Celebrate NYC’s dark, violent past by tapping some ass at these hidden gems.
Room 100 Of The Hotel Chelsea (West 23rd St. between 7th & 8th Ave.)
Where Sid Vicious stabbed Nancy Spungen in ’78. They’ve since bleached the blood off the wall, but Nancy’s ghost is still shootin’ smack in the bathroom. And if you can hunt down the ghost Dylan Thomas – who went into a fatal coma in the hotel in ’53 after 18 whiskeys – you’re in for quite a paranormal gang bang.
The West Side Cow Tunnels (Below West 34th St. between 11th Ave. & 12th Ave.)
For those looking to keep it real in the Meat Packing District. At the turn of the 20th century, cattle was brought to Manhattan by barge and guided through a network of tunnels to West Side slaughterhouses. Maybe they didn’t want cow shit on the street, or maybe they wanted to save people the embarrassment of having to look their skirt steak in the eye. Either way, the mood lighting is spectacular.
In Newtown Creek (Grand Ave. & 47th St. dividing Brooklyn & Queens)
Newtown Creek is a stagnant tributary of “Black Mayonnaise”- a sexy cocktail of raw sewage, industrial waste and crude oil left over from a 2007 spill three times the size of the Exxon-Valdez. Thank God for Plan B, ‘cuz after fukkin’ in this jacuzzi, that baby’s comin’ out a minotaur.
The Dressing Room At The John Varvatos Store (Bowery & Bleeker St.)
The former home of CBGB. Tell her you really want to try on that $4,000 Tapered Velvet Admiral’s Jacket, draw the curtain, and sink the tip in what used to be a dark corner booth in the birthplace of American punk. Who knows, Joey Ramone might’ve gotten a beej from Debbie Harry at that very spot. Still, just because there’s an Agnostic Front sticker on the wall covered in fossilized puke, doesn’t mean I’m dropping $200 for a “retro” Sabbath tee.
The Crypts In Little Italy (Mulberry St. between Houston St. & Prince St.)
A mausoleum for the former Catholic residents of “The Five Points” beneath “The Old St. Patrick’s Church”. Take her down there, throw her on top of the tomb of John Kelly (the Irishman who took on Tammany Hall in the 1850s) and give her the ole “Boss Tweed” (that’s where you furiously eat her out, then right before she comes, you make her sign a shady real estate deal then beat her family with a club.) You’re welcome, Urban Dictionary.
The Fountain In Washington Square Park (Between West 4th St. And Waverly Place)
Before it was littered with entitled NYU Trustafarians plucking out Jeff Buckley covers on their acoustics, the fountain was a public bath for crackheads, trannies and dealers. And before that, it was at the center of a mass grave for 20,000 unknown vagrants and victims of yellow fever. You might eventually find a cure for that mutant strain of Hep B, but you’ll never wash that smell of hobo soul outta your hair.
Former L’Amour (65th Street between 15th & 16th Ave., Brooklyn)
Once the undisputed “Rock Capitol Of Brooklyn,” now just feral cat paradise in industrial Bay Ridge. Rock her like a hurricane on the rotted stage that launched the careers of Metallica, Faith No More, Twisted Sister, Anthrax, Slayer and Biohazard. Insider’s tip: there’s probably just enough crusty sperm on the dressing room carpet to manage a Jurassic Park clone job of Cliff Burton, Metallica’s long-dead bassist.
The Bronx (Above Manhattan)
Having sex anywhere in the Bronx, with anyone from the Bronx, instantly gives you Metal As Fukk street cred.