While spending a few nights with D.E.’s family in Phoenix, I decided to check out the local gay scene, only to be delighted to see that scene full of country queers! As a hick and a homo, I rarely find my two worlds colliding, but here, surrounded by bootscoots and boobs, I was at home.
Well, at least I felt home at the second bar I went to. The first bar I went to was Charlie’s, a place that boasted Thursday night line dancing classes. However, despite the occasional fag hags, it was apparent from the moment we got there that this place was far from female friendly. Between being unapologetically groped multiple times by multiple men and being kicked out for having too large of a purse (they only allow a small clutch), we were happy to leave this place and never come back.
Cash Inn Country
Cash Inn Country, on the other hand, was welcoming and friendly. The bartender gave me a soda on the house for being the sober driver and, unlike the dancers at Charlie’s, plenty of space was made for us on the dance floor. So much space, in fact, that we were able to bump and grind seventh-grade-dance style when the DJ changed from country to R&B. When he turned back to country, we high-tailed it our of there to make-out on a country road all seventh-grade-style.
So, the next time you’re in Phoenix, scoot on past Charlie’s and boogy over to Cash Inn Country, one of the greatest, gayest bars I’ve been to in a long time.