wonder he scored in Boremuda, and we’re feeling loved and feeling it right, and we look up and OH MY GOD – it’s NURSE.  The one and only.  SHE’S HERE – and not at Winter Music Conference.  Bless her heart, she hightailed it off that plane, screaming, “No way am I missing Night of Darkness.”  And she looks good.  And she’s got that cracker arm pumping and that smile werking, and the boyz keep coming over, paying their respects.  And we tell her how much we love the cartoonist Joe Phillips’ rendering of her crazy self on her website: http://nursecracker.com/  What a joy it is to share the darkness with this wild and wonderful woman.

We mosey through the Dungeon, but really, we’re in and out in about ten minutes, because why go down a long dark hall – when everything is already happening all around and out in the open  All along the mezzanine, sex is there.  You want it, you got it.  It’’s right there, for the asking.  And on the floor, again, modesty has been tossed aside.  Let it out and let it play. 

And above us, the double-bodied tarantula rises and lowers, and there’s this moment when there’s a kind of crescendo: of white light exploding with the music and splattering into a million tiny pieces of star fragments – and I say to Robert, “That’s just how it’s going to be.  Leaving one life for the next.”  But why hurry, because we’re here now.  And Offer’s waving his arms in the air and the only thing missing is Joe Caro.  WHERE’S JOE CARO?  We haven’t seen him, and so we leave the dark European forest and head to Asia for a while, and Asia’s nice and sexy, and we’re feeling happy to be there, but still, there’s no Joe.  Last we heard, he tm’ed from the train.  But uh, oh, what if he fell asleep – and now he’s in Montreal?  Could be.

We’re so happy in the Black Forest, happy we didn’t leave a trail of crumbs to find our way out.  Better to be lost for a while longer.  We’ll find our way, when we’re good and ready.  Because once we leave the Black Forest, we’re leaving Black Party weekend.  We’re not doing any other parties, because maybe we wanted Black Party to be our only f’ck.  One good long one.  It’s a sui generis f*ck, only once a year – so maybe it’s good to keep our focus on just how good it is. 

Time passes, but the clock atop the Enchanted Forest keeps its hands at three-thirty.  The darkest part of the night.  No sign of sun whatsoever.  And the forest floor is changing.  New boyz wandering in from town.  There’s more room now, and we’re dancing, just the two of us, dancing to “Easy As Life.”  That mix, the gallop.  The romance of it all.  The obsession, the lust.  And all the times before when we’ve danced, not just to this song, but all the others, and so many more to come.

And so it’s time, and we start making our way out of the forest – where we glimpse Joey Cumley romping in front of us, darting after another comely boy, who he spanks on the rump.  Of course, this is Joey’s “consultant.”  The Amsterdam “consultant.”  You consult with him – privately.  And he’s definitely someone you’d enjoy a private consultation with – and Joey, all wide-eyed, introduces us, and we’re smitten, too.  Basking in the glow of youthful abandon, as Joey and his consultant make their way back into the forest, Joey looking over his shoulder at us and mouthing the words, “I LOVE HIM.”  We know just what he means.  It’s the perfect parting image.    

We love it all.  We love being New Yorkers and we love Black Party, and we love Peter and Offer for making us dance, and we love the beautiful set with the amazing lights and all the incredible performers, and especially we love Bruce Mailman for having such foresight and courage, and maybe most of all we love our circuit family, all the boyz and girlz who make us so happy to share the dance.