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muckefuckI didn't make it to Bear Night last Saturday due to what transpired at the previous Bear Night.
I'd arrived at Touche rather early because I'd mooched a ride from the Scoutmaster and he wanted to attend the 9 o'clock business meeting. This really held no interest for me, but I figured it would be every bit as boring in the front room. It wasn't. I'd forgotten that, for reasons I will never understand, they usually play a groovy mix of pop and rock earlier in the evening and only switch over to vapid dance music at 10 p.m. (Why bother? No one's paying attention. I've never seen anyone dance there ever.) Also, there were a surprising number of guys around already and some of them were cute.
The cutes were two who arrived only shortly after I did. I was screwing up my courage to approach one of them when he came up to me and said to me in lilting Georgia accent, "My partner and I thought we were the only two gay men in Chicago with long hair." "You aren't from Chicago, are you?"
I ended up talking to them for a couple hours--if they hadn't had mass to get to the next morning, it might've been most of the night. I gave them my contact info before they left and, a few weeks later, an invitation came for their Epiphany celebration, which was held the day after traditional Epiphany (but the day before Epiphany according to the current RCC liturgical calendar).
I had a glorious time--it more than made up for a very quiet and phlegmy New Year's Eve. Mr Macon made all the food himself, including pulled pork and a scrummy spice cake with caramel frosting that I could've eaten until it made me sick. His partner, a grey-haired gentleman from North Carolina, showed me his collection of sculpted turtles and the plans for their dream house. I was plied with bourbon and male attention until I was pleasantly blissed out. At first, seeing a room full of attractive, manicured gay men, I was expecting to have to put up with some attitude, but they were polite and welcoming to a man; there's not a one I wouldn't be pleased to run into again.
As a result, I completely lost track of time and stayed longer than I should've, but my hosts were such consummate gentlemen that they didn't show the least impatience. They even gave me a book before I left, a copy of Christopher Moore's Lamb. (Reasonably well-written and entertaining as all get-out; I'm already about 100 pages in.) Now I'm trying to think how I can repay the favour.
I'd arrived at Touche rather early because I'd mooched a ride from the Scoutmaster and he wanted to attend the 9 o'clock business meeting. This really held no interest for me, but I figured it would be every bit as boring in the front room. It wasn't. I'd forgotten that, for reasons I will never understand, they usually play a groovy mix of pop and rock earlier in the evening and only switch over to vapid dance music at 10 p.m. (Why bother? No one's paying attention. I've never seen anyone dance there ever.) Also, there were a surprising number of guys around already and some of them were cute.
The cutes were two who arrived only shortly after I did. I was screwing up my courage to approach one of them when he came up to me and said to me in lilting Georgia accent, "My partner and I thought we were the only two gay men in Chicago with long hair." "You aren't from Chicago, are you?"
I ended up talking to them for a couple hours--if they hadn't had mass to get to the next morning, it might've been most of the night. I gave them my contact info before they left and, a few weeks later, an invitation came for their Epiphany celebration, which was held the day after traditional Epiphany (but the day before Epiphany according to the current RCC liturgical calendar).
I had a glorious time--it more than made up for a very quiet and phlegmy New Year's Eve. Mr Macon made all the food himself, including pulled pork and a scrummy spice cake with caramel frosting that I could've eaten until it made me sick. His partner, a grey-haired gentleman from North Carolina, showed me his collection of sculpted turtles and the plans for their dream house. I was plied with bourbon and male attention until I was pleasantly blissed out. At first, seeing a room full of attractive, manicured gay men, I was expecting to have to put up with some attitude, but they were polite and welcoming to a man; there's not a one I wouldn't be pleased to run into again.
As a result, I completely lost track of time and stayed longer than I should've, but my hosts were such consummate gentlemen that they didn't show the least impatience. They even gave me a book before I left, a copy of Christopher Moore's Lamb. (Reasonably well-written and entertaining as all get-out; I'm already about 100 pages in.) Now I'm trying to think how I can repay the favour.