Category: ultragay

Winding Up

A quote I stumbled across that talks about the leap of faith in my desires that I’ve been trying to make lately:

Curiosity can bring guts out of hiding at times, maybe even get them going. But curiosity usually evaporates. Guts have to go for the long haul. Curiosity’s like a fun friend you can’t really trust. It turns you on and then it leaves you to make it on your own — with whatever guts you can muster.

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami

What I mean by “leap of faith’ is that I’m admitting to myself that I’ve tried a lot before — leather, wrestling, sex clubs, boyfriends, groups, fast and anonymous fucks, casual hook-ups, topping, bottoming — out of curiosity that encouraged me to see what I liked, but I haven’t always had the guts afterward to go after what I really did like if it meant breaking too far out of the character of myself I’d always played. Not that I’d given up on what I liked, but that I’d file things away as a sort of secret life that I kept separate from my day-to-day activity. Well, what the hell’s wrong with going after what you like and being honest about it? You’re sure not going to increase the odds of finding like minds without having the guts to let them find you.

A Dilemma of My Own

This weekend was my turn to go out on a date with a friend of a friend. As with you, it was a guy I’d met a few times before but never really got to know, and who I liked a lot once we got to know each other a little bit. Fun, smart, and good-looking, but I was also feeling a little bit of frustration about getting back into the same old routine of meeting a nice guy and crossing my fingers hoping that if he was even interested in me that he’d also share any of my leather fetish. Nice, attractive guys who really capture my interest are rare enough. Ones that like me back narrow the pack down a little further. The additional factor of finding someone who actually responds to leather like I do is usually the one I’ve had to compromise on. Lately, though, as I’ve thought more and more about wanting to stop shoving parts of who I am away into storage, I get more frustrated about having to give up this thing that’s such a potent part of my sexual make-up.

You and I have been in the same spot for a while, John: it’s really important to us to find guys who appeal to us both sexually and mentally. We’ve always gone the traditional route: hoping to meet nice guys through regular channels, and then just secretly hoping they share some of our more unconventional interests. It’s not a bad approach, but it hasn’t been very successful.

As much as I know I like to play around with different guys who share only a small part of the things that make up who I am, one of the lessons I’ve learned in my years of whoring around and getting to know myself better sexually and emotionally is that at heart I’m the marrying kind. Not a prude, and not fixated on the idea of monogamy just for the sake of it. I just know I like to focus the bulk of my attention on one guy who excites me on many levels.

I’ve always been so self-conscious about owning up to how much the leather thing actually means to me, and the result has been that I’ve always treated it like a dirty secret. I’m trying to approach it differently now: this time I don’t want to just cruise for guys into leather who just want to fuck and run. I’m sure I can continue to have plenty of fun and discovery along the way with those guys, but now I may as well just admit that what I want is to get really involved with someone who’s into leather like I am, who appreciates ideas and life like I do. Maybe I’ve just been looking for the total package — that best friend plus — from the wrong angle.

I’ve been underestimating the leathermen and hoping there’d be another nice guy with a fetish of his own. Now, I think it’s time to look at the leathermen as a pool of candidates who’d be just as likely to have a life beyond their fetish that would rock my world. Yes, me, I’m open to wooing.

Magazine Whore

Finally, an explanation for the cryptic, snarky e-mails I’ve been getting from random people I know the last couple of days. I discovered that a personal ad of mine that’s been floating around Nerve for a while was inexplicably picked to be a featured ad in this week’s Time Out New York. Guess who forgot all about the little proviso warning that this might happen without warning? I’m no stranger to trolling the Internet personals in hopes of getting lucky, but somehow having this show up in print feels slightly more humiliating. Besides, I can only assume it’s not likely to produce any better results than anything else ever has.

Potty Mouth

I wanna give a big ol’ shout out to my pal and fellow NYC blog guy Andy for his KICK-ASS one man show, Potty Mouth, which I caught last night. It’s way funny, and saucy, and even very moving, just when you least expect it to be. There’s another performance next Friday 11/16, that you can catch, it’ll be your own fault if you miss it. If you’re not convinced by my enthusiastic recommendation, watch the trailer.

Later, Michael and I went out to FC29/Daddy’s/The Hole/whatever-it-is-now to hang out, catch up, and whine about boy troubles. Of course, and this explains why he’s such a gem, we wound up doing all that but mostly grooving to Prince-affiliated 80s pop, wondering about Rebbie, the forgotten Jackson sister, and talking about our secret love of heavy metal. (Michael was telling me about a turntable-scratch version of Def Leppard’s “Foolin’” that he did many years ago, which is only another reason he’s cool as shit.) It seemed like bloggers were everywhere, convincing me that we’ll own this town before long, but no one will know because we’ll all still be writing about Buffy, boy trouble, therapy, and the little details of downtown-homohipster lifestyles.

Oh, in other theatre news, it looks like Kiki & Herb have finally made it to the big time. This year’s Christmas show, Kiki & Herb: There’s a Stranger in the Manger, is trading in its cramped-yet-intimate cabaret setting for a full-on production at the Westbeth, the theater that spawned Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I’m quivering in anticipation to see what they do with the extra budget and space, even if the ticket price has more than doubled. Luckily, though, those of us on the mailing list have been sent a convenient discount code to get cheaper tix until Dec. 15th, which I will gladly share with you because I love you all and want you to experience the brilliance of Kiki & Herb. Just go to Ticketmaster and give them the code “KHSPIN” when you get your tickets. I’m going on Saturday, 12/1, if anyone wants to make an outing of it. Rock on!

Coming Out Again and Again

In the spirit of National Coming Out Day, I would just like to confirm all your little suspicions: Yes, I am a big homo. Ladies, I’m sorry to disappoint, but it’s true. I like to give it and take it up the butt and in the mouth. (Mom, I’m sorry you had to read that.) In the sack (or behind the shack), I like chest hair and Adam’s apples and external sex organs and chests without soft, fleshy protuberances. And, well, I don’t think it means much more than that. There may be ancillary effects, but I don’t think any of them are direct results of my preference for man-man lovin’. But still, there you have it.

Smooth Operator

So I’m sitting in the front row at one of the conference sessions, and I realize that one of the speakers is a total babe. He gives his shpiel, and it becomes also obvious that he’s really smart and totally plays for the home team. So I’m sitting there trying to look all suave and intellectually engaged in the topic at hand, and I pop a contact. Suddenly, I’m a twitching, tearing mess who can’t see a damn thing. I have to race back to my hotel to get my glasses before the massive eyestrain headache sets in.

And people wonder why I can never land a fella.

Just a Fling

Hmm, so here’s a pickle: let’s say you meet a guy under dubious circumstances and a he’s a total snack — way tastier than you usually get a shot at — and he seems to think you ain’t so bad, either. As a bonus, he turns out to be sweet and even able to hold up his end in a conversation. Score! Now let’s say you’re a jaded old mess already, so you don’t worry about whether or not there’s any future, because it’s just much easier to go with the flow. So what’s the rub? Oh yeah, that boyfriend he tells you about. You admire his candor and have every intention of having as much fun as you can squeeze out of the situation (which, apparently, the BF is OK with), so what’s nagging at you in the back of your mind? Oh yeah, that loss of possibility, that awareness that at best you’ll be a fondly remembered fling. Whatever. There are worse ways to amuse yourself.

More Summertime Thrills

This weekend was a roller-coaster ride. Basically lots of fun and good music and beautiful downtown hipsters and entertaining guests and thought-provoking art and stuff. More of a good thing at P.S. 1, an unbelievable final show of Kiki & Herb, glam-rock brilliance at the Hedwig movie, bumping into friends everywhere I went, and more cute guys than you could shake your stick at. Great, right? A hot time in the old town, right? So what’s had me in such a funk during all the down time, what’s had me furrowing my brow the moment I’m left on my own to catch my breath? Well, it’s been the nature of a lot of the good stuff, frankly. Namely, being reminded of what I lack — someone local to make me feel and warm and fuzzy inside, someone to play my better half when I go out and do all this kinda stuff, someone to bust a groove with in a richer way than “just friends” can offer.

At P.S. 1, for instance, there were dozens and dozens of what I would consider my target demographic: the exact type of tiny, scruffy, clever-looking hipster types that I prefer. Thing is, I didn’t seem to turn any heads, especially not in the midst of such a comely crowd. There was also a wonderful visit from someone pretty swell who reminded me of something I took for granted back when I had my golden opportunity.

So I want a boyfriend. Big deal. Could I have anything more cliché to whine about? I tell ya, though, I’m actually pretty grateful I can narrow down my demons to just this for the time being. It’s refreshing to feel like the issues troubling me most these days are the ones that they write pop songs about, because it’s more fun to wallow that way.

Bleah. Anyway, here are some scenes from the good moments…

The Running of the Gays

“They can’t help the way they are. If they tried to reject their gay needs, it would be just like when Lindsay Wagner’s body was rejecting her Ebonics. I have noticed that the men ones clean real good and make yummy cobbler. And they seem to love Dorothy Garland. I am very excited for the Running of the Gays this sunday, but I hope no one is too badly gored.”

Dina Martina, Entertainer

My favorite response to the question, “What Do You Think of the Gays?” from the really refreshing, irreverant, and mixed set of essays for Gay Pride in The Stranger.

And that’s all I’ll bother to say about Gay Pride festivities, except this: yes it’s wonderful and uplifting and important that we still assert our inclusion in society and blah, blah, blah, but I still hate too much disco and crowds and carefully marketed sponsorship and muscleboy narcissism so I’ll pass and keep doing it my own way each and every day, thanks.

Homo Schlock

A must for any proud queerI beg to differ. In fact, I’d say that a god-damned rainbow mirrorball is enough of a hypercaricature to be the sole indicator of someone so desperate to have an identity that he’d buy one lock, stock, and barrel from a catalogue of homosexual schlock. (It could be a she. I don’t want to suggest that lesbians are immune to this sort of tragic kitsch.) Jesus, decades of fighting for public acceptance gets us this? Doesn’t anyone see that this is as bad as a Catholic with a life-size velvet painting of the Pope?

You wanna show your pride? You wanna be out of the closet? Hold a guy’s hand in public. Tell the fella in the mailroom he’s got a hot ass. Ask if your boyfriend can be covered under your health insurance. Just be yourself — I bet you’re not as truly straight-acting as you think you are. And that’s not a problem at all.