But to my inexperienced and desperately horny adolescent eyes, it seemed like the Rainbow Room at Rockefeller Center. AmVets was a skanky unheated dungeon that smelled like a cat box.
Before I knew it, I was in my first gay bar! The only queer-friendly watering hole in my small hometown was, ironically, AmVets-the American Veteran's Club (don't tell!). The doorman gave my ersatz driver's license a quick glance and waved me through the door. I stood behind them, underage and unbearably nervous, my hair glued in a perfect wedge, my fake I.D.
When a fairly large group of fairly large women approached the door, I took a big gulp of air and joined their ranks, hoping to go unnoticed. I circled the block for an hour, heart pounding, stomach fluttering, trying to summon the courage to enter my hometown's only gay bar.
