My decadent gay lifestyle: 4

[muckefuck]

Let me see if I can get some of this down before it gets much staler. I thought I'd do a write-up on Sunday, but I was very out of it. On the bus to Monshu's, I actually put my head down and closed my eyes. (No dozing--as a rule, I don't sleep on transport.) And I wasn't actually out all that late the night before! I am getting so old.

Saturday, Monshu wasn't feeling so well. He probably wouldn't have left the house at all if ottr4bear hadn't called earlier to arrange dinner. I did my best to sell Turkish Bakery, but Monshu wasn't about to eat at Andersonville at 7:30 on a Saturday without reservations, so it ended up being Jin ju, which couldn't fit us in until 8.

The sat us at a table against the wall and overlooking the bar (providing Monshu with the only eye candy he'd have all night) and I thought for sure the time had come when we would miss out on our favourite waiter. We'd gotten him every other visit: bald, cheekbones for days, informed, efficient, chatty (but in a good way). But, after a delay, he appeared! I had to wonder if he had gone so far as to negotiate with another waiter for our table or something, since there were two or three others there that night (including some beefy Guido that Rubeus could hardly keep his eyes off). Nobody ended up being too adventurous: pulkoki (chicken and beef), kalbi, and I had pork-tofu-kimchee soup. We dropped Monshu at home (where he promptly went to bed) and ottr, Rubeus (his lover, who I know I called something else before), and I headed up to Touché.

Bear Night was by no means in full swing, but there was a healthy, hairy crowd. I spotted grunter and gave him a big kimchee smooch--with plenty of tongue! He told me he'd had only breath mints for dinner, which I think caused some kind of dynamic equilibrium when our mouths met. Chatting ensued. Young Jim of the Two Jims, who I hadn't seen out in, whoo-whee, maybe a year? and I caught up a bit, but we ended up drawing in some old fart from Atlanta with bad breath and the worst jokes I've heard anywhere away from my father. (Sample: "What do virgins eat for breakfast?") Fortunately, in making my escape to the bar, I ran into JustMatt™ and gave him trouble.

By now, both guys I'd come with were gone. Rubeus had made a beeline for the back bar and ottr had departed to look for him shortly after. I caught up to them and drew into conversation this really nice couple that we vaguely knew--one of them actually recalled meeting ottr six years ago! It was especially pleased that the older half, who I thought was too cute for words, turned out to be very genial and open. I know it's terribly shallow of me, but I still expect gorgeous guys to be stuck-up, no matter how many counterexamples I meet.

Making conversation was no easy matter, what with the speaker right over our heads blaring out 80's rock. Yeah, you heard me right. We all commented on the lack of techno--or, as ottr put it, "This is [Rubeus] music!" (These were my thoughts exactly when "Footloose" played.) JustMatt™ reappeared and showed off the skills that had recently gotten him into massage school. I'm afraid that in the bliss that followed, I totally lost track of everyone else. I reemerged when my impromptu masseur announced he was leaving.

Then, just as had happened at October's event, I heard a voice yell, "JESUS!" It was that old sex club guy, who I actually remembered to call "Bill". I stood in the hall with him and two actorly buddies and watched the passing parade. At some point, Young Bill stopped by and told me that another guy there, who was too gorgeous for words and, thus, to give me the time of day was actually really down-to-earth, friendly, and approachable--in his terminology, a real "bubba".

I went back to the front, still hoping to run into my companions. No luck. But then the Belle Star's version of "Iko Iko" came on and I had no more worries. I hung around the front long enough to save glbear99 from a vicious tickling attack and then went on to Jackhammer. I had expected it to be filling up with Touché's overflow, but there was an entirely different crowd there. Despite the range of tones on the bear flag, men of colour are in very short supply at bear events. Not here.

I attempted to reprise another event from that previous visit and ordered a sidecar from the bar. I thought something was wrong when I saw him fill the glass with dark liquid. I knew it when he leaned forward to ask if I wanted lime in it. "What's that?" I asked (or rather YELLED over the pounding bass beat). "A Diet Coke!" he said. "I ordered a SIDECAR." "A what? I don't even know what that is?" So I told him what was in it. "We don't have any lemon juice." "Forget it," I said, "just give me a manhattan." Then I couldn't resist adding, "You know how to make one of those, don't you?" Whether he heard me or not, he turned back and said, "Brandy manhattan, right?" Sure! Whatever!

I took my drink and manoeuvred my way down the steps, since I have it on good authority that during his last visit here, Rubeus plunged right down them and into the back room and didn't return for hours. This was like entering a third bar, with a completely different atmosphere from the first two. Touché's so called "back room" is actually fairly well-lit, navigable, and approachable. In fact, the night that a friend of mine took his straight brother there, they were sitting at the back end of the back bar, five feet from the fucking, and they didn't seem to notice. This place was old school. I realised I'd have to sit and adjust my eyes for several minutes before heading back if I wanted any chance of spotting my friends before some stranger started sucking my dick.

Sitting again the wall, I had my Bad Bar Apotheosis: In front of me were two tired leather queens, one of whom was whining on and on. To my left, I could see into the back room through a gap between the wall and one of the room dividers. Two men stepped into the better-illuminated gloom and one of them started going down on the other. About that time, I heard one of the queens saying something about the "emptiness of the bar scene." I could hear Larry Kramer snickering in my ear. The oppressive smoke was really starting to bother me, so I poked my head behind the divider, ascertained to my satisfaction that no one I came with was back there, and went upstairs.

I finished up my drink so quickly that my head was swimming when I decided to make one last swing through Touché to say my good-byes. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, I saw two busses approaching and figured the smarter thing was to jump on one. I didn't even hear the driver tell me he wasn't going south of Foster, so I was a bit dazed to find myself standing on the corner, across the street from where my evening began.

Comments

[welcomerain.livejournal.com]

Wah, I wanna go to Jin Ju.

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

You could've! We gladly would've taken you there for your birthday--and then on to Touché with us!

[prilicla.livejournal.com]

I realised I'd have to sit and adjust my eyes for several minutes before heading back if I wanted any chance of spotting my friends before some stranger started sucking my dick.

Years ago, I was talking with a post-doc I worked for at UC Berkeley, and he wistfully remarked that he wished he could be gay. Then he could walk down the street in the Castro or go into a bar, and if he saw a guy he liked who liked him, they could just have sex right then, no strings, no "relationship bullshit". Also, no one would expect him to be monogamous, which he said he was terrible at. (By the way, as far as I can tell, he wasn't overestimating the number of offers he'd get. He was quite a handsome guy, and he had an amazing body, which I was especially aware of since he regularly came to the lab in his bicycle shorts and a tight T-shirt. He was also very likable, though I don't think I'm necessarily getting that quality across very well here.)

He got married the next year. I still occasionally wonder how that relationship worked out.

[mollpeartree.livejournal.com]

I still occasionally wonder how that relationship worked out.
Just fine, prolly. The Prince of Cairo is openly envious of the whole concept of the pocket handkerchief signalling system, for example. Gay sexual culture = men without women. A heterosexual boy can dream.

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

I dunno, I sometimes look back on my "free love" phase and ask Why wasn't I more adventurous? Then I remember, Oh, yeah. I was absolutely terrified of contracting a hideous disease. 'Taint everything it's cracked up to be.

But y'all do have swingers' societies, whose sordid world has been burst wide open by Dan Savage's hard-hitting reporting. So I don't think there's as much room for envy as all that.

[prilicla.livejournal.com]

Just fine, prolly.

I hope so. I liked him very much, and I'm sorry we completely lost touch when I moved on to a new job.

It's funny--I never thought of myself as especially midwestern or provincial before I moved to Berkeley, but I remember being completely shocked when he made that comment. I came from a world where a straight guy would never, ever, ever say or do anything that might make anyone think he might be gay.

We've come a long way, baby.

[prilicla.livejournal.com]

Yeah, my sister was pretty shocked to hear about the nice Jewish couple from Buffalo Grove in Skipping Towards Gomorrah. Though maybe she wasn't really as shocked as all that, since she then confided that she'd heard rumors of "key parties" in various swanky North Shore subdivisions, though she'd never met anyone who admitted to attending one.

Still, the kind of swinging Dan Savage described requires that you have some kind of committed partnership with a woman who's also interested in the lifestyle, and it seems to involve a fair amount of negotiation and planning ahead. I think the post-Stonewall, pre-AIDS San Francisco scene would still seem like a better deal to a lot of straight guys, except for the having sex with men part.

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

"Seem" being the operative word. Most of the straight guys I know are torn between wanting to be a playa and wanting someone to pick up their socks. Married swinging seems to be the optimal compromise. I know that I was much more open to fooling around when I had someone to go home to. First, it spares you the dejection of going home along. Second, most people project more confidence when they're in a relationship and potential partners respond to that. I don't know any gay men who get by on anonymous sex alone. They all at least have regular fuck-buddies, if not steadies.

[mollpeartree.livejournal.com]

Stop injecting reality into the fantasy, Buzz-kill Boy!

I must still be a Puritan at heart; the God-talking swinger couple in the excerpt from Savage's book that ran in the Reader a few week ago creeped me the hell out. I agree with prilicla that heterosexual swingers' societies fall way down on the anonymity requirement.