The Meat Market Boys

It started as one of those nights where nobody had a plan—until Marco, the self-appointed “Social Director” of the group, waved a flyer he’d found at the coffee shop.

"Meat Market Fridays – Wear Less, Score More."

Within minutes, four of them were group texting wardrobe (or lack thereof) ideas. By 10 p.m., they were lined up outside Club Carnivore, a converted warehouse that pulsed with bass, neon, and the faint scent of tequila.

The lineup:

Marco — tight mesh shirt, nothing underneath, leather shorts clinging for dear life.

Eddie — denim cutoffs so short they could have been a suggestion rather than a garment.

Luis — gold lamé thong under a kilt, planning to “surprise reveal” it later.

Javier — the “shy” one… wearing white linen pants so thin they were basically x-raying film.

Inside, the club lived up to its name: shirtless bartenders with abs like marble statues, go-go dancers grinding on platforms, and a literal meat counter display where people posed with sausage links for Instagram.

Eddie, never shy, leaned over the bar to order a round of something called “Beef Shots” — whiskey poured into hollowed beef jerky sticks. Luis was already on the dance floor, swinging his kilt like it had wronged him. Marco was chatting up a man in a cowboy hat and very little else, promising to “teach him about flank steak.”

Meanwhile, Javier tried to hide in a corner until someone accidentally spilled a drink on him, soaking his pants into full see-through mode. The crowd roared with approval, and Javier turned beet red… until three guys offered to “help him change” in the VIP lounge.

The night spiraled deliciously:

Luis did the kilt reveal, which got him hoisted onto a stage for a “sausage limbo” contest.

Marco won a free bottle of champagne for having the “best meat package” according to the MC.

Eddie found the private rooftop hot tub and convinced half the bar to get in.

Javier… didn’t come back from VIP for a very long time.

By 3 a.m., they stumbled out into the street — hair damp, clothes missing various pieces, and all of them laughing so hard they could barely breathe. Marco summed it up perfectly:

“Boys, we came to the meat market… and left absolutely stuffed.”


The Meat Market Boys – After Dark Edition

The moment Javier vanished into the velvet-draped VIP lounge, the others figured he was just catching his breath. But when thirty minutes passed and the Beat Meat remix thumped on without him, curiosity got the better of them.

Inside the lounge, it was darker, warmer — the air thick with the smell of cologne and sweat. Plush leather couches lined the walls, and in the middle, Javier sat like a deer in the headlights… except this deer had three shirtless men rubbing oil on his chest. His see-through pants had been replaced by a single black pouch that left almost nothing to the imagination.

“You look… busy,” Marco teased, sliding in beside him.

One of the men grinned. “We were just tenderizing the meat.”

Meanwhile, up on the rooftop, Eddie had managed to gather a swimsuit-optional hot tub crowd. The rules were unspoken: if you got in with anything on, it probably wasn’t staying on for long. Champagne bottles floated like party buoys, and more than one pair of wandering hands brushed “accidentally” under the water. Luis arrived, kilt discarded, gold lamé thong now gleaming wet under the string lights.

A game started: Spin the Sausage. The “sausage” in question was, of course, an actual bratwurst on a lazy Susan, but whoever it pointed to had to “sample the goods” — which was more kissing and lap-perching than bratwurst eating.

Marco eventually appeared with Javier in tow, both a little disheveled. Javier was glowing, hair mussed, his black pouch suspiciously absent. Eddie handed him a drink and a knowing smile.

By the time 4 a.m. rolled around, the rooftop was a haze of laughter, bodies, and teasing touches. No one remembered exactly who started the chant of "One more round!" but they knew they’d just had one of those nights — the kind you only told in whispers or with a wicked grin.

As they finally left the club, Luis muttered, “Next Friday, we’re bringing bibs. The meat market gets… messy.”