
WEST VILLAGE — I walked into the gay bar bathroom thinking I’d just pee and be done. Big mistake. One step and my foot slid like it was auditioning for a slapstick sketch. Next thing I know, I’m flat on my ass, and then, oh, the horror: I feel it — everything — slick, cold, sticky, gooey, and unmistakably wrong. It’s in my hair, running down the side of my face, clinging like some grotesque souvenir.
I scrambled upright, gagging, wiping at my face, cursing the universe. I had no clue what I’d just interacted with. My friend, watching me panic, finally leaned in and whispered the word that would haunt me forever: “Honkeytron.” And suddenly, the whole scene made sense — floor, walls, my hair. Everywhere. I wanted to die and bleach myself at the same time.
I was even more grossed out then that time I learned what truffle butter was. Apparently, the term honkeytron (also spelled honkytron) is derived from “honkey” as either an adjective for white (slur), or for blowing, like a horn, and “tron”, which is actually an acronym for Tasty Ragout Of the Nether. (I shouldn’t have to explain this.)
I’m usually pretty up-to-date on the gross-out sex lingo, but I’d never heard this one before. Perhaps I don’t frequent the gay sex scene enough.
And now I wish I never did.
But wait — it gets EVEN WORSE!
I have since learned there’s actually a fetish called honkeytron wrangling — where men (primarily) go around licking (wrangling) random honkeytron off the floors of adult theaters, gay bar bathrooms, and gloryhole stalls. They call themselves honkeytron wranglers...
…and I’ll just stop right there.
When I got home, I scrubbed everywhere I could reach and showered three times with the hottest my water could go, but the image — no, the experience — stuck. It won’t ever wash off. Then today, I did the only adult thing left: booked an STD test. Sitting in the clinic now, I realize the truth: the bathroom at a gay bar isn’t just a bathroom. It’s a battlefield.
And honkeytron?
It’s the ambush waiting for you on the tiles.
—MM





