Dirtbox, everyone’s favourite den of manfun is celebrating its 3rd birthday this Saturday with free poppers, extra late opening times and the usual smut you’ve come to expect from the Dirtbox boys. The night has a special Black Party theme and everyone is strongly encourage to wear a bit of leather or rubber or at least a black hanky! We’ve put the word out and got some of the regulars to send us some of their favourite memories. Since everything that happens at Dirtbox stays at Dirtbox we’re protecting their identities but you’ll probably see them at the unofficial afterparty at Chariots later that night (more on that below). Enjoy!
My number one Dirtbox memory will always be the night I brought, as a joke, three straight girls to VogueFabricsDalston dirtiest party in the summer months. I remember walking in with my boyfriend and the girls, all small, casually clothed and wearing flat shoes. All the beards turned around and there was wonder in their eyes: “They aren’t trannies, they aren’t lesbians and they don’t look like fag hags, what the f*ck are they doing here?”. The same look was in the girl’s eyes “What is this madness, where are the girls and where do all these furries come from?” After grabbing a drink at the bar we walked through the man only crowd to the end of the dance floor, leaving the centre to all the hot hairy topless boys. One of my friend whispered in my ear “I just touched more torso tonight walking here than in my entire life!”. The booze getting to our heads and the temperature turning the place into a sauna the girls realised they didn’t have much choice, they needed to follow the trend and ended up in their bras. Probably the first time bras on real tits could be seen at Dirtbox. We stayed until the end of the night dancing like crazy and sweating on each other’s and everyone else’s bare skin. Once outside, I asked the girls how their night was. They all agreed they had an amazing time but they had had enough gay sweat on their body for the rest of their lives. PUG, 22
Dirtbox is like a regular fuckbuddy – you keep on going back for a reason. I’ll never forget the Dirtbox in Septembr 2011 – the dance floor was rammed everyone topless, either snogging someone or their noses glued to the communal bottle of poppers. It was mental. That night produced more than the average hangover. Me and my flatmate woke up with a horrible cough. Too much smoking, it’s fine, I said. Days passed, and the cough wouldn’t go. Suddenly recalled kissing a 1/3 of the club (and other things). Flatmate was coughing, friends were coughing, friends of friends… Was worth it, though. MR, 28
It is unanimous amongst certain friends that DB is the kind of night that leaves you wanting more. There are many stories I could tell, but for legal reasons I am restricted. However, the night in question was one that began with a typical combination of drinks, poppers and dancing. I’m sure its something to do with the sticky beats served by Alex & Michael that make me feel so indulgent. I guess what I’m trying to say is, despite all the debauchery and fun that is to be expected at DB, when it gets to that depressing point in the evening where you realise its all over for another few months, you need to find somewhere else to go. So naturally, because it had been snowing and Vogue was perhaps not as sweaty as usual, it made sense to head somewhere warm and where we could wash away our sins. What better place we thought than the un-official DB after party- Chariots… Sadly this was a bad move and the night quickly turned down hill. A number of strange events occurred, including one of my friends socks being snatched away while he was getting dressed by a sock fiend desperate to have a sniff. And then, there was the classic falling asleep on the night bus and waking up with no money and no where to top up your oyster. This was definitely a walk of shame to remember, for those without socks and in the snow, even more so. Anonymous, 29
Dirtbox is this Saturday, 21st July, 10pm-6am.