Jun. 26th, 2023 10:11 am
Another event, another event drop
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muckefuckPride Weekend has come and gone and I'm left picking through the rubble again on a Monday morning.
For the most part, it was a very positive experience: Gene's rooftop on Friday with the Daddy Daycare crew, followed by SoFo, then BOMB (Bears On My Beach) at Tobey Prinz on Saturday followed by recovery from hideous sunburn, and finally a bear brunch Sunday morning followed by Old People's Pride on Glenwood. Naturally, I saw dozens of fun folks, renewed some acquaintances and formed a few new ones, and generally was a hedonistic gay chad enjoying the best weather Chicago has to offer. But between all the highs were some melancholy moments.
One of these came up on me unexpectedly on the beach. Kayla, RJ, and I had gone to dip ourselves in the surprisingly less-than-hypothermic waters of the lake and were sunning on the sand afterwards. They were supine while I was sitting up and inclining my head to make eye contact while we chatted. Several times, my head was positioned only a couple feet above RJ's and I felt an urge to lean over and kiss him full on the lips--not an overwhelming urge, just strong enough to remind me that I still haven't sublimated all that desire.
I had a quite different moment at Pride North near the end of the day. I'd reached out again to Hump Day after hearing nothing from him for a month and he messaged me to let me know he was there. I traipsed around until I found him, a bit drunk and thirsty, and we stood on the sidewalk embracing each other. But something felt off. Even his scent, which I used to find erotic, mildly repelled me. When I announced that I was going to do a final slut lap, he made an attempt to get me to stay with him but quickly abandoned it; by the time I returned he was gone and I was a little sad but mostly relieved.
Shortly after that, I was around the corner waiting for arepas at the local pan-Latin restaurant, trying to ignore the attention-seeking gay at a nearby table snapping his fan like it was still the first season of RPDR, and sorting through my feelings. I'm tired. Tired of borrowing other men's husbands, tired of seeing happy couples and not being a part of one. (Yes, naturally Big Chick was there with his beau--in matching caftans, no less!) Despite having a couple of dates lined up for this week, there's no sign that this is a mood I'll see the ass end of any time soon.
For the most part, it was a very positive experience: Gene's rooftop on Friday with the Daddy Daycare crew, followed by SoFo, then BOMB (Bears On My Beach) at Tobey Prinz on Saturday followed by recovery from hideous sunburn, and finally a bear brunch Sunday morning followed by Old People's Pride on Glenwood. Naturally, I saw dozens of fun folks, renewed some acquaintances and formed a few new ones, and generally was a hedonistic gay chad enjoying the best weather Chicago has to offer. But between all the highs were some melancholy moments.
One of these came up on me unexpectedly on the beach. Kayla, RJ, and I had gone to dip ourselves in the surprisingly less-than-hypothermic waters of the lake and were sunning on the sand afterwards. They were supine while I was sitting up and inclining my head to make eye contact while we chatted. Several times, my head was positioned only a couple feet above RJ's and I felt an urge to lean over and kiss him full on the lips--not an overwhelming urge, just strong enough to remind me that I still haven't sublimated all that desire.
I had a quite different moment at Pride North near the end of the day. I'd reached out again to Hump Day after hearing nothing from him for a month and he messaged me to let me know he was there. I traipsed around until I found him, a bit drunk and thirsty, and we stood on the sidewalk embracing each other. But something felt off. Even his scent, which I used to find erotic, mildly repelled me. When I announced that I was going to do a final slut lap, he made an attempt to get me to stay with him but quickly abandoned it; by the time I returned he was gone and I was a little sad but mostly relieved.
Shortly after that, I was around the corner waiting for arepas at the local pan-Latin restaurant, trying to ignore the attention-seeking gay at a nearby table snapping his fan like it was still the first season of RPDR, and sorting through my feelings. I'm tired. Tired of borrowing other men's husbands, tired of seeing happy couples and not being a part of one. (Yes, naturally Big Chick was there with his beau--in matching caftans, no less!) Despite having a couple of dates lined up for this week, there's no sign that this is a mood I'll see the ass end of any time soon.
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