Who Doesn’t Love a Gay Cowboy?

Saturday night, I took myself out for a beer and watched the boys two-step.

VERY entertaining.

Seriously, are they born like this? I mean, these boys can DANCE.  (The girls, not so much.)

I started out attempting to find a girl two-step bar called C’s… once I got my ass all the way out there, I found it closed.  I mean closed like it might never have been open (though friends of ours swear it’s open.)  Not to be deterred, I consulted gaydenver.com on my trusty BlackBerry and found Charlie’s Denver.  Per their website, “Charlie’s has been the home of the CGRA (The Colorado Gay Rodeo Association) since its inception in 1982.”  Well now, who doesn’t love a gay cowboy?

I love me some boys who can dance.  And dressed-up ones? Even better.

They’re almost as good as a pretty drag queen. Almost.

The man at the door (who was about 350 years old), who checked my ID, was chatty and very kind (as it seems people just are around here), asked how long I’d been in town (upon seeing my RI license) and asked if I liked it so far.  I moved on to the bar, where they had decent beer on tap, which I was happy about, got my Fat Tire in a real pint glass, and went to watch the boys dance.

Now, these boys don’t look like the boys back home.

They’re in tight pants, with big belt buckles, and cowboy boots.  With their shirts tucked in.  The boys back home don’t tend to tuck in their shirts. Did I mention the giant cowboy hats many of them had on?

Some boys were spinning each other around on the floor, some were moving a little more slowly.  One older couple (maybe 65) were slow dancing through the fast songs.  Both in tight jeans and boots, big buckles, tucked-in plaid shirts.  Cute, cute, cute.

One dancing queen took pity on the lesbians, who were clearly at a dancing disadvantage and tried to teach them.  It was an effort for naught.

Though the room I was in was what I believe is the “country western” room, there was a good mix of folks. Some trendy boys, some hipster, some punk.  A few with big piercings.  Lots of tattoos.

It was about 75% boys, 25% girls. I tend to like boy bars better than girls’.  They’re more fun (they tend to be, anyway), the boys are nicer, and the music is ALWAYS better.

Unlike back home, all of the boys had their shirts on.

A nice older woman sent her twenty-something son over to ask me if she could buy me a beer.  Sadly, I was headed out. Maybe next time.