Three on a Match

Another Trip to San Francisco

Background

After my first two trips to San Francisco, I had the whole Summer to work on developing my career as an artist and filmmaker. I thought about returning one more time that year to continue my studies, as it were. Halloween was coming up, and I figured that SF would be a pretty good place to spend it. I talked to Kenny and he said that he and Richard were going to the Hell Ball. I checked out the web site and it looked pretty cool.

But I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. These weeks in SF cost a lot of money, not to mention burning up vacation days from my day job. I decided that if I got some real work accomplished while I was out there that it would make the expense worthwhile. I thought about projects I could do, and thought about things.

One thing I wanted to do was meet this webcam boy who'd caught my eye. Sean Patrick Live got me into the whole webcam thing. I was intrigued by the concept of someone having an internet camera pointed on him at all times. Sean Patrick was cute, but a little too apple pie for me. I found a guy named Rexx who had blond-streaked hair, piercings, and tattoos, and he lived in SF. I thought he was hot, and I wanted to get inside the whole webcam experience, but this guy also intrigued me for an odd reason. He had a tattoo of an imaged taken from French card game. It was called Mille Bornes, and I played it a lot as a kid. It was all specialty cards, like an Uno deck. Rather than score points you racked up miles. There were road-hazard cards, to restrain your advance, and remedy cards to get you back to racking up miles. For some reason Rexx got a tattoo of the "spare tire" remedy card from that obscure, French, automotively-oriented children's game. I wanted to meet this guy.

I'd emailed him once, long ago, and never heard back from him. I knew that if I sent him another email saying I was coming to town and wanted to meet him that he'd never respond. I considered an angle. I'm a filmmaker, after all. What if I were to tell him I wanted to interview him for a video to be shown in the gay/lesbian film festival circuit. That would appeal to his exhibitionist side, and get him some good publicity.

That made me realize something. If I used the trip to get actual work done, that would make the whole excursion more justifiable. The truth was that it would, indeed, make a great subject for a short documentary. For that matter I could see if I could interview Sean Patrick as well? Maybe even others, like bMan in NYC, whom I've always had a real boner for.

I thought about other projects I could do. I knew that Biron had an in with XY Magazine's editor Peter Ian Cummings. Biron has had many pictures published in XY. I've always liked XY. It helps me stay current with the gay youth scene, and the photography is quite good. Yes I have an eye for pubescent boys in suggestive poses, but the technical quality of the photographic compositions was indeed impressive. Peter Ian Cummings was about my age, I believe, but he struck me as essentially the alpha male of the gay "Lord of the Flies" staff that put out this periodical. Every guy who worked on that magazine, at least the ones they showed pictures of, was a cute, enterprising young man.

Again, I figured that the lure of exposure on the gay/lesbian film festival circuit would be a real foot in the door. I'm sure that XY's sales would be helped at least a little. The documentary format was perfect again. I could get a total mish-mash of footage, and always be able to put something coherent together afterwards. I could just let the cameras roll and stay totally out of their way as they go about a day's business. In addition to that, I'd get to spend some time in the company of those cute, enterprising young men.

Those two projects sounded good to me, but I continued searching for more possibilities. I knew Kenny had a friend who was on ZDTV. It turned out he was the music correspondent for Internet Tonight. I caught him on a broadcast, and he looked to be a handsome man, maybe my age, who did a fine job reporting the internet music news for about 120 seconds. I didn't know how close Kenny was with him, but if he could be an in with ZDTV then maybe I could send him an idea for a new show and ask if he could tell me how to go about pitching it. I figured it was a long shot, but why not try? After a couple of days I had a great idea. It would be an hour program shown daily in the Leno/Letterman slot, or maybe the Conan hour. It would be very cheap to produce, the writing would largely take care of itself, it would be an endless showcase for the latest 3D rendering and animation technology, and I was confident that there was a significant audience in the neo-nerd ZDTV demographic with accompanying sponsor base.

I even had a fun touristy thing I wanted to do, too. I'd seen on ZDTV about the computer history museum in Silicon Valley. That would also be a great place to take a video camera. It wasn't open to the public, but could be shown by special appointment. I found the tape I recorded the story on, and noted the email address of the woman who was the curator.

All these possibilities, plus the idea of spending Halloween in the Castro, pushed me over the edge. I decided to book my flights first to establish exactly when I'd be in town. This would allow me to make specific plans for video shoots, meetings, or a tour of the computer history museum. Still, there was something nagging me about the whole thing when I was down at AAA giving the travel agent my credit card. Something was telling me to just bag it all and save my time and money. I decided not to listen to that voice. I scheduled my flights and bought my tickets.

I decided to approach my projects in order of how ambitious each one was. I started by emailing Rexx. I wrote up a nice teaser, included my URL, and attached a photo. I've come to realize that people who get flooded with email are likely to ignore any message that doesn't have an attachment. I sent him a nice b&w with the URL printed right on it.

Next I asked Biron for contact information for XY Magazine. He gave me Peter Ian Cummings' office phone number. That was a toughie. I'm a real phone-o-phobe. I can write letters or email, I can meet people in person, but I hate to pick up a phone and try to establish a relationship in the dark. I put it off for a while until I finally just picked up the phone and called. It went directly to his voice mail. I left him a brief but complete message introducing myself as an indpendant filmmaker (okay, I stretched it), wanting to do a short documentary about XY magazine for the gay/lesbian film festivals.

That was that. Kenny gave me the email of the ZDTV guy. I didn't want to write him until I'd typed up most of the proposal document so that I could send it to him immediately if he asked for it. In the mean time I hacked away on the proposal at a snail's pace and waited for Rexx or Peter to get back to me. I didn't hear from either one. Just a day or two later I was reading the latest issue of XY where Peter was complaining bitterly that he'd been ambushed on a local TV news program. Some newscaster who had been supportive of gay rights in the past invited him to come on his show. It turned out that the guy started hurling terrible criticisms at Peter about child pornography. Peter stood his ground, but was really wounded by the whole situation. I feared that he would avoid my proposal because he thought it might be some kind of exposé or something. I called his voice mail again and left another message stating that I loved his magazine, and that I wanted to portray him and his operation in the best possible light.

More time went on. I decided to email the ZDTV guy right away because time was growing short and I had a feeling there wasn't much point in completing the proposal anyway. I wrote him saying upfront that I know his job isn't to scout out new material, but I had a proposal and I wanted his opinion on if it should even be passed on or not. I figured that was the least imposing and amateurish approach I could take. I fired off the mail file.

More time went by and I still got no responses. I considered trying to email Rexx again, but was a bit too jaundiced. I could have left more voicemail for Peter, but I still doubted that I'd hear from him. I didn't even think of following up with the ZDTV guy. I had emailed the lady from the computer history museum, and even she was ignoring me. I was striking out across the board. All of a sudden, now that I had hotel reservations and nonrefundable plane tickets, I had no reason to be taking all that time and spending all that money. The only things that were remaining were the Hell Ball, and the chance of hanging out with Peter Berlin again. I figured those would have to do, because I had the choice of either eating the $550 cost of the plane tickets, or going ahead and just having a fun week in SF.

I decided I might as well do as much as I can while I'm in town. I contacted Puck and said I was heading in on a Friday. We made plans that he'd get me in to his health club overlooking the Oakland Bay Bridge the following Saturday. I contacted Andrew, who introduced me to the naked men's drawing group. He said it was still meeting, although in a new location, and everyone was excited that I could model again. Kenny and Richard agreed to pick me up at the airport, and Biron said he'd be around the whole time. Everything was set.

I packed all my stuff. I was starting to get pretty good at this. I put together my "travel survival kit" which consisted primarily of cameras, palmcorders and video tapes, CDs, magazines, and my Newton. My clothes, like on every trip, were almost nothing but blue jeans, white undershirts, and enough socks and underwear to last a week or so. Frankly my highest priority was stuff to keep me occupied on the plane. Anything else I could get once I landed, but if I wanted something and didn't have it on the plane I was shit outta luck. I wound up with two bags and my all important carry-on bag. Once I had everything zipped up and sitting by the back door I went to bed.

Friday, October 22, 1999

The trip started out exactly like the first one did. I was sitting in the Ithaca airport sipping a glass of wine, wearing the blue jeans, white t-shirt, and black leather motorcycle jacket, waiting for my afternoon flight, and watching other people, fantasizing about who they were and where they might be going. The only thing that was different was the weather didn't wait for me to leave before it turned ugly. That and instead of heading off into the unknown I was anticipating familiar places and old friends.

I decided to take a dump before I walked through the security checkpoint. They announced boarding for my flight while I was still sitting on the pot. I walked out of the men's room, through security, and directly onto the plane.

I had specifically asked for an aisle seat when I'd bought these tickes several weeks prior. Somehow I got stuck in a middle seat. Some dizzy chick in a tie-dye came along, and I got up to let her into the window seat. Knowing I would now not have to get up for anyone else I put my seatbelt on and settled in. But in a few minutes she realized she was in the wrong seat and made me get up again.

Someone came along and sat in the aisle seat (bastard!), but the window seat was still empty when the flight attendants were getting things battened down. I was just about to slide over when I saw some young black woman board the plane. I waited in anticipation as she inched her way down the aisle, looking at the number in each and every row as if they were arranged in random order. I don't know why I even bothered to wonder if she was headed for my window seat. Although there were a number of empty seats throughout the plane, I knew full well she was headed for the one next to me. Sure enough...

When I got up to let her in I took the opportunity to remove my coat. Once I was buckled in I got out the latest issue of XY. Even though they totally ignored me, I still liked to read their magazine.

The flight to Pittsburgh was typically short. Rather than hurry to get off the plane I just sat there and let other people fight to get off. When I finally did decide to get up, the old couple across from me got up at the exact same time. Actually they got up about a half-second before me. I was stuck behind them as they feebly attempted to get their stuff out of the overhead. I walked patiently behind them as they limped up the aisle.

I had another long layover as I did the first time. I went directly back to the Speedo™ store. This time the attendants didn't bother me the moment I walked in the door. Actually there was only one person on duty, she was an older lady, and she was busy helping an older guy buy something for his daughter. She was a kick-boxer and was always wearing tight, lycra shorts. I browsed around and found another shirt that looked nice. It wasn't as nice as the one I bought the first time, but it was still something I'd consider wearing. But I knew I had to try it on. I waited for the lady, but she was still helping the many with his chronic indecision. When I finally got her attention I took a couple shirts into the room and tried them on. They were really baggy. Even the small one was hanging off my shoulders. I brought them back out and asked the lady, but she said that this shirt was designed to be loose. So much for that. I didn't really want to foot the bill for the inflated price tag anyway.

I decided to go to the gym again. I checked in and the guy gave me a towel. Once in the locker room I realized that I needed shorts too. I went back out and got them. All the guy had was these silky running shorts that were split up the sides to the waist band. I went back in the locker room, and as I was dressing I decided that I probably shouldn't get my t-shirt all sweaty and smelly right before getting on a 4-hour flight. I went back out bare-chested and the guy gave me a string tank.

I got on the treadmill. I decided that I would run for a very, very long time. But as soon as I started my dick started bouncing around and rubbing against the inside of the running shorts. I didn't have on a jock strap or any underwear. The shorts had panties built right in, so that wasn't a problem. I could also handle the fact that I was bouncing all over the place. I wouldn't mind getting a chubby at the time. There were two other guys on the bikes who both looked like queens to me. The problem was that my knob was totally rubbing against the silk material. At first it tickled, but very quickly it became a major irritation. I stopped and tried to re-adjust myself, but it was no good whatsoever. I tried to ignore it and just keep running, but it was becoming painful. No, the treadmill was out.

I spent a little time on a rowing machine. I did a pretty good upper-body dumbbell workout. There was a mirror back by where the dumbbells were. You couldn't see it from up front where the exercise machines were. I wanted to tweak my nipples and get a little chubby going, but some woman and her toddler son were sitting on a bench in the concourse that looked directly in to where I was. Why they were sitting in this obscure quadrant of the terminal I had no idea. But I wasn't about to start touching myself with a young boy in the vicinity. After pumping my muscles up a little I tried some of the new-fangled weight machines they had. One was an elaborate contraption designed to work the abs and obliques. I got in the thing and tried to figure out how it worked. I did some reps, but it was horrible. I would have been better off on a mat on the floor.

I spent some time on one of the bikes, but soon I'd had enough. I went back in the locker room and stripped. After glancing at my naked body in the mirror I walked into the shower area. On my left was the sauna that I'd completely forgotten about. That would be a good place to kill some time. But as I reached for the door I saw that there was someone else already in there. It was one of the queens on the exercise bikes. He was totally covered by his towel. I knew I'd get wood the second I lay down in that heat, and decided not to get into it. I just went into the shower. I saw a small shave kit lying on the floor outside one of the stalls.

I got about a 70% boner as I lathered up. After a while I rinsed off and dried myself. If the guy was out of the sauna I would have gone back in. But was still in there. By now he was sitting up and had his towel barely covering his groin. I'm sure I could have gone in, let a boner fly, and gotten a nice VoyEx thing going, but I still wasn't really in the mood.

I went back out to the locker room still with a big fat semi. Some guy walked in as I was drying my ears. My towel covered my fat dick pretty well. I wasn't getting any vibes off this guy at all. I think he was an employee of the gym. So I just threw on my Hanes™. Still, my dick was taking up a lot of real estate in there. I lingered a bit as I procrastinated on putting the rest of my clothes back on. Some business dude came in and asked the employee guy if he'd seen a shaving kit.

"Yeah," I said. "It's right in the shower area."

The guy thanked me, and I distinctly saw his eyes dart down to my dick which was laying to the side and visibly almost reaching my hip bone. The guy went in and fetched his item. When he came back out he chatted with the employee kid for a while as he kept glancing back to my package. After a while he left.

I continued dressing. When I put on my shoes I had to sit on the floor because the employee kid had his stuff strewn across the entire bench. Once outside the gym I headed for the main terminal. Whom do I see but the business dude. I avoided eye contact as I got on the escalator. Low and behold, he got on a few steps behind me. I walked down Concourse A, but apparently he didn't follow.

I dodged into TGIFridays and had a couple of pints waiting for my plane to start boarding. I still had a bit of a wait, even with the time I killed in the gym, but before long it was time.

Once on board I quickly realized that I'd gotten stuck in a middle seat again. I was pretty annoyed. Some old dude was sitting on the aisle. I decided to make the best of it and sat there as stoically as I could, reading my XY magazine. Before we took off I got up and took a leak. The pints I'd had at the bar were already catching up with me.

The plane took off and I settled in for the long flight. When they came around with the drink cart I ordered my customary rum and coke. I figured that I wouldn't be having too many of them, because I didn't want to have to keep bothering the old dude to get up and go to the bathroom multiple times during the flight. I started to get more pissed that my request for an aisle seat had not been honored.

The movie was "Wild Wild West" with Will Smith. I would never have paid to see this movie. Not in a million years. But I was curious about it none the less. I was not a fan of the original TV series, but I was familiar with it. My next door neighbor watched it all the time. I had a tendency to hate the things he liked. The whole thing about government spies in the old west struck me as non sequitur, especially with all the James Bond toys they used. I've never cared for Robert Conrad, but I thought the casting of Will Smith in the movie was a particularly odd choice. Blacks were not exactly well respected in the old west. Granted that's a pretty ugly part of our nation's past, but it's true. Putting Will Smith in the role was either PC revisionism, or a ploy to increase box office sales, or both.

I was pleasantly anticipating the film as it began, but within a minute or two I already hated it. It was bad. And it only got worse as time went on. A lot worse. It seems that the bigger a budget a Hollywood movie has, the less they spend on writing. It was just so stupid. A few months later Roger Ebert cited it as one of the worst movies of the year. As a matter of fact, as his Worst of 1999 show progressed, I realized that quite a number of the films he panned were one's I'd seen on airplanes and busses. It's as if the travel industry intentionally picks the worst possible movies to play.

The movie dragged on. I had dinner and another drink or two. I managed to only disturb the old guy next to me once all flight to get up and take a leak. Despite all the negative aspects of the flight, time went by fairly quickly.

We touched down and everyone filed slowly off the plane. When I got into the terminal I saw Richard there waiting for me. It turned out that Kenny had something else going on that night. At first I was a little put off. A trip to San Francisco is a pretty big ordeal for me, and I couldn't imagine what was more important to Kenny than coming to greet me. But Richard explained that he'd been sailing all day on the bay. Since I was there last Kenny had taken a job with Sony Playstation. Apparently some clients were courting them, and took Kenny and others out for a day on the water and drinks afterwards. I couldn't exactly expect him to sacrifice that just to pick me up at the airport. In the same situation I would have done exactly the same thing.

After taking another trip to the bathroom we were on our way. Immediately outside the building I lit up a smoke. Unfortunately Richard had found a parking space right next to the door. He stood by patiently for a few minutes as I satisfied my nicotine fix. As we were driving into the city I realized that this was the first time I'd been in the company of one of them without the other being there.

We went directly to the Pension so I could check in. There seemed to be some confusion about my reservation, but after a little shuffling it turned out they did have a room for me. I was curious which room I'd be in. I really didn't want to be in the dark, dank room they put me in the previous time. It wound up being on the third floor. This building, like in Europe, didn't count the ground floor as #1, so I was effectively on the fourth floor. Richard and I ran up to the room, I dropped off my stuff, and we were on our way again.

We went back to their apartment. Richard expected Kenny to be home, but he wasn't there. There wasn't even a message on the machine. Richard expected that they were probably having drinks and not much in the mood to stop, this being a Friday night. Richard had the cell phone, so he couldn't call him. We decided to go out and get a bite to eat.

We walked towards the Castro. On my first trip I felt like a naive outsider being led around by the hand. This time I knew where we were and where we were going. I was feeling more a part of San Francisco and less like a tourist. When we got to Market Street Richard asked me what I was in the mood for. I told him I just wanted something simple and quick. He said that simple was fine, but quick might be a problem. We decided on Chow on Church St. We went in and were seated at the counter pretty quickly. As soon as we sat down Richard's phone rang. I could tell pretty quickly it was Kenny. Richard told him we just left the apartment a few minutes ago. It sounded like Kenny wanted to crash, but Richard talked him into coming out.

We sat there and chatted as we waited for our food. Not long after we started eating Kenny walked in. He was pretty buzzed. For some reason he was talking at the top of his lungs. Richard was continually telling him to quiet down. We finished our food pretty quickly and walked next door to the Pilsner Inn.

I got us some drinks and we walked back out to the patio so I could smoke. It was also less crowded out there. We stood by a small crowd of folks that Kenny and Richard knew and chatted a bit. One of the guys noticed my eyebrow. I was drinking faster than the other guys were, so I went to the back bar and got another drink.

While I was back there I talked up the bartender. I was buzzed enough that my characteristic shyness was abated. There was another guy at the bar who obviously knew the bartender, and he and I quickly got into a conversation. His name was Oscar. He was a fairly handsome latino, but his hair was more nappy than I would have expected. Rather than returning to the gang I continued hanging out with Oscar. To keep the conversation going I suggested we play the question game. It was what I did with Monté the first night we met. We just took turns asking each other questions. It could be as simple as, "What's your favorite movie," or as deep as "What is your family life like."

We talked on and on. He said that I was very refreshing because all the people he meets wind up being so unoriginal. I picked up on that in an instant. One quality I know I have in spades is originality. We actually started learning a fair amount about each other. He was absolutely astounded that I'd never taken Ecstasy. He simply couldn't fathom in this day and age that there could be a gay man anywhere in America who hadn't taken Ecstasy.

After a while Richard came back and found me.

"We're leaving," he said.

I perked up a bit. "Where are you going?" I asked. I had visions of the Powerhouse or other new and exciting places.

Richard looked at me. "Home," he said.

"Oh!" I said with a smile. In times past I would have needed them to guide me back to my hotel, but by this time I was entirely comfortable on my own. He said they had stuff to do the next day, but maybe we'd get together for dinner. I said goodbye and he was on his way.

Oscar and I continued talking. In fact we talked late into the night. I missed last call, but the bartender sold me one last drink anyway. When it was gone Oscar invited me back to his place. I asked him what his jealous boyfriend would think about that. I didn't even know if he had a boyfriend, let alone if he'd be jealous. It became a joke with us. We left and walked back to Oscar's place. He had a very nice apartment only a few blocks away.

We poured ourselves a couple of drinks and went into his room. He toweled the door, cracked a window, and we lit up a couple of smokes. I saw his computer and asked if I could bring up my website. I have rather a habit of doing that when I go home with someone all drunk out of my mind. We flashed through some pictures, but quickly turned it off and got in bed.

We rolled around doing this and that for a while. At one point I wound up sucking on his balls. I had his whole sack in my mouth and was sucking away. He sounded like he was enjoying it. Truth be told I was enjoying it quite a bit myself. I don't know what it was about it, but it was a real turn-on for me. I'm way more into cock than I am into balls, but the testicles are truly the source of manhood, and I had his entirely in my mouth. That went on for quite some time.

Eventually we were both exhausted. I forget if he came or not, but I know I didn't. Finally we rolled over and went to sleep.

Saturday, October 23, 1999

We awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. Oscar jumped out of bed and answered it. He quickly got very excited. From what he was saying I could tell that he had landed a part in a play. I seemed to recall him saying that he was an actor. Whatever the part was, he was very pleased to have gotten it.

When he got off the phone he said that he got the part of Spam in the San Francisco premier of "Love, Valor, Compassion." He had originally auditioned for another part, but this was the one he wanted. Low and behold, it wound up being the part he got. He was ecstatic.

Unfortunately he also had to go off to work. He was already late. I couldn't imagine putting in a full days work at this point. I'd only woken up, but I was hung over and exhausted. As I got dressed I wrote down Oscar's number so that we could get together later in the week. I said goodbye and walked out onto the street.

I wasn't sure where I was, but quickly found my way to Market Street. I felt like shit. I walked along on shaky legs as I made my way back to the Pension. Once there I went straight up to my room. I could now check it out in the daytime. There was a decent amount of light coming in through the window, and it was removed back a ways from the street. That reduced the noise somewhat from my other room that was directly over the hustle and bustle of Market Street. Except for the three flights of stairs I had to climb, this was the best room I'd had yet.

I stripped naked and went straight back to bed. After sleeping a couple of hours I got up and took a shower. I went back into my room knowing I had a whole lot of nothing on tap for the entire day. I was delightfully surprised to find that there was cable TV in my room. My past experiences with the Pension were entirely unsatisfactory when it came to television. But this time I was set. I'm not much for TV in general, but I knew I wouldn't be leaving the room much all day, and at least this gave me something to do.

I had told Puck that I would meet him at his health club that day. I really was in no condition for a workout. I would have gone there just for something to do, but I wasn't equipped to do much more than lie in bed. I waited until it was probably too late to call Puck and I picked up the phone. Sure enough he didn't answer. I left a message that I called and that I'd try him back another time. When I hung up the phone I had a feeling that I wouldn't be making another attempt to get together with Puck. I went back to watching TV and napping.

That evening I mustered up enough energy to go out to dinner with Kenny and Richard. They picked me up at the hotel and we drove a couple blocks up Market Street. We wound up in a little restaurant called "Blue." We had a quick dinner and walked across the street to the Metro.

We had a couple drinks, but none of us was really in the mood to socialize. Kenny in particular was completely out of it. It didn't take long before we decided to bag it. We went back to their place so I could show them the copy of VoyEx. After we settled in and I assured them that there would be no extreme male genital torture, and I got the tape playing. They were very attentive during the eight and a half minutes it plays. As soon as it was over Kenny turned to me and said, "I think it's the best work you've done yet." That was very nice to hear. I wasn't sure I agreed with him, but it was still very nice to hear.

By this time we were all very tired. We made plans to go to Santa Cruz the next day. I walked quickly back to my hotel were I watched a little more TV and went to bed.

Sunday, October 24, 1999

I woke up at what would be about normal for San Francisco time. I seem to adjust to the time difference pretty quickly when I go to the West Coast. It's coming back home that's the problem.

I took a shower and waited for Kenny and Richard to call. When they did call they said they were on their way. After a few minutes I went down to the street and waited for them to pick me up.

They came by and I sacked out in the back seat as we headed out of town. Once out of the city they put on a CD. It was Boy George's latest solo effort. They were all excited about it, but I was like, "Oh please..." The first track was "G.I. Josephine." It turned out to be a really good song. I mean, I really liked it. It had a good beat, but a standard 4:4 rock & roll beat rather than one of those 200 beats-per-minute dance songs that make me want to jump out of a moving car. Beyond that the lyrics were topical and witty. I figured that maybe I'd misjudged this fem queer.

Unfortunately the rest of the disk didn't entirely measure up to this first song. It was a long drive down to Santa Cruz. Despite having an entire day to recover, I was still feeling very sketchy from my first drunken binge in town. I lay back and closed my eyes as we racked up the miles.

Finally we pulled into town. Listening to them discuss where to go I got the impression that they'd never been there before. I had assumed that this was someplace they went from time to time, but it seemed that this was a first for them too. We found our way down to the strip along the shore and parked in a nearby lot. It was a bright sunny day, but I decided to bring my leather jacket along with me.

I had no idea what to expect and didn't know what kind of a town Santa Cruz was. All these Northern California towns sound the same to me. I figured it was some Silicon Valley burb like Pleasanton or something. It turned out to be more like a West Coast version of Atlantic City meets Woodstock. There was an amusement park and boardwalk along the shore. My Citroën ID19 had a number of Santa Cruz parking permit stickers in the back window. I didn't think much of that beyond the fact that it validated that it was truly a California car, but it all made a lot more sense now. This was a community of off-beat artist types.

As we walked around Kenny confirmed my suspicion that they had never been there before. It made me feel good to know that my presence had inspired them to do something totally new. We strolled up the strip and wound up walking out the wharf that extended into the sea. We stopped here and there to read the didactic placards that told of the history of the town and the wharf. Once out on the end of the pier we looked down to see the sea lions that were lying lazily on the beams below. I was glad that I had my jacket with me, as there was a constant cool breeze.

After a while we walked back to the mainland. We had a great view of the amusement park that ran along the shore. Once back on land we headed in that direction. We somehow managed to be there on the very day when some cheerleading competition was going on. There were High School girls all over the place in their ridiculous skirts and sweaters, bearing the letters and logos of their respective schools.

As we got deeper into the amusement park Richard suggested that we go on the roller coaster that was there. It was an old-fashioned wooden rig. I said I was game. Kenny was resistant to the idea. Richard tried to convince him, but Kenny just wan't into it. Richard asked me if I was interested. I said I was going to go on it if I went alone. I hadn't been on a roller coater in a long time, and I really love them. Richard and I decided that we'd go together, and Kenny would hold my coat.

We got our tickets and waited in line. Fortunately it was a short wait. We climbed aboard and away we went. It wound up being a pretty good ride. It was an "out and back" style coaster, with an odd spiral descent back towards the starting point. I was very pleased. It, like every coaster I've ever been on, was a bit short, but that's the way these things go.

We met back up with Kenny. He was watching the cheer leader competition, and seemed entirely content to have waited for us on the ground. Richard and I both raved about the ride. We walked around a bit more. I got myself a corn dog. That appears to be my "Welcome to California" thing. On both this trip and my first I've gotten a corn dog at some point during our Sunday outing, and I've never had a corn dog elsewhere. It was good, but lay heavy in my still hungover belly.

We found ourselves in the vicinity of the more modern, metal roller coaster that was also in the park. Richard asked me if I'd like to go on that one too. I said, "Lead the way." We got more tickets, and got in line. Again it was a short wait. We got on board and secured ourselves in. Some fat old guy with a petit young Asian woman were in the car behind us. From the first jolt when the train left the loading dock, the Asian girl let out a scream. This didn't bode well for me and my enjoyment of the ride. Feminine frailty is a fact of life I've come to accept, but I'll never understand why they can't keep their mouths shut. The coaster made its slow ascent to the top of the first drop, and from the moment we began our initial plummet all the way to the end of the ride this young woman was screaming non-stop.

The ride came to an end and we go off. We met up with Kenny right away, and I quickly complained about the Asian girl behind us. I looked back over my shoulder, and saw the old guy holding her around her shoulders. She actually looked quite distressed. Roller coaters aren't for everyone, and she appeared to be one who should stay off them. As we walked on Richard and I both agreed that the older wooden clickety-clack coasters make for a better overall experience than the smoother modern ones, irrespective of the drops and/or g-forces. They just have an aura of greater danger.

We went inside the gaming arcade for a while. Kenny and Richard did this one thing that looked pretty cool but cost five bucks. They were secured into a small, two-seated chamber with a view screen. That little chamber was then spun around in 365 degrees while images of a roller coaster were played to them on the screen inside the chamber. It looked like a lot of fun, but it was expensive and I was still mildly on the hungover side.

I went walking around looking for some of my favorite childhood video games. They has some of the classics, but nothing I was particularly interested in. The only game I've ever been able to consistently trash the high score was an early 80's game called "Star Castles" that never became particularly popular. If it was in this arcade I missed it.

It didn't take long before we decided to go do something else. Kenny really wanted to smoke some weed, but there was none around. A couple cops walked by. Kenny joked that he was going to go up and ask them where the drug dealers usually hang out. Richard and I laughed, but then Kenny went up to the cops! Richard and I distanced ourselves a little bit, not entirely putting *anything* past Kenny. He came back over in a few minutes. It turned out that he was asking the cops how to get to the downtown area. The cops had given him directions and we set out walking.

We walked past a number of big old resort-type houses, and eventually came upon the downtown strip. We decided to pop into a bar for a quick beer. The Buffalo Bills were on TV. I'm not much of a football fan, but I always like to watch the Bills and was bummed that I'd miss the game. I quick look revealed that the game was almost over anyway, and the Bills were getting their asses kicked. So much for that.

We got a couple of pints and went out back to the patio area. We sat down in a booth and started sipping our pints. I had my back to the building, and Kenny & Richard were facing me. There were some colorful local characters there. They all struck me as the barfly type. I wasn't sure exactly what type of place this was, but one of the female barflies said something to someone else about, "You missed a good fight our here last night." Most of the male patrons had excessively long facial hair, very dirty clothes, and large leather wallets with chains strung to their belts. By this time I had grown to be fairly comfortable in pretty much any part of San Francisco, but this was Santa Cruz. We were in a local bar, away from the tourist sector, surrounded by locals, and I suddenly felt a million miles from home and very uncomfortable. I'm not sure why because the atmosphere wasn't the least bit threatening. I just suddenly felt like a fish out of water, and I was starting to gasp for air.

I was beginning to consider going back inside to watch the Bills game. Just as I was about to make a move, some local barfly guy came up to us and started talking. He noticed Kenny & Richard's military-style hair cuts and asked if we were veterans. The guy didn't seem dangerous or anything, but he talked either like he was drunk or had the early signs of Parkinson's disease. I figured the odds were it was the former. He was totally bugging me out, but Kenny seemed almost enthusiastic about talking to him. Richard looked a little weirded out by the situation, but was joining in the conversation nonetheless. I was feeling uncomfortable to begin with, but this was sending me over the edge. The problem was that the guy was standing in such a way as to block me in. I would have had to squeeze past him, and it would probably have looked like I was trying to get away from him (which wasn't far from the truth). I decided the better thing to do was just sit there and gulp my pint as I waited for him to go away.

Finally the guy did move along. Kenny said to Richard and me, "It was all good." Kenny thought that the guy was as weird as Richard and I did, but he wasn't put off by that kind of thing. He knew the guy was harmless, and he figured it was better for everyone all around to have a little social interaction. I admired Kenny for that kind of open attitude, but at the time I could have done without it all. Before long we'd drank down our beers and were back on our way.

The first thing we encountered was a group of black youths who hit us up for a handout. It appeared that Santa Cruz wasn't all that different from San Francisco in that respect. Kenny walked over to the ring leader and asked if there was any place on the strip where we could score some weed. The guy, probably not expecting that kind of response, was actually very contentious and tried to be as helpful as he would be. He told us to look for some skinny white boy with his pregnant girlfriend with him, and gave us a couple of spots he was most likely to be. Kenny thanked him and we continued walking along.

Looking at Kenny's haircut (left) you can see why the scuzzy guy thought he was military

As we progressed down the strip it transformed more from a dirty, run-down area to a more trendy, college-town type of environment. I relaxed a little bit and enjoyed the street performers and colorful people. Once we got down to a certain point we crossed the street and started back again. If I was a little less tired I would have suggested that we stop again for another drink. But as it was we just kept walking. As we got to the part where the area was transforming back into dirty and run-down, we found the place where the black panhandler told us to look for the drug dealer. Kenny went in by himself. Just a minute or so later he came back out saying that no one meeting the description was there. He noted now that he saw some kids back in the trendy section that were probably them. We all decided that it wasn't worth going back for. We continued on our way back to the car.

As we pulled out of town we decided to go the whole way back on Route 1 along the shore. It was indeed a scenic drive, but I spent a lot of the time sitting back with my eyes closed.

Monday, October 25, 1999

I got up that morning and decided it was time to give Biron a call. We talked for a bit and decided to get together later that day. I hopped a bus to the Haight Ashbury and had breakfast in my favorite spot. When I was done I was going to run off and do something fun, but I just wasn't in the mood. I wound up taking a bus right back to my room where I waited until it was time to go see Biron.

At the appointed time I walked up to Biron's place and he buzzed me in. We sat around catching up for a while. Things hadn't changed much for him. After chatting for a while we decided to go out and do something, but we weren't sure what to do. We wound up walking to the library so he could show me where the public internet terminals were. I generally wanted to check my mail, but I was especially hoping to hear back from the lady from the computer history museum. There was a long line to get on a computer, though, so I decided to come back another time. We started heading back towards Biron's place, but I decided I was going to continue on back to my hotel room. He invited me over to his place for dinner the following night.

I went back to my room and took a nap. When I woke up I called Oscar. He said he was really out of it and I should call back at 8:00 that evening. With nothing better to do I walked to the Castro. I wandered around a bit, but my real mission was simply to get tickets to the Hell Ball the following weekend. It was outrageously expensive. One ticket was more than $50! I went back towards my hotel. I got a sandwich, drank some beer, and watched TV.

I called Oscar at 8:00. We decided to meet at the Pilsner Inn. I took off for the long walk back to the Castro. I went right to where I thought the Pilsner was, and it wasn't there. I had been in this place a few times now, but apparently I'd only ever gone when someone else was leading the way. I walked around a bit looking up other side streets, but it was just nowhere to be found. I finally asked someone. It turned out to be on the same street the SafeWay was on, which was only about half the distance from my hotel to the Castro. I quickly found it and went in.

Oscar was not there, which was odd considering I was really late now. I got a drink and waited. Before long Oscar came in. He got a drink and we went back out to the table where we first met. I wasn't feeling too bad at this point, but Oscar was very obviously exhausted. He did, however, have weed. We smoked a couple of bowls and we both felt a lot better. We talked for a little while, but Oscar was just simply too tired to make it worthwhile. He had the following evening off, and the whole next day. We decided I'd give him a call the following evening and we'd figure out then what we wanted to do.

We went our separate ways. I strolled back to my room and passed out.

Tuesday, October 26, 1999

I got up at a rather leisurely hour. I took a shower and went back to my room where I jerked off for about an hour. Uncharacteristically for me, I was able to hold off from coming. I decided to save my sexual energy and walk around all horny for the day.

I went out to hop a train to the Haight Ashbury for breakfast. I debated over whether I should light a cigarette or just stand there and wait for the bus. Big surprise, I lit a cigarette. No sooner had I taken my first drag when the bus came around the corner. I figured I was in no rush so I'd just have my smoke and catch the next bus that came along. I finished the cigarette and waited. And waited. Finally another bus came by. Where the previous one was practically empty, this one was totally full. I got on board and bumped up against all the other scuzzy passengers as we bounced and jostled our way to the Haight.

I grabbed breakfast at my usual spot. Once again I was going to run off and do something fun, but I just didn't have the motivation. I wandered around the Haight for a while, but I quickly got on a bus and went back to my hotel. I didn't do much that day until that afternoon when I decided I was going to go to the gym. I had scoped one out right on Market street a couple blocks down from the Castro. I got some stuff together and put it in my shoulder bag. I was certain that I'd brought a padlock with me, but I couldn't find it anywhere. Finally I gave up and went out the door.

All this time I'd been walking back and forth to the Castro, and it was starting to wear a little thin. I'd seen the trolley cars going up and down Market Street, and I finally decided to brave it and try to take one up to the Castro. This is where my inexperience with large cities and public transportation really reveals itself. I'd always seen these trolley cars going up and down Market, yet there was something in my brain that was keeping me from just hopping on and riding one. I guess I feared that I might get on the wrong one that would take me off in some unknown direction to a bad part of town. I must have been feeling a little brave that day, because I stood outside my hotel until one came along, and I just walked right on board. Big surprise, it was pretty much just like the bus. It cost the same. I got a transfer pass. And except for the fact it was on tracks instead of tires (and it was a little nicer inside), it was just like the bus. I took it straight to the Castro. All these times I'd walked back and forth like a dummy when I could have easily been riding the trolley.

I got to the gym and walked in. I had a brief conversation with the guy behind the counter establishing that I could get a day pass and how much it cost. I told him I didn't have a lock, and he said I could leave my bag behind the counter. I paid the money, signed the release form, and and went into the locker room. I got a semi as I was changing into my gym clothes. When I work out on the Cornell campus, I wonder who else in the locker room is gay. This time I wondered who, if anyone, was straight. It puts a whole new spin on things when you know people are looking, and that you can look at other people, and that it's all okay. But Kenny and Richard had warned me earlier in the week that gyms are not sex clubs, and that you can get thrown out if you get too cruisy.

Once back outside I handed my bag to the guy behind the counter and started working out. I'd had a new lifting partner back home for a while, and the guy really pushed me. I was now lifting a very respectable amount of weight. I went up to the flat benches, put a couple of the big 45 pound plates on a bar, and started pumping. I looked around at the other people between sets. There were the typical gym queens. There were some queens on the aerobic machines wearing spandex shorts that barely covered their butt cheeks. There were overweight guys who were lifting weights but should have been on the aerobic machines. There were older guys who were in great shape. There were older guys who were in pretty bad shape and were probably only there to look at the younger guys. At any rate, I didn't see the kind of bodies I was expecting to see in a San Francisco gym.

I was going through a decent routine, but I was feeling kind of light-headed and dizzy. It probably wasn't any worse than what I usually experience, but I was haunted by the line on the release form that said to stop working out if you get dizzy or light-headed. I could handle fainting in my familiar gym back home, but I didn't want to make a spectacle out of myself here. I continued working out but in a fairly light capacity.

After that had gone on long enough I got my bag from behind the counter and headed into the locker room. I was getting a chubby as soon as I started taking my clothes off. I didn't really care, because I figured it happened from time to time in this place, but I couldn't stop thinking of the warning Kenny gave me about cruising in gyms.

I walked into the shower area. There was a hot tub with some fags in it. Beside that was a very open but relatively small shower area. there were maybe 4 shower heads. I'm really spoiled by the collegiate environment in which I usually work out. There are rows and rows and rows of showers, and no one ever has to wait.

There were available shower heads at this time, so I dropped my towel and headed in. Normally I would have liked a wide open shower area like this, but at the time I was practically half hard, and I was trying to keep it under control. People were looking at me, which made it even worse. I just closed my eyes and shampooed my hair. Soon my dick went back down. It was still pretty fat, but it was hanging between my legs instead of sticking out from my body.

When I opened my eyes I saw a new person in the shower area. He was a really tall brawny guy with a total horse dick. I mean this guy was really tall. He had to be at least 6'4", probably more like 6'5" inches or even 6'6". He wasn't one of those tall, skinny, rail types. He had a very full build. It wasn't the greatest physique, honestly. He had lots of bulk but not a lot of definition, and his proportions and shapeliness weren't the best. He wasn't ugly, but his face was not what I would call handsome.

But he did have a monster of a dick. A lot of the time these big bruisers have comparatively small dicks. Even an average-sized dick on a normal body would look small on these behemoths, but they still somehow often manage to have dicks that would be small even on a normal body. This guy was a total exception. If you kept his same proportions but reduced him to my height, he still would still have had a bigger dick than I did. So considering the grand scale in which this guy existed, the raw dimensions of his tool must have been astronomical.

The guy was totally looking at me. I mean, he wasn't just casually checking me out. He had that look of determination on his face like, "I want you." I tried not to pay him too much attention as I lathered up my body. Of course the sensation of my hands sliding all over my naked body, coupled with the fact that I KNEW this ape was checking me out, sent my dick right back up again. It was essentially "hard," but I didn't ever flex my pubic muscle to really stiffen it up.

I glanced back at the guy. He was now hard too. His big old cock was totally inflated and pointing right up at me. Like his body his dick wasn't the best I'd ever seen. It bent to one side, and the shape of the glans wasn't particularly appealing. But there it was, big a life.

There had been someone in the shower between me and this guy. The person left, and the guy moved over right next to me. I would have loved to grab that big prick with both hands and pump away. But I was still remembering the warning that Kenny gave me. I figured that no one in there at the time would have cared, but if an employee had walked in just then it could have been a problem. I turned my back to the guy and kept on soaping myself. At one point I felt something on my back. The guy had stepped over and touched his dick to me. He was so tall, his dick was so long, and it was pointing upwards enough that the knob hit me just below my shoulder blades. I had always dreamed of being with a guy that was so big you literally had to climb up on top of him when he was lying in bed. While this guy wasn't my dream man, I was still definitely considering having a go at him. Alas, this wasn't the time or the place. Well... the time was fine. But the place was all wrong for me.

After I rinsed myself off I dried off and headed back into the locker room. I kept an eye out for the guy but I didn't see him. He must have lingered in the shower area. I got dressed and headed out.

It was now approaching time for my dinner with Biron. I hopped back on a trolley car headed downtown. I decided to stop off at the SafeWay to grab a bottle of wine. It still amazed me that you could buy liquor in grocery stores in California. It actually took me a little longer than I expected to pick out a bottle and make my way through the checkout line. I came out and got back on a trolley car. I was really starting to love them. I had intended to stop off at my hotel room and drop off my shoulder bag, but I didn't want to get off and on a trolley again, and I was using it to carry the wine anyway. I went directly to Biron's.

He buzzed me in and I found that he was preparing spaghetti. He apologized for the lack of elegance. I reminded him who he was dealing with. We opened the wine and had a glass while dinner cooked. In a few minutes he brought out a couple of plates and we ate unceremoniously on his coffee table. He kept apologizing for everything, but truth be told I was very comfortable and was enjoying the meal very much. We drank more wine as we ate. By the time I was done I had totally cleared my plate. That's one thing I like about spaghetti. There are no bones or gristle or vegetable stumps left over when you're done. I even mopped up the remaining sauce with my garlic bread.

Biron took the plates away and we had more wine. I lit a bowl and caught a nice buzz. We continued chatting. I was really enjoying myself. I'm very fond of Biron, and I enjoy visiting with him, but heB can sometimes be a bit of a downer in conversation. He complains a fair amount, and he's always rallying against whatever is going on in the news. When I came over the day before, for example, the conversation wasn't exactly upbeat. But on this evening I was having a grand time. We were talking about the web, and photography, and naked boys, and it was all just very comfortable and pleasant.

All along I knew I had told Oscar that I'd call him that evening. It got to the time when I really couldn't put it off anymore and I rang him up. I told him I was sorry, but I was having dinner with a friend and I was feeling more like staying than heading out for another night in a bar. He was a bit taken aback. He started trying to talk me into going out. I knew he wasn't doing anything the next day. I told him we could spend the whole day together.

"Well," he said. "You can spend the day with me tomorrow, or you can spend the NIGHT with me tonight."

I'm usually very good about holding my ground when someone is trying to talk me into something, but Oscar hit upon my one weakness. The thought of sex was enough to get me to change my mind. He told me to come by his place. He had to remind me where it was, since I wasn't paying much attention the other night when I was there.

I apologized to Biron for taking off on him, but sex is sex. He understood. I grabbed my shoulder bag and went downstairs to catch a trolley. I wasn't too keen on taking it to just the right street and then walking around to find Oscar's place. Just then a taxi pulled up. "Fuck it," I said to myself. I got in and gave the guy Oscar's address. In a few minutes he dropped me off right at Oscar's door step.

Oscar let me in and we went back into his bedroom. He was playing a tape of "Love, Valor, Compassion." I tried to engage him in conversation. He told me about the friend we were meeting that night. He was such a good friend of Oscar's that he considered him his brother. But Oscar was quickly distracted by the video. He was rehearsing his lines for the play, and whenever anything was taken verbatim from the play, Oscar would recite the lines along with his character. I made some wry comment about how I'd sit around quietly until he was done. He apologized for being such a drama queen, but kept right on studying the video.

Finally his friend called. We decided to rendez-vous at the Pilsner. We got our stuff and headed out. When we got there I found a place to stash my shoulder bag. I kept reminding myself to keep an eye on it and not forget about it. It had all my important stuff inside. We met Oscar's friend and ordered drinks. Having a good buzz on already I now proceeded to get quite drunk.

Time went on as we chatted, played pool, and pounded drinks. We'd walk back and forth from the patio out back to the bar proper. When I was alone with Oscar's friend I tried to make conversation.

"So, you and Oscar go back a long way, huh?"

"No," he answered. "i've only known him a year or two."

"Hmm," I said. "He told me you two were like brothers."

The guy smiled and looked down, but didn't really say anything.

As the night progressed I was keeping an eye on my bag. The place was not at all crowded, so I wasn't too worried about anyone swiping it. I just wanted to keep reminding myself that it was there. At some point another fellow joined our group. He wasn't too bad looking, he was of average height, and had a nice build.

It eventually got to the time we were approaching last call. We decided to go get some more drinks at the store and return to Oscar's house. The new guy was coming along. He was going to get his jeep and drive himself and Oscar's friend to Oscar's place. Oscar and I were to hit the SafeWay for more booze and meet them back there.

We got to the store and wandered around. In my drunken and precocious state I was picking up weird stuff like 40oz malt liquor. Oscar gave me such a look when we met back up at the checkout. We paid for our stuff and headed out. Oscar went on about something as we were crossing Market St. I said, "Wow, you really ARE a drama queen."

All of a sudden he took offense. "You know, I'm starting to get really tired of people calling me that."

I didn't get it, because he'd called himself a drama queen just a few hours earlier. I didn't pay it any mind as we continued to walk along. When we got back to Oscar's we were surprised to find that the other guys hadn't beaten us back. We went in and poured ourselves some drinks. Before long the others showed up. We wound up in a nice little courtyard behind the house. We hung out for a little while. Oscar was now in a state where he was upset about everything. His friend was trying to talk to him. I wound up hanging out with the new guy. It didn't take long before we decided to go back to his place. I barely even remember leaving.

Soon we were in his jeep and driving back to his place, wherever that was. We got there pretty quickly, and when I went in I found the largest apartment I'd yet seen in San Francisco. It had large rooms with broad hardwood floors. He had a dog or two, whom he had to feed immediately upon entering. We went into his bedroom and started getting it on. I don't know how long it lasted before I finally fell asleep

Wednesday, October 27, 1999

I don't know what time it was when I woke up the next morning. My first thought was that here I was again waking up hung over in a stranger's bed. But my second thought was that I was still horny. I reached over and the new guy had morning wood. I stroked him and he got all hard and we fooled around a little more. Then I just sort of stopped.

We got up and he took me home right away. I felt horrible, but driving through San Francisco in an open-topped jeep wasn't all that bad. It was a bit gray and hazy out, but it was moderately warm. I looked up at the new guy in the light of day with relatively sober eyes. He wasn't all that bad. I probably would have hooked up with him even if I wasn't blacked-out drunk.

At one point he said, "I hope you find your bag."

I didn't know what he was talking about. Whenever I hear the word "bag" I immediately think of pot. But I didn't have a bag of pot with me the night before.

"It's gotta be at Oscar's place," he went on. "I remember you saying you had it with you when you got there."

Then it started coming back to me. I didn't have the shoulder bag with all my stuff in it. I started to remember leaving Oscar's and rummaging around for my bag. Apparently I didn't find it. I didn't let it worry me at the time. I didn't have the energy. I figured I'd worry about it later.

Quickly we were back at my place. I took a shower and washed the previous night off my body. I went back in the room. Naked and cleansed and still horny (I must not have come the night before), I started playing with myself. I jerked off until I came. I then crawled naked into bed and fell fast asleep.

I awoke still feeling pretty awful. I wasn't in the mood to eat anything. I started thinking about the lost shoulder bag. I thought about what was in there that was irreplaceable. The first thought was the plane tickets. I had gotten electronic tickets, so the loss of the paper copy wasn't catastrophic. But the itinerary was in the bag. I didn't know exactly what time my flight left. I had other odds and ends in the bag, but the only other critical thing was my car keys. My car didn't even need keys to operate, but I had locked the doors in the long-term parking lot. I knew I had a spare set at home. I could always cal my house sitter and have him meet me at the airport with the keys. But I wasn't even sure where they were. I knew I could find them, but I didn't know if I could direct my house sitter to where they were. With the mechanical menagerie that is my property, there are old keys everywhere. It wouldn't even be enough to look for the Renault keys.

Ugh. It was a mess. But it could have been worse. Other than the plane tickets and the keys, nothing else was in the bag that made too much of an impact on my situation. But it was something that I just didn't need. If I had stayed at Biron's I would have gotten to bed at a decent hour and been far less hung over. I didn't even wind up hooking up with Oscar again, as he led me to believe we would.

Speaking of Oscar, I figured I could call him and see if the bag was there. The new guy said I thought I'd left it there. I tried my damnedest to remember if I had it with me in the SafeWay or not. I could clearly remember walking with Oscar, and him getting pissed off that I called him a drama queen. I wanted to remember that bag slung over my shoulder, but I couldn't be sure.

I rang him up and by the grace of God he was home. He said he hadn't seen it around. I asked him to please look again, because I had reason to believe it was there. He said he'd look around and call me back.

After what seemed like an eternity the phone rang. It was Oscar, but he said he'd looked high and low, and there was no sign of it anywhere. I had to accept his answer. After I hung up I thought about it. I was certain that it had to be there. Was he lying to me? Was he too lazy to actually look for it? Did he want to keep it for himself? None of those scenarios made any sense. I tried not to think of it.

I lay in bed and tried to while away the hours before it was time to go to sleep again. I had a lot of time to kill. I had nothing much to do but watch TV. It was horrible. It was largely a reprise of the previous Saturday when I lay around all day. This was even worse. Beyond the part about the missing bag, I was more tired and hung-over than I had been before.

As the hours ticked away I thought about dragging myself out of bed and walking around the corner to get some food. I wasn't sure I could even make it down the stairs. Then I thought about Andrew. This was the night that his drawing group met. I was supposed to show up with him and model all evening. It was something I had been looking forward to on this trip, but it was out of the question. I was afraid that my hands would shake too bad to pay for the food I wasn't even sure if I was going to be able to go and get. Going all the way downtown and standing motionless for 15 minutes at a time was just simply impossible.

I knew I should call Andrew and let him know I wasn't coming, but I just couldn't muster up the will. I knew he was going to be disappointed, and with all the shit I was going through I really didn't want to get into it. It was the wrong thing to do, but I finally decided to just blow it off. As I made this decision the irony was not lost on me that everyone I wanted to contact this trip had ignored me, and I was ignoring everyone who wanted to contact me.

At some point I did make it out to get some food. I got back and tried to choke it down as I watched more TV. I was still thinking about Oscar and how the bag just had to be at his place. I finally called him back. I asked if he had thoroughly checked the courtyard out back. He said he had. I begged him to check one more time. He set the phone down and away he went. He came back some minutes later and said that it just wasn't there. I thanked him for trying again. He asked if I had called the Pilsner. I said I had not. He suggested that maybe it would be a good idea. As he said goodbye to me there was a tone in his voice that sounded like he didn't particularly want to hear from me again.

I decided it couldn't hurt to call the Pilsner. It wasn't terribly late in the evening yet, and if the previous night's crowd was any indication then it shouldn't have been too busy. I looked up the number and called. The bar tender answered and I asked him about the bag. He said he didn't have time to look for it now, and I should call back in the morning.

I watched more TV until I was tired enough to fall asleep. I expected to lie awake for a long time, having napped and laid in bed all day. But surprisingly I fell asleep rather promptly.

If only I could have stayed asleep. All night long I had anxiety dreams about the missing bag and my attempts to make my way home. I woke up many times during the night and fretted about my situation.

Thursday, October 28, 1999

I woke up the next day feeling much better. I was still in a state, but the real pain of the hangover was behind me. It was also a bright, sunny, beautiful day. I got some food first thing and went back to the room.

I did still have one ace in the hole. I'd gotten my tickets through AAA in Ithaca. There had to be a number of AAA outlets in San Francisco. I looked them up in the directory. The central office was just around the corner from Biron's place.

As a walked along I considered what my course of action should be. First and foremost I wanted a printout of my itinerary so I'd know exactly when my return flight was. But I considered going beyond that. This vacation had NOT turned out like I planned. Except for the Hell Ball on Saturday night, I had virtually no reason to stay in town. And I was so miserable that the thought of getting back to my safe and cozy little home in the country was very appealing. I figured I'd inquire about changing my flight and decide on the spot.

I found the AAA office very easily and walked right in. I found the travel office quickly. There were a couple black women talking at the front desk. I explained my situation to the lady behind the desk, that I'd lost my tickets and was thinking about changing my flight to go back earlier. When it was revealed that I had electronic tickets, her exact words were, "Oh, then you haven't lost anything." That made me feel a lot better right there. The lady on my side of the desk said she could help me. She walked me back to her cubicle and started typing on her computer.

She had access to the system, but had to find my information among the millions of records within. She started asking me specifics about the flight. She was giving me the approximate times of my flight from Ithaca, through Pittsburgh, and on to San Francisco. "That sounds about right," I said. She then proceeded to hack away endlessly at her computer. She was having great trouble finding it. To make matters worse, my data had been entered in the New York State system, and she had to access it remotely. She would try alternate search methods, and then have trouble getting into and executing those methods. Several minutes went by.

Then, listening to her talk to herself, something dawned on me. She had given me the times of my flight out to San Francisco, but it appeared as if she was trying to locate my flight back.

"You asked me about my flight out," I said. "Are you looking for my flight back? That's not going to be from Ithaca to San Francisco. I'm already here. I'm not trying to come back here now. I need to at least get back first."

"Oh, yeah," she said. "That would make sense. I wondered what you were up to."

She continued hacking away, but this time she was finally able to find my flight. She pulled up my itinerary and made me a copy. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Finally I started to feel like things weren't that bad after all.

"Now you wanted to change that flight, right? Let's see about that."

I started to reconsider that option. I felt about a million times better than I did when I walked in. I could show up at the airport with nothing but ID and expect a non-eventful flight home. If I went monkeying with my reservations not only would I have to pay a fee, but there was the possibility of complications. I really wanted to call this off, but she was going great guns. She even got the US Air people on the phone to find out flight time and availabilities. I was a bit shy about stopping her. Although she had taken forever to do so, she had gone to great lengths to help me out. I didn't want to seem ungrateful. Finally she got disconnected from the person at US Air.

Before she could dial back, I said, "Let's not be too hasty. I'm starting to think about just sticking with my original flight."

She looked at me utterly perplexed. "Why?" she asked.

I explained that I had arrived in a discouraged panic, and now that things were working out that going home early doesn't seem as imperative as it did earlier. She smiled.

"No problem," she said.

I got up and headed out with my itinerary firmly in my pocket. I walked back to my hotel in the bright sunshine. At least I knew I could get home okay. The car was another matter. I'd figure that out in the time I had left. Worst case scenario was smashing the window to get in.

When I got back to my hotel room it dawned on me that I never did check back with the Pilsner Inn. I picked up the phone and called. I explained my predicament and he gave me to the owner. Some old guy got on the phone and I repeated my predicament.

"Oh, yeah!" he said. "It's right here. We've been wondering if someone was going to come and get it or not."

Alleluia.

The guy made some lame, dry joke about having sold my airline tickets. Having spent the morning making that point moot I could at least politely laugh at his attempt at humor. I said I'd be down right away.

I ran downstairs and hopped on a trolley. At least this time I knew very well where the Pilsner was located. I went in and the bar tender directed me to the owner. He was a nice fellow who was genuinely concerned when he found the bag and discovered my airline tickets inside. He was almost as relieved to see it get back to me as I was to have it back myself. I contemplated having a quick drink while I was there, but even more quickly thought better of it. I walked out and continued to the Castro.

I walked around for a little while in the beautiful day. I went in a pizza joint and had a couple slices. When I walked back out I figured it was about time to give Peter Berlin a call. I went to the pay phone and dialed his number. I got his machine. No big surprise there. I left a message and continued on.

I didn't really have anywhere to go, but I wasn't too keen on hanging out in the Castro anyway. I'm not much for shopping, and I wasn't going to go into a bar. Instead I got on a trolley and decided to just ride it downtown. I kept riding along as the buildings got taller and taller. When it finally turned off Market to loop around and head back up again, I got off at the next stop.

Here I was in Downtown San Francisco. This was essentially my first time there. The buildings were very tall and impressive. I felt like I was in mid-town Manhattan. It was lunch time, and all the office workers were milling about getting food. I walked around a bit, but didn't really know where to go. I eventually wound up by the shore walking towards the embarcadero.

It wound up being a pretty hefty walk. After at least a mile I was coming upon the wharfs and stuff. There was one that was open to the public. I walked down, turned around, and snapped off a picture.

I continued on to Fisherman's Wharf. I sat down in a bench and cooled off a bit. It appeared that there would be no bizarre coincidental meeting like the last time. Too restless to sit still, I got up and milled around a bit. I got some postcards to send home. Every time I travel I tell myself that I'll finally send postcards this time, but I never got around to it. I was resolved that this time I would finally succeed.

I continued walking up and around until I got to Van Ness. I hopped on a bus and took it all the way back to Market. I went back to my room and tried Peter again. I got his machine again. I decided to crawl in bed and take a nap.

I woke up feeling fairly good. I called Peter again but still no answer. I decided it was time for another trip to the gym. By this time I had found the padlock that I was certain I had brought with me. I got my stuff together and hopped on a trolley.

For some reason this time I had trouble finding the place. I must have walked right by it two or three times before I finally saw it. I went in, paid my daily fee, and got dressed.

I went directly to the flat bench. As I got stuff ready I looked around. Once again the crowd was rather disappointing. There was one guy, however, who caught my eye. He was about my size with a handsome face and what looked to be a very nice build. We made eye contact once or twice, but he totally didn't seem interested. I paid him no mind and concentrated on my workout.

After three sets with relatively heavy weights, I was done with the flat bench. I looked around to see the attractive young man, but he was not to be found. I decided to do some dumbbell flies. I had to go all the way back downstairs to where the dumbbell were. Who was there but the attractive guy. I continued to pay him no mind as I went about my flies.

When I was done the attractive guy was gone again. Now it was time to go back upstairs and use the pull-over machine. Who was hanging out in the machine area but the attractive guy! I figured he must have thought that I was following him around, but I had decided upon my routine before I even went in the building. I did some pull-overs, again ignoring the nice young man.

Once again when I was done the cute guy was gone. I was feeling a bit light headed and dizzy again. I figured I'd do some abs and then get going. I went down to the ab room and there was the cute guy doing crunches. Not only was I rather self-conscious about following him in there, the room was full anyway. I went to the alternate ab workout spot, which was right in the front window by the street. Alas, that was full too. I went back upstairs to a chin-up bar and did some knee rises.

When I got back downstairs the cute guy was gone from the ab room and there was finally space on the floor. I did an ab workout, but really took my time. The next place I was headed was the showers, and the way things were going I could count on the cute guy being there. As much as I wanted to see him naked, it couldn't have looked more like I was following him around. While this was entirely not the case, I was still self-conscious about it.

After taking my sweet time about my ab workout, spending much of it just lying on my back on the floor, I finally got up and went into the locker room. I stripped and went into the shower area. The cute guy was not there. I was feeling a little plump, but not as erect as I was the previous day. I took a long and relaxing shower. There was a guy in the hot tub who was looking at me. In fact almost everyone was looking at me, but this particular guy looked kind of cute. I decided to make prolonged eye contact with him. I got a little hard as I washed myself, but not totally stiff.

After I'd hogged a shower long enough I toweled off and went back to the locker room. It wasn't long after that that the guy from the hot tub came in and started getting dressed. I tried to time it so that we'd both be leaving at the same time. I was just a bit ahead of him. I went to the desk, checked out, and hit the street. I took a few steps uptown and decided to linger to see the hot tub guy walk out. I wanted to light a cigarette, but didn't want to turn him off by smoking if he was a health type of guy.

After a minute or two the guy came out. He automatically turned downtown. He took a step, stopped as if he was looking for me and didn't see me, and then he turned around. There I was smiling. I expected a look of recognition, like "There you are." Instead he had an uneasy look, like "Busted..." We chatted briefly. I asked him if he wanted to go somewhere and have a drink. He said this was his only day off and he didn't want to get involved in anything big. "All I said was let's have a drink," I said. He still didn't want to. I didn't push. He headed towards the Castro and I went back to my room.

I got a couple slices, brought them up to my room, and ate as I watched TV. I tried Peter again but still no answer. A little later the phone rang. It was Kenny. We had talked about getting together on Thursday night like we'd done on my previous visit. He and Richard were both still at work, though, and they were just going to go home and go to bed. He asked me how my week was going. I said I hadn't done much except get drunk and have sex. He said there are worse ways to spend a vacation. It made me feel a little better, but I still felt like I hadn't made the best use of my time. I insisted that we have dinner together the next night so I could pay him back for the feast he bought me the previous Sunday. He agreed.

I was kind of tired of hanging out in the room, but I didn't really have anywhere to go anyway. I decided to entertain myself in the best way I know how. I jerked off. When that was done I sat back down and watched more TV.

I wound up staying up rather late into the night. I was totally bored with TV, but for some reason I didn't want to get to sleep either. when I finally turned off the TV at 12:45, I wound up laying awake much longer. In fact I had rather bad insomnia. But I just lay there until I finally fell asleep.

Friday, October 29, 1999

I woke up at a rather leisurely hour. I called Peter again at 9:30. Still no answer. I lingered in bed a bit longer. I finally got up and showered and shaved. I called Peter one more time and once again got his machine. I'd been leaving quick messages all along, but this time I left a more significant one. I was contrite, but said that I felt like I was pestering him, and here's the number of my hotel if he wanted to see me. I felt a little discouraged. Ron was always needling me about knowing Peter Berlin. He said I'd made it out to be more than it was and that in all likelihood he wouldn't want to see me. I felt confident that Peter was actually interested in me as a person and a fellow artist, but it didn't look good.

I called Biron but it was busy. I figured he was on the internet. I jerked off for a while, once again managing to hold off an orgasm. Whenever I figured I'd jerked off long enough I'd start to get dressed. But I was having trouble keeping my hands off myself, and I'd always wind up taking the clothes back off and jerking off longer. Finally hunger started to win out. I threw on some clothes and headed to the Haight Ashbury.

I went into my favorite cafe and had a big, fatty breakfast. This day I was determined not to wimp out but to go and do something fun and touristy. I looked at my map and pondered where to go. I saw that a bus line went right up to the Golden Gate bridge, but then ducked under it and continued along the coast. I figured I'd take that bus, get off as soon as we got really close to the bridge, and see if I could make my way up to the walkway that went across.

When I came back out of the cafe there was a parade of little trick-or-treaters. I had almost forgotten that this was Halloween weekend. I made my way to the corner to wait for my bus. As I stood there I watched this never-ending line of kids walk past. I figured that they must be from a nearby school, and their teachers took them out to get candy from the store owners. It must have been a big school, because they just kept coming and coming and coming. One of the chaperones was a very nice-looking young man. He was dressed like a rock star. He had on ratty jeans with a bandanna tied around one knee. He had a toy guitar slung over his shoulder, and a shirt with the arms ripped off. If he'd been down in the Castro I would have said hi to him in a second.

Finally my bus came. The endless march of little kids moved on as I drove out of site. I had been on this route on my first visit to San Francisco. But whereas the previous time I rode the bus through the Presidio and on to the Fisherman's Wharf area, this time I had to change busses somewhere in the middle of the Presidio. I tracked our progress on the map. When we arrived at the proper stop there was no question I was in the right place. I got off the bus.

I then proceeded to look around and figure out how to get on the next bus. The number of my bus was not listed on the stop where I was dropped off. There was only one other stop at this 4-corners. I went over to it and sure enough it had the number of my bus on it. I sat down and waited. And waited. While I sat there I looked at the map to figure out where the bus would be coming from. By the way I read the map, the stop should have been on another of the four corners. The detail of the map couldn't effectively match the tight turns and little roads in the Presidio. The route of the other bus just didn't make sense.

I sat there for a while not really knowing what to do. Tired of sitting I decided to just get up and walk around a bit. No sooner did I get off my corner than a bus came by. It was my bus, and it stopped at my stop. Unfortunately I wasn't standing there at that moment. The bus continued on, not going in the direction I thought it should.

I decided to go and sit on the bench at that bus stop and just camp out until the next one came by, no matter how long it took. I decided to appreciate the beautiful spot I was in. The Presidio is pretty nice to look at as it is, but I could see one of the towers of the Golden Gate bridge in the distance through the palm trees.

After a few minutes another bus with the number I was looking for drove by. I figured this was the one that went in the opposite direction, considering it came from exactly where the previous one went. It made an odd turn, though that judging by the map was again not at all where it should have been going. I was perplexed.

I wasn't freaking out, because I knew I could get on any bus that went by and make my way somewhere. Still, I had this odd feeling of being lost in the woods. Compared to the rest of San Francisco, the Presidio is practically like being out in the country. It was as if I'd been dropped off in the middle of nowhere and was now stranded. I laughed at myself. I played some Gordon Lightfoot on my walkman to make me feel like I was back home in the Saint Lawrence Seaway.

After a while I got so bored that I decided to walk around a bit. I looked at my map as I strolled and confirmed that street names were exactly where they belonged. As I was walking back to the bus stop I saw in the far distance a pure white Citroën DS21 headed my way. These cars are so distinctive that they can be identified even at great distance. I dropped all my stuff to get my camcorder out. I somehow managed to get it turned on and recording before the car got to me. I did a slow and steady pan with the car as it came into frame, and I followed it into the distance until I couldn't see it anymore. That was cool.

I went straight back to the bus stop and waited some more. It didn't take too terribly long before another bus came by. I gladly hopped on. Fortunately my transfer pass hadn't expired in all the time I had spent there. The bus, just like the previous one, did not go the way I expected it to. We looped around and came to a stop in front of a veterans' hospital or something. We sat there for some time. I continued to scrutinize my map, and it started to finally make sense. It looked like we'd loop back out, and then go in the direction I expected us to. When I saw the previous bus that appeared to be going in the opposite direction, it was the same bus, delayed by this prolonged stop, continuing on its way. Given that it made sense that it headed off in the direction it did.

Finally we were underway again. I was now faced with the decision of where to jump off the bus and make my way to the bridge. The bus was now clearly headed exactly where I expected it to. We made a stop in a fairly seedy area that was still a ways from the bridge. I contemplated getting off, but decided to see if there was something closer.

We then came right upon the bridge and the very public visitor's center that was there. I wasn't expecting this. I'd walked across the 1000 Islands Bridge many times back home, and there was nothing like this there. You had to park you car in an unobtrusive spot and climb stairs to get up to the road surface. This was easy.

I got off the bus and looked around. There was a gift shop, a food stand, and a little park. I walked past all of it and got on the walkway across the bridge. It was a beautiful sight from this angle. I snapped a couple pix.

My mission was now clear. I would walk out on the bridge up to the very apex and hang out there. The apex was that one, highest point on the bridge where the great cables droop down to their lowest point and practically touch the bridge trestle. What else would one do when at the Golden Gate bridge on foot? The only question was what music to play. I decided up Terrapin Station. The Dead was a San Francisco band as it was, and the title track was all that one, most special place in the world. I'd walk up there listening to the first half of the album, and then hang out at the apex while the song "Terrapin Station" played (it's a 20 minute song).

I got my CD playing and headed out. I stopped only to dodge tourists and to take the occasional picture or video. My timing was perfect. When I crossed over the expansion joint at the first tower and headed out onto the bridge proper, Terrapin Station was just starting. I walked slowly along as the song progressed. I began to see emergency phones along the way. I figured this was a good idea. If you have a breakdown right on the bridge you're going to want to get your car out of there as quickly as possible. But the sign said, "Emergency Phone and Crisis Counseling." I wasn't sure what all the crisis counseling was about. Maybe if you're so distraught that your car broke down right on the bridge that you need to talk to someone about it. But then it clicked. People come to the Golden Gate bridge to jump off and commit suicide. It made great sense to have crisis counseling phones at hand.

As I approached the apex I was surprised to see that I would have it all to myself. To me the apex was what it was all about. It was the most magical spot on this most magical of structures. It was like the equinox of the whole bay area. Yet to others it must have been just another stretch of bridge. People were walking past, but absolutely no one paused to acknowledge it.

I was getting to the very apex just at the climax of the song, as Jerry sings, "I can't figure out (terrapin) if it's the end or beginning (terrapin) But the train's put it's brakes on (terrapin) and the engine is gleaming (terrapin)..." It couldn't have been a more perfect moment. I just stood there, looking back at the city, perfectly balanced on the very peak of the bridge. I stood there for many minutes as the song meandered on into more contemplative instrumental passages. I was at peace. I'd been in town almost a week, and I finally had a moment to just sigh and say, "It's great to be in San Francisco."

The view from the very top

As the song wound down and I began to get my wits about me, I noticed something. Although at this time no one was stopping to appreciate the spot, there was a large amount of graffiti in this one place. In a flash I realized I had my big, black "Sharpie" pen in my bag. I could write "TOAPH" in big, block letters with "Halloween 1999" right below it. Just as I was about to fetch it I spotted a maintenance man heading along the walkway on a go-cart. He stopped a few yards before me, got off, and climbed down under the bridge somewhere. What a job, I thought. I figured that he probably wouldn't like me defacing a national monument right in front of him. I thought of getting my pen out quickly, but I wanted to take my time getting all the lettering right.

It wasn't long before the guy was back up on the surface again. I expected him to get back in his cart and head in, but instead he continued on a few yards past me and stopped his cart again. I had the distinct impression that he was keeping an eye on me. I had been in that one spot for quite a while. I figured either he thought I was a jumper, or he'd chanced upon my dastardly scheme and was determined that I'd not get away with it. I entirely expected that it was the former, but I still didn't want to try to pull off the latter with him standing there watching me. I almost considered walking right up and ask him if he'd turn me in if I wanted to just write my name up there. But I don't have that kind of balls. When the song finally ended I headed leisurely back to land.

I figured I'd grab a bite and then browse the gift shop for taudrey trinkets I could give my nephew and nieces when I saw them for Thanksgiving. But as soon as I came around the bend I saw a beautiful, pure white Citroën DS21. Oddly at the time I did't make the connection with the one I'd seen earlier. I just figured this was another cool coincidence.

While I prefer to be left alone when I travel in my own Citroën, I just had to go up to them and at least say I liked the car. I walked over to the guy who was standing in front of it having a smoke.

"She's a real beauty," I said.

He didn't hear me. After I repeated it, he said, "Oh, the CAR. It's not mine, it's hers." He spoke with a strong German accent.

I stepped around the car. There was a young woman diapering her baby in the back seat. I told her I liked her car. She answered back in a strong Irish accent. I was content to leave her to her baby, but she chatted away as she wiped it's butt and put on a clean diaper. We talked briefly but I left them alone.

I went over to the food stand and got a big, fat hotdog. I slathered it with ketchup and turned around to find a place to sit and eat. There were a couple of very nice looking young lads sitting at the nearest bench. It was a large bench, surrounding some kind of plaque or something, so I went over and sat down. I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, but they quickly moved on. After I wolfed down my food I went into the gift shop and completed my mission to get some touristy crap for the kids.

My next task was to find my way home. Rather than go back through the Presidio I decided to continue on around the coast past Golden Gate Park and down Haight St. The route I wanted came right past the visitor center, but busses would go by in both directions. One would take me on the part of the route I wanted, and the other would take me back towards Fisherman's Wharf. I wasn't sure which one I wanted. I tried to figure it out from the map, but like in the Presidio this map just didn't have the detail necessary to really figure it out. I made my best guess and waited at the stop.

The bus came by and I got on. As soon as we started moving I referenced the map in an attempt to determine if I'd gone the right way or not. It quickly became clear that I hadn't. It was a bit of a drag, but not really an inconvenience. In truth this was the more direct route home. I got off with intentions of hoofing it back up to Van Ness. I noticed I was on the corner of Filmore St, and the bus was right there. I quickly remembered that Filmore intersected with Haight just a few blocks up from my hotel. With the bus right there I quickly hopped on. Before long I was back in my hotel room.

I beeped Kenny and he called me right away. He said he was still at work, but that he and Richard would pick me up at 7:00 for dinner. I called Biron and invited him to come with us, but he declined. I sat there with about 3 hours to kill before Kenny and Richard were to come by. I figured I'd walk to the library and check my email. I got all the way up there just in time for them to close the doors on me. Apparently it closed earlier on Fridays.

I went right back to my room. Shortly after I got back the phone rang. It was Biron. He said if the invitation was still open that he'd changed his mind. I said of course he was still invited. I sat around killing time. When it was about time for Biron to arrive I decided to go down to the street and wait for him and spare him the hassle of getting buzzed in and trying to find my room. He was right on time. We went up to my room and hung out for a while. It was odd having him over to my place instead of me being at his place.

After only a few minutes Kenny called saying they were on their way. I got up to go downstairs and wait for them. Biron wondered why I wanted to go down right then if it was going to take them 15 minutes or so to get there. I tried to explain my almost obsessive propensity for being early. I don't think he understood, but he came downstairs with me anyway. We stood on the street and chatted as I had a smoke.

The boys came by very soon after. We hopped in the car and away we went. As we drove along I realized that this was the first time all four of us had been in the same place at the same time. These three fellows were the first friends I'd made in San Francisco, and they had remained important to me after other new friends had come and gone. I made a quick proclamation to that effect. They all looked at me like, "Are you for real?"

Once we got near the Castro we started hunting for a parking space, but quickly settled for the expensive funeral home. It cost $10 to park there. Biron made a remark that we could have all taken a cab for that money. We were about to hunt around for somewhere to eat, but Kenny noticed a Mexican restaurant right across the street that always had tables. I said it was totally up to everyone else. We quickly decided that a table now in a so-so restaurant was better than a table later in a nicer restaurant. We ran across the street and went in.

We were indeed seated right away. We were taken to a semi-circular booth. Richard slid in one side, with Kenny on his outside. I didn't want Biron to feel trapped between us, so I scootched in beside Richard and let Biron have the outside. The waiter came by and took our drink orders. Everyone else ordered a Margarita. I really didn't want to drink that night, so I asked if I could have a pint glass of ice water. When the guy came back he had three Margaritas in those huge, stem glasses. He also had ice water for me, in one of those huge stem glasses. It looked ridiculous. Passers by must have thought I was having the mother of all martinis.

The waiter took our order. Kenny ordered a chicken enchilada. We must have been in a conformist mood, because each of the rest of us ordered a chicken enchilada as well. The waiter went off with his order of four chicken enchiladas. I remarked that Kenny bought me fillet mignon, and I was paying him back with a lousy chicken enchilada. That wasn't important to him. Conversation turned to current events. Biron started getting all conspiracy-minded, and "Oh woe is us." Richard was only too happy to join in, as he had opinions on every topic Biron brought up. Biron and Richard were going back and forth at a feverish pace while Kenny and I sat quietly by. I managed to weasel into the conversation at one point and attempted to wrangle it away to less controversial, more pleasant dinner chat. My efforts were in vain. Minutes later we were right back to the geo political situation and the military industrial complex. I rather wished that either Kenny was on the inside or I was on the outside so that we could have had a pleasant little chat while the other boys went on about dire subjects.

Our dinners came and we all gobbled them down. We sat around for a while, but Kenny and Richard wanted to get on home. They'd had a long week, and it was a big night the next night what with the Hell Ball and everything. They offered me a ride home, but I said I was going to stroll around the Castro for a while. I asked Biron if he wanted to join me and show me all the hidden, secret spots only a long-time resident like he would know. He said he'd love to show me around, but didn't really know what I meant by the hidden, secret spots. After a while it was pretty clear why he didn't understand. There didn't appear to be any such spots. There was the two blocks of Castro Street, and the two blocks of 18th Street that intersected it. Not much more to it than that. Biron told me stories of the history of some of the establishments, but there were no secret, out-of-the way joints that he knew of.

We went into Jaguar Books to browse around for a while. I was looking for a sexy card for Monté. I also browsed the leather accessories and wound up buying myself a ball stretcher. It had a strap that came up over the top of the shaft like cock ring. It had a ring on it to attach a leash to, so someone could lead me around by my cock. Biron was over looking at work by other photographers. There was no shortage of work by his rival Stephen Underhill. With every postcard, greeting card, calendar, and book Biron said, "My, he sure does get around..."

Eventually we strolled back towards home. I mentioned how I'd been calling Peter a lot, but had yet to hear back from him. Biron explained that Peter was going through a very difficult time in his personal life at the moment. He wouldn't expound on it, because it was very personal. But Biron had spoken to Peter recently, and Peter had said that he would have loved to get together with me if it weren't for all the major hassles he was dealing with right at that exact time. It wasn't a matter of him wanting to see me, it was just a matter of very bad timing. I took some solace in that.

When we passed the SafeWay I decided to go in and grab some food to munch on that night. Despite the fact that it was Friday, I was looking forward to a quiet night in my room and an early bed time. Biron decided that he could pick up a few items for home, too. We browsed in the store for a while, went through the checkout, and continued on.

When we got back to my hotel I said I was going in to chill and go to bed. I had a feeling that Biron wanted to continue chatting longer, but I was pretty beat. We said goodbye and he continued on his way. I went upstairs, immediately stripped naked, and started playing with my new ball stretcher. I had never used such an implement before. I managed to get it on, but it was incredibly painful. When I finally removed it I saw that I had pinched and irritated the skin on the front of my scrotum. That wasn't enough to stop me from jerking off, though. After I came I crawled in bed, chowed on my food, watched TV, and eventually went to sleep.

Saturday, October 30, 1999

I got up the next morning and immediately started jerking off. I stopped before I came. I shaved. Then I jerked off a little more. Then I went and took a shower. When I got back to the room I jerked off some more. Then a little more. Then some more. Finally I jerked off a little more. I had achieved such a high level of arousal that I could force a stream of precum out of my dick almost at will just by pushing like you're trying to get the last few drops of urine out.

I could have gone on like that for quite a while, but I was getting rather hungry. I put on some clothes, stuffing my still stiff rod down into my Levis, donned my shoes, and went outside. It was another nice, sunny day. I hopped on a but to the Haight Ashbury. There was a costume shop in the Lower Haight that already had a long line outside it. When I got to the Haight Ashbury proper, there were a couple other costume stores that had equally long lines outside. I went into my favorite cafe and had a quick breakfast.

Afterwards I hopped into a nearby pub that I knew had a pay phone. I called Peter just for the hell of it. I got a busy signal. At least *someone* was home. I called Kenny and Richard but there was no answer. I called my buddy Dave. He was home, but just on his way out the door with the family. He asked if he could call me back. I told him that I didn't know where I'd be or when I'd be back at my room. He made me promise him that I'd call him back later.

I finally decided to call Peter one more time. Someone answered, but it was not Peter. I asked if Peter was there, and the guy bluntly and tersely said, "No." I didn't even bother to leave a message. I said I'd call back another time. The guy hung up without saying goodbye. I took a bus back to my hotel.

I sat in my room for a while not sure of what to do. I was reasonably well rested and not at all hung over, but I didn't really have any thoughts of where I could go or what I could do. I thought about the Sony Metreon Center that Kenny and Richard had been talking about. It sounded like as good a place as any. I went downstairs and asked the guy at the front desk where it was located. It was off Market St on the outskirts of downtown. I got on a trolley and away I went.

I found the place pretty easily. It was primarily a cinema multiplex, but it had some interesting stores as well. I went into the Microsoft store and waited in line to get on an internet terminal. I checked my email. No word from the computer museum lady. I didn't expect that there would be. I wandered around a bit more. There was a nice outdoor park space behind the building. I went out and lay in the sunshine for a while. There were lots of Asian tourists out there. I lounged around for a bit, but quickly got bored. I wandered around a bit more, but soon found myself on a trolley heading back uptown.

I wound up taking it all the way to the Castro. I went back to Jaguar Books. They had an interesting selection of cock rings that I'd seen there the night before. One was like a cock ring, but made of about a half-inch broad band of metal forged into a circle. It was something different. I looked them over, trying to judge which one was my size. I settled on the largest ones they had. I pointed it out to the guy behind the counter.

"Would you like to try it on first?" he asked.

"No," I said casually. He looked at me a bit incredulously. "I know my own size," I said with a hint of braggadocio in my voice. He rang me up and I was on my way. When I left I realized that this one ring was actually rather pricey. In NYC you can get a cock ring for a buck or two. Either this unusual model was particularly expensive, or this had been an over-priced store. My ball stretcher from the night before cost a lot more than I expected it would.

I went back to my room and immediately started playing with my new toy. In all honesty it was a little large. A relaxed fit would have been one size smaller, and a tight fit would have been two sizes smaller. When I was flaccid it would fall right off me. But when I got fully erect and my balls snugged up under my cock, it looked just fine. It was not at all tight, but neither was it loose. I could wear it with credibility.

I lounged around the room for a while. I really wanted to come, but I was saving myself for the Hell Ball that night. Kenny had told me some pretty wild stories of what goes on on the dance floor. And with my scandalous costume I wanted to save my dick energy for the party.

When I started getting hungry for dinner I hopped back on a bus to the Haight Ashbury. The bus was pretty crowded. The costume shops that previously had long lines outside now had outrageously long lines outside. They stretched all the way up the block, and then some. I got off the bus and decided to just get a slice of pizza. I went to Cybellas, but it was closed. It appeared to be under new ownership, and was still closed for renovations. I went the block a little ways, and wound up in the restaurant where Kenny, Richard, Andrew and I had eaten on my last night in town on my first visit. Rather than sit down I got a couple slices at the counter. It took a while for them to get me the slices, and when I finally took the little box it weighed a ton. I opened it up. There were only two slices inside, but they were very thick and heavy. I mean, it felt like this package weighed about ten pounds. I ate one of the slices. I took a couple bites out of the other one, but I just couldn't eat any more. I left it in the box on the curb for some homeless strung-out junky to find and eat.

I went back to the bus stop and waited for the next bus. Some really sketchy guy started talking to me. My guess was he was hopped up on some kind of psychedelic. I basically ignored him until he started pestering someone else. When the bus came it was rather crowded. I squeezed on and moved almost all the way to the back. There was a gaggle of teenage black girls in the far back seat shrieking and laughing with such pitch and intensity that I'm surprised all the windows didn't shatter. They got off before my stop, barely. Soon I was back in my room.

I still had a lot of time to kill before I was to head to Kenny and Richard's. This evening was to get off to a late start. I called to make reservations with SupperShuttle for Monday morning. I decided to call Dave back. He answered the phone and said he'd done it to me again. He had just brought out his wife's birthday cake. I gave him the number to my room. He called me back about a half hour later. We had a nice chat for a while.

I still had an hour or so before it was time to head to Kenny & Richard's. I started getting my stuff together. My costume was to be a repeat of one I'd done years before. Personally I feel that repeating Halloween costumes is simply not done. But I was in a different town with different people, so I figured I owed myself a variance on this one. I got the stuff out and got it prepared. Essentially my entire costume was a towel. I was going to wear it around my waste like I'd just gotten out of the shower. I experimented with knots that would not only reveal as much of my hip as possible, but be very secure and resistant to someone snagging it off me. In addition to the towel I had a shower brush to hold over my shoulder, and a little shave kit to keep my ID, money, and keys in. All in all it was a pretty good costume.

I had everything together and I was all ready to go. I just had to sit there and wait until it was time. I watched a little TV. For some reason I was rather nervous about the whole event. I'm not sure why, except that this was all new for me. I'd heard about rave parties, and circuit parties, but I'd never actually been to one and I wasn't really sure what went on. I guess it was just a little fear of the unknown.

Finally it was time to go. I gathered my stuff, tossed my towel over my shoulder, and away I went. I passed the occasional person or group in costume. When I got to the lower Haight I stopped in a store to buy a fresh pack of smokes. I felt a little funny with a towel over my shoulder and a shave kit in my hand, but no one ever seems to pay anone else any mind on Halloween. When I was back on the street it was only a couple more blocks to Kenny & Richards.

They buzzed me in and I went upstairs. They were still getting ready. Kenny and Richard were both going as army boys. They pretty much already had all the garments they needed. A friend of Kenny's from work, Jennifer, was coming with us. She was heterosexual, but was like discovering her fag hag side. She had gone to the Folsome Street fair with Kenny and had a blast. So now it was time to go to the Hell Ball. She, too, was wearing army clothes for a costume. There was one other guy who was going to come along but had apparently chickened out at the last minute. He was supposedly straight, but had a suspicious curiosity about the gay culture. Inviting him to the Hell Ball was a veiled attempt to pull him a little further out of the closet, but apparently he wasn't ready. He had some lame excuse about not feeling well.

We waited around while Richard finished getting ready. They had some pot there, but I was still feeling a little too uneasy about everything to get stoned. I was paranoid enough as it was. Pretty soon Richard was ready. He had more of a "Desert Storm" motif to his army clothes. Kenny got the ridiculous hat he was going to wear and pulled it totally down over his face. He looked great. He also had a little flashlight that he would play with. All that was left to do was to split up the Ecstasy. I had never even seen any before. I didn't even know it came in tablets. They had plenty for me, but I was like, "Oooooooh no." I was too keyed up to even catch a buzz. Ecstasy was just out of the question.

I was going to wait until we got to the venue before I changed into my costume. Not only was it a bit nippy out, I didn't want to be riding around practically naked. We also had a party to go to before continuing on to the ball. The place was in the hills South of Castro Street. We had a little trouble finding the place. We got close enough to park the car. Once we found a space, that is. There was not a lot of parking available this night. We wound up on a street corner. I mean right on the street corner. It was like half on one street and half on the other. It was also totally blocking pedestrians. It was the most bogus job of parking I'd ever been directly associated with, but we had no choice. We were also only staying for a short while.

At this point we had a bit of trouble finding the house where the party was. We walked up and down a couple of streets until we finally found it. It was one of those San Francisco row houses. We went inside and it was quite beautiful. I guess that the guys who owned it hadn't had it all that long, and they'd just finished some major renovations and brought in all new furniture. I figured the house itself must have cost a fortune, but the renovations and furnishing must have cost almost as much. Every article of furniture looked brand new, and there was lots of it in each room. The guest bedroom was furnished better than any room in my whole house. But of course ever article of furniture in my entire house was either given to me or I bought it at the Salvation Army. It doesn't take a lot to make me comfortable.

There were a lot more people in attendance at this party than I expected. I thought it would be just a handful of people getting together for drinks, but it was more like a full-blown party. I was feeling in a shy mood. I wasn't uncomfortable or anything, but I just couldn't think of anything to say to anyone. Kenny and Richard were off talking with friends, and I felt kind of alone. What compounded this was that I wasn't drinking yet. I knew it was going to be a very late night, and I wanted to pace myself. This usually makes me even more quiet than usual.

After a little while Kenny came back over to me and started introducing me around a little bit. I met the guy who owned the place. He was the editor of some Silicon Valley information technology magazine. It was one I'd heard of before, but I can't remember now what it was. It was a nice effort on Kenny's part, but I just wasn't in a socail mood. I eventually decided to pour myself one small drink. Now I wanted a smoke. There was a designated smoking area down below on the deck. I went down there and lit up. There didn't happen to be anyone else down there at the moment. The deck was in plain view through the picture windows in the living room where most of the partiers were. I figured it looked like I was trying to get off by myself. This wasn't really the case, but I'm sure it looked like that.

After a while someone came up to talk to me. "Ah, alone at last!" was his line. He was a guy named Scott whom I'd been introduced to before. We struck up a conversation. I could handle one-on-one interaction. It was really the number of people that had thrown me. We talked for a while about California and New York and whatnot. Eventually I said I was going to go back inside and freshen my drink.

He said, "Uuuuh, I was wondering if you wanted to go into the bathroom with me."

Recalling back to my trip to New Orleans and all the trouble I got myself into when I accompanied someone into the bathroom, I was a bit hesitant. "Errr, to do what?" I asked.

He looked me in the eye. "Well," he said, "I kind of wanted to suck your dick."

"Oh!" I said. "Well... let's go!"

We went back inside. Unfortunately the guest bathroom was occupied. Scott poked around and eventually found the utility room with the hot water heater and stuff. We went in, closed the door behind us, and I dropped my pants. He started sucking me and I was hard almost instantly. I had already spent a lot of time that day jerking off, and I had yet to come. This wasn't the kind of thing that I normally did, but it was a nice diversion. After a few minutes of that we decided to get back to the party.

I went back upstairs and poured another little drink. I met back up with Kenny and he asked me how my evening was going. "Well," I said. "I just got my dick sucked in the utility room. I'd say it's going okay!" The crowd was now starting to thin out, but we stayed just a bit longer. Richard seemed to be getting a little familiar with one guy in particular. They were actually kissing a little bit right out in the open. I envied the relationship that he and Kenny had, that one or the other of them could just kiss another guy right in front of him and it's totally no big deal. It turned out the guy would have liked to go to the Hell Ball, but he didn't have a ticket. Richard still had the extra from the guy who backed out, so he gave it to the other guy. Pretty soon we decided we should be getting on our way.

We drove back into town and to the venue where the ball was taking place. I tried to get an idea of where we were in case I got separated from the guys and had to find my own way home. We parked the car and headed in. The others had actually landed VIP tickets, so they had their own line to go in. But it was pretty bogus because it was no less crowded than the commoner's line through which I had to enter. We were all inside right at the same time.

The first thing I had to do was find a quiet little corner to change into my costume. I ducked behind some draperies and stripped down. Of course as soon as I was naked someone came back there looking for God-knows-what. He excused himself and left me alone. Soon I had my towel secured on and put my clothes in the plastic grocery bag I had made sure to bring with me. Now all I had to do was wait in the long line for the coat check. The others were going to go into the VIP lounge, just because they could. Since I couldn't join them , and since I had to wait in this long line anyway, we made plans to go our separate ways and meet back up by the front entrance at midnight.

The coat check line actually moved along fairly quickly. I was a bit put off that I had to pay for this service, but whatever. I was finally free to wander around. The first place I went was where they were serving drinks. It was a cash bar, but the prices weren't too bad. I had plenty of money with me, and I was no longer pacing myself. I went to my customary rum & coke. I wandered off to the dance floor area, which was pretty much the whole space.

I started to understand a couple of things. In all my trips to San Francisco, I had seen far fewer beautiful muscle boys than I had expected to. I had wondered where they all were. Well, they were all at the Hell Ball that night. Virtually everyone I saw was a beautiful muscle boy, and they all had their shirts off. I'm pretty proud of my body, but 90% of the people in this place were absolutely putting me to shame. I don't know what dark corners they hang out in during the day, but at night apparently the go to the rave parties. The second thing that I realized was that a rave party is really nothing special. Yes, it was on a grand scale. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies all out on the same dance floor. I don't know if the music was any better or any worse than anywhere else. I'm not the one to ask. I hate all the gay dance music. All of it. The light show was okay, but didn't blow me away. Even the costumes weren't all that great. Some few people had on something elaborate or clever, but in general the costumes weren't terribly impressive. About a third of the poeple were in army clothes like Kenny and Richard. About another third was dressed as fairies or other winged beings. The remaining third was a melange of various costumes. The only common thread was bare chests. Very few people in the whole place had shirts on.

I had always eschewed these rave parties because I knew it was all about dancing, and I'm not a dancer. But looking at the crowd I realized that no one was very serious about their dance. There was a stage up front where daring people get up and dance in front of the whole party. These people generally were dancing fast and furious with graceful and impressive steps. But the people on the dance floor proper were just kind of undulating to the beat. I quickly realized that it's not a place do dance as much as it is a place to writhe around with other bare chested men.

I decided to take a chance and work my way down into the dance floor. I finished my drink, tossed the cup, and made my way in. It was quite interesting. I was accustomed to working my way through dense crowds from my experiences with college bars and beer blasts, so the claustrophobia didn't get to me too bad. But there was an element here that I'd never experienced before. It was an aroma. It was the hot, sticky, wet smell of unbridled masculinity. I squeezed my way through the crowd, brushing up against as many hot, sticky, wet male bodies as I could. I didn't even try to move to the music. I just moved through the crowd. It was an endless barrage of firm pecks, abs, and shoulders. In all honesty I started loving it. I'd never touched so many muscles in such little time in my life.

At one point someone realized that I was totally naked under my towel. He started grabbing me and stroking my dick and stuff. "About time," I thought to myself. It went on for a little while, but then he stopped and moved on. I figured it was about time for me to move on myself. I made my way to one side of the dance floor as if I was a fish swimming upstream. By the time I emerged I felt like I'd had quite a workout.

I got another drink and went out to the smoking section. It was a bit chilly out, especially considering I was practically naked, but it was a bit peaceful. I was feeling more relaxed at this point, and I mingled with some of the people out there. I was talking with one of the, and suddenly he said, "We've met before."

"Have we?" I asked.

He said that he noticed my eyebrow. He had remembered meeting me and mentioning the eyebrow, but he couldn't remember when or where. I didn't remember him at all, but he was totally done up in an elaborate costume and I had no idea what he actually looked like. I had a couple of smokes out there and drank my drink and chatted with various people. Soon it was time for me to take a leak. I went back inside.

When I found where the restrooms were I was aghast to discover that there were ridiculously long lines. I mean, these lines went on and on and on. I was pissed (so to speak). I thought it was an utter outrage that they would have this many people in a space that obviously didn't have adequate rest room facilities. Unfortunately I had no choice but to just stand there and wait. I had to go really bad. I struck up a conversation with the guy who was in front of me in line. We started out by complaining about the bogus situation we were in. But as we chatted the line actually moved along fairly quickly.

Time went on as the line slowly creeped along. It seemed like the closer we got the more the line slowed. It curved around into an enclosed area, so we couldn't see people actually going into and coming out of the restrooms. Time totally slowed down as we inched ever closer to the bend in the line where we could see what was going on. Midnight was fast approaching, and I quickly realized that I would not be there to meet my friends by the entrance. I had no choice. If I got out of line now I'd have to start over again from scratch, and I wasn't going to do that. Midnight came and went and I moved maybe another foot or so in line.

Finally we got up to the part where we could see the entrances to the restrooms. The principle continued that the closer we got the more the line slowed. We were so close and yet so far. There were only a few people ahead of us by now, but we were barely moving at all. People were going into the rooms in small groups, and they simply weren't coming out. Minutes and minutes would go by, and they were still in there. By now I was becoming furious. I didn't care what drugs they were doing or what sex act they were performing, there were hundred of people outside desperate to get in. Not only was I upset about wasting so much time here, I really, really, really had to go! I would have gone right up and pounded on the door, but other people were already doing that. After an eternity, one group would come out, but then the next group would go in and take just as long. It was one of the most infuriating situations I'd ever been in.

Finally, finally, finally, the guy I had been talking to and I were next in line. By some miracle the people who went in before us came out in a reasonable time. I couldn't believe it. Technically it was my new companion's turn, but I went in with him. I said right out loud, "I'm coming in with you like it or not." He was totally cool with it. When I finally let loose it was one of the most satisfying, sensual experiences of my life. I made sure to squeeze every last drop of urine out of my bladder, because I knew that I wouldn't be back there again all night. On my way back out past the line that was now longer than it was when I originally got on, I reflected on my utter ire in this travesty of bad planning.

I grabbed another drink and went to the entrance where the guys were to have met me. There was no sign of them. I walked around the crowd looking for them, but everyone and his brother was wearing army clothes. There was no way to find them. I didn't really care. I was content to be on my own. My only real worry was getting home, and I figured I could either take a cab or walk. I wasn't exactly sure where we were, but by looking at landmarks on our way in I knew I was somewhere in the general vicinity of my hotel.

I went back out to the smoking section, had a couple cigarettes, and drank my drink. The guy who recognized my eyebrow had remembered where we'd met. He was among the guys I was briefly handing out with at the Pilsner Inn before I met Oscar. When I finished my drink I went back inside to get another. I was aghast to find out that they were closing up the bars. I knew that the party went on all night, but it never dawned on me that they had to stop serving alcohol at last call. At first I was very perturbed, but I calmed down pretty quickly. I was not terribly intoxicated yet, but I was well on my way. If they hadn't taken the alcohol away I would have kept drinking and drinking and drinking. This would keep me from going to extremes.

With nothing better to do I got out on the dance floor again. It was nice to get back to all those hard, sweaty muscles. One guy offered me some kind of drug. I don't even know what it was. I turned him down. He looked at me funny. I don't know if he felt rejected or shocked that anyone would turn down free drugs. I wandered off looking for someone to start grabbing my dick, but no one was taking much of an interest. Finally some Asian kid in a sailor outfit caught on and started feeling me up. It was nice, but somehow unfulfilling. It went on for a while and frankly I was getting a bit bored. The he grabbed my hand and put it on his own dick. It was pretty small. After a little while of this I disappeared off into the crowd.

Once off the dance floor I went back out to the smoking section. I did something that I hadn't done since college. I scouted out for leftover drinks, and when I found one I would swipe it and drink it myself. It seemed that most everything I found was predominantly melted ice cubes. I had another smoke or two and hung out with the other smokers. I overheard someone complain that he got cum on him when he was out on the dance floor. "It's fine if people want to have sex on the dance floor," he said, "but you think they could do it without getting cum all over everyone." I hadn't seen any action like that while I was out there. After a while I went back inside and headed up to the balcony overlooking everything. Who did I find up there but Kenny, Jennifer, and the guy they gave the extra ticket to. It turned out that her Ecstasy wasn't sitting all that well with her, and she was looking to get out of there. She didn't look panicked or frantic, like someone on a bad LSD trip would be. She just looked tired.

Kenny went off to find Richard. There were a couple other guys on the couch whom I assumed were with my friends. One guy was in an ancient Egyptian costume. I sat on his lap. We felt each other up a bit. I did one little bump of whatever chemical cocktail he had in his little vial. Afterwards I rather regretted it, but in the long run I never got any sensation out of it anyway. I put my arm around and felt the muscular shoulder of the other guy. I told him he had nice infraspinati. He smiled and said I really know what to say to a man. After a while they got up and walked away. I looked back at my friends. "Who were they?" I asked. They didn't know. "You mean they weren't with you?" They said they'd never seen them before. Huh.

After a while Richard came by. He said he was happy to take Jennifer home, but now we had no idea where Kenny was. Richard went off to look for him. Not long after he was gone, Kenny came back. He went off to look for Richard. This went on for a while until finally we were all in the same place at the same time. It was decided that Richard was to take Jennifer back to the apartment, and that Kenny would stay on and get a ride back. Richard implored him not to continue on to the After Shock after party. Kenny said that he wouldn't. Richard was emphatic, telling him that if everyone else was going and they were all tugging at him, that he was to refuse and come on home.

I decided that I was going back with Richard and Jennifer. I was having an okay time, but it was really late now and I felt like I'd done the rave thing. I went to the coat check and got my stuff. There was no line at all at this point. I just walked up, gave them my ticket, and they gave me my stuff. I decided to get dressed in the car. For one thing I didn't want to have to run off behind the draperies again, but I also wanted to remain naked for as long as I could.

We got in the car, I put my clothes back on, and we drove off. It turned out that we were not at all where I thought we were. We were about the same distance from my hotel that I had figured, but in an entirely different direction. Richard asked me if I wanted to go back to my room or to the apartment with them. I said I'd keep hanging out with them if that was fine.

We got back to Richard and Kenny's place. The first thing I did was grab the pot they'd been smoking earlier and took a couple deep hits. Then I went in the kitchen and made myself a nightcap. I was into hanging out for a while, but Jennifer really wanted to get to sleep. Richard pulled out the couch for her. It was the same place I'd slept months ago on the very first night of my very first visit.

I went in the bedroom with Richard and he closed it off from the living room. We got undressed and climbed into bed. I felt like a bit of an intruder, so I curled up way off to the side leaving almost the entire queen-sized bed to Richard. He shut off the light. I lay there for some time, knowing I wasn't going to fall asleep right away.

After a while I heard Richard rustle and roll over in bed. A little while later he rustled again. Then he rustled yet a third time. It seemed to me that he was inching ever closer to me with each rustle. I had assumed that I was intruding in his bed, but it suddenly dawned on me that maybe he wanted to fool around. I tried to decide what to do about it. I figured I'd rustle myself a little bit closer to Richard and see what happened. The next thing I knew we were totally getting it on. I had a lot of pent up sexual energy from running around practically naked all night and brushing up against the sweaty bodies of beautiful muscle boys, so I was hard pretty instantly. The only problem was we had to be pretty quiet because Jennifer was right in the next room.

We started out by him paying a lot of attention to me, but after a while we reversed. I wasn't actually getting him off as much as I was supplementing his getting himself off. He was yanking on his dick and I was just stimulating a couple of erogenous zones. But it must have worked because it didn't take long for him to turn to a quivering mass of ejaculating flesh.

After he cleaned himself off he got back in bed and said, "Gee, I don't know what came over me."

I didn't say anything, but I was thinking, "You were horny and in bed with a wanton exhibitionist, that's what came over you."

Within minutes Richard was sawing wood. I lay there awake. Despite the fact that it was the wee hours of the morning, I just knew I wasn't going to be falling to sleep any time soon. Sometimes that's the way it is with me. As I lay there awake I wondered how it was for normal people who just fall asleep when they go to bed without the considerable delays I experience virtually every night. After an hour or so I finally lost consciousness.

Sunday, October 31, 1999

Some time later I awoke to the sound of Kenny's voice. He had apparently avoided the temptation to go to AfterShock and came home. I don't know what time it was, but the sun was shining brightly. My back was to them. I just lay there as if I was still asleep. Kenny was telling Richard what went on after we left, but he had to whisper because Jennifer was in the next room. Someone gave him some shit for letting Richard leave with me, because of the likelihood that we would hook up. Kenny told the guy to loosen up. Of course there was a good chance Richard would get it on with me. What's the problem? It was a huge turn-on for Kenny just thinking about it.

Another story he told was that he met someone who was into amateur exhibitionists on the web. Kenny told him of me, especially the picture where I'm sitting on a kitchen chair with an erection. The guy said he was aware of me, and he really liked my work. He knew that particular image, and it was one of his favorites too. At this point I stopped feigning sleep and rolled over. That totally blew me away that Kenny could meet a total stranger who was essentially a "fan" of mine. It almost made me feel famous. That was the first really nice moment of this whole trip.

Kenny and I were pretty much wide awake, but Richard was still snoozing. Kenny and I lay side by side whispering to each other. We had the sheets off ourselves, exposing our naked bodies and stiff dicks. I was really horny, considering I hadn't come the night before. We tweaked our nipples and looked at each others nakedness. Kenny had me tell him the story of how Richard and I got it on. He really did find that kind of thing to be extremely erotic. I was really incredibly turned on myself. We would have gotten up and had mad, wild, animal sex throughout the entire apartment if only Jennifer wasn't in the next room. If only...

Finally we heard Jennifer stirring in the next room. We decided to get up and get dressed. Eventually Richard joined us. They were going to sit around and have a "day after" party, but I decided to go back to my room and get some sleep. We were to get together that night and hang out in the Castro, which was to be an outdoor spectacle of San Francisco Halloween outrageousness. I said goodbye and headed out. It was a surreal walk home for me, half-asleep in the bright sunlight. As soon as I got in my room I stripped naked, spanked my dick until I squirted all over the walls, and collapsed into bed.

I woke up a few hours later. I got out of bed and took a shower. This was an unique condition to be in. I had gotten very little sleep the night before, but I didn't drink all that much. Usually when I get this little sleep it's because I was blacked-out drunk the night before. I was still kind of groggy, but I wasn't experiencing the kind of pervasive, achey malaise that comes with a hangover. I even felt like going out and doing something. I figured I'd go back to the Sony Metreon center and watch a movie. That was a good, low-energy activity to kill a couple of hours.

I hopped on a trolley and went directly to the center. I wanted to watch Fight Club, but wasn't sure what would be playing when I happened to show up. To my pleasant surprise, Fight Club was just about to start. I got my ticket, somehow managed to find the theater it was playing in, and sat down.

I thought the film got off to a great start. Ed Norton's character was fascinating to me. Insomnia was definitely something that I could relate to, and his solution was truly original and unique. I knew that Meat Loaf was in the film, but didn't realize right away that he played the fat guy with male breasts. What casting! What a performance! When Brad Pitt entered, I actually thought the movie became a bit less interesting. It was fun watching guys beat the snot out of each other, but the plot thinned as far as I'm concerned. As things progressed, the level of plausibility continued to go down. I was still enjoying the film, however, and was able to suspend my disbelief. But then the surprise plot twist hit, and I was like, "Oh come ON!!!" It went so far beyond implausible that it barely qualified as preposterous. What was worse, it didn't really add anything to the story. It provided one moment of the audience gasping and saying "Oh my" (except for those of us who sighed and said, "Oh please"). It didn't answer any questions. In fact it raised about 10 billion questions, all of them totally unanswerable. It must have been the brain child of some Hollywood movie executive who decided to spice up the story without any consideration for continuity. The climax of the film basically took any remaining shreds of reality and flushed them down the toilet.

I left the movie oddly satisfied. Although the story wound up being ridiculous, it was worth the ticket price just to watch guys bloody each other for their mutual enjoyment. It also left me in a very bizarre mood. I felt like a great deal of pent-up hostility was seething beneath my veneer of self-control. I am about as pacifist as a guy can be, but I left the theater feeling like I should be busting heads.

It was dark out by now, and I figured it was about time to meet Kenny & Richard down on the Castro. I went into a store to buy a pack of smokes. There was one guy in line who was taking for ever asking dumb, nit-picky questions about whatever product he wanted to buy. A line started backing up behind me. Finally someone came up front and opened another register. I was about to dart over, being the next in line, but the people behind me beat me to it. Then another clerk came up and opened another register. I was about to dart over again, but the remaining people behind me beat me to it again. Still in the strange hostile mood from the movie, I came very, very close to just shouting at the top of my lungs in the store. "Don't mind me," I wanted to yell. "I was just next in line. Feel free to budge me out. Go right ahead." I swear, I *almost* did start shouting like a raving maniac. But I kept control. Soon I had my smokes and I was on my way.

I found a pay phone and called Kenny's cell phone. They were at Detour. I was to meet them there. I waited for the next trolley. I almost went underground to take the subway uptown, but a trolley came along. I wish I had, because the trolley was very crowded. It had to have been the Halloween crowd, because a lot of people were dressed in costumes. It was really cramped and noisy. I couldn't wait to get out.

I got off on Market Street a couple blocks up from Castro Street. They had Market Street blocked off to traffic. There was quite a crowd. This odd sensation of hostility was not helping as I tried to fight my way through all the people. I made my way to Detour and went inside. It was very dark and I had trouble seeing anything. I walked around and saw no sign of Kenny or Richard. I walked around again. I went outside and they were not anywhere to be seen. I went back inside once more and still didn't see them anywhere. It was a pretty small bar, so I was pretty sure they weren't inside. Once again my hostile mood didn't help me cope. I was a little pissed that they told me to meet them there and then just took off. I found a pay phone and called their cell phone again. Kenny answered. He was very apologetic. He said they were a little drunk and they went off to the cash machine forgetting that I was on my way. I knew which machine they'd gone to. It was in the first block of Castro Street. I told them to wait for me there and not go anywhere. Kenny estimated that it would take me 20 minutes to walk there through the crowd.

I hung up and headed out. The crowd did get more dense the further I went, but with all my experience in college beer blasts I was making good time. I got there in about 5 minutes. They were there. Kenny couldn't believe that I'd gotten there that fast. He definitely looked a little tipsy. After they got the cash we wandered around a bit. There were some pretty interesting and impressive costumes. After fighting the crowds on Castro Street we decided to work our way back up to Market Street where it was a little less dense. We found a good spot, actually right back outside Detour again, and just stood around and let the spectacle walk past us. We stood there for quite some time as the costumed masses meandered back and forth. Some costumes were very elaborate, but my favorite was someone dressed as Payne Stewart. He just had on old-fashioned golf clothes and a skull mask.

Eventually we got rather bored with this and decided to go to a nearby party. I marveled at how many people in that town Kenny and Richard knew, and how they always seemed to be having parties. We walked a couple blocks up a side street and there we were. There weren't a lot of people there, but there was food and drink. I had a couple glasses of the punch and socialized. I was much more talkative than I had been the night before. Oddly everyone started hanging out on the front steps of the house. This made it very hard for people to get in and out.

We hung out for a while, but Kenny and Richard each had to be to work the next day. They had walked since they knew there would be absolutely no parking. Since they were more or less going my way anyway, I decided to walk back with them and split off to my hotel when we crossed Haight Street. As we walked along I realized I'd picked up a bit of an alcohol buzz at the party. That was rather unexpected.

As we walked and talked I reflected a bit on this visit. I didn't have anything profound to say. It had been nice seeing friends again, but the trip wound up being so much less than I expected it to be when I bought my plane tickets. When we got to Haight Street we had to say our goodbyes. I said that I would likely return in 11 months to attend Folsom Street Fair, but that I might not be back any earlier. They said they looked forward to it whenever it was. We hugged and kissed and went our separate ways.

That should have brought this trip to a close. It *should* have. But as I walked along with just a bit of an alcohol buzz I decided that I wasn't yet quite drunk enough. For once I didn't have to be out at the crack of dawn the next morning, and it was still pretty early in the evening. I got to my hotel but walked right past it in search of an open bar. Market Street had mostly restaurants. I decided to venture into SOMA to see what I found. I almost stopped and thought better of it. Almost. But I didn't. I kept on going.

I wandered around for a while. I figured the Hole In The Wall would be a good spot, but I wasn't exactly sure where it was. After meandering for a few blocks and not finding it, I decided to bag it and walk back to my room. But on the way I went past some breeder bar that looked relatively quiet and innocuous. I decided to go in for just a drink or two. I sat down at the bar and got a beer. They were playing Rocky Horror on the TV. There was a young woman at the bar. She looked like a total barfly. I saw her light a cigarette inside the building. That's prohibited in all of California, but I'd been in some bars that didn't really care.

For reasons I don't entirely understand, I decided that I wanted to strike up a conversation with this person. It was as if it was "Adopt a barfly day." I stepped over to her and asked her if they let people smoke in this bar. "Do whatever you want" was her cold response. I slinked back to my seat and got back to my drink. I did light up a cigarette, though.

Much to my surprise, a few minutes later she came over to me. It was as if she didn't really want to talk to me but decided to anyway. It's like when you go bungee jumping. You really don't want to jump off that platform, but you do anyway. It was a very odd situation. I'm sure she thought I wanted something from her, probably sex. CONTINUE HERE

Finally she just kind of got up and walked out. She didn't say goodbye. She didn't even look at me. She just got up an left. I stayed at the bar for a while, until I noticed that there were more people out back on the patio. I walked out there. I was now pretty juiced and would talk to just about anyone. There was a guy in a Tinky Winky outfit. I'd seen a lot of them that night, but this guy had a little Martini glass on his head instead of the fuzzy triangle. We talked for a while.

There seemed to be some kind of a party going on at the table next to us. I introduced myself and proceeded to play court jester. I'm told I can be quite entertaining when I'm sloppy drunk. I'll have to take people's word for it because I usually can't remember. I vaguely remember playing the "I'm just a country boy from out of town" act. As I recall I was getting a warm reception from these people. They were definitely all straight. I remember jabbing my chest with my thumb and proudly proclaiming, "I'm a HOMO." I was their token gay for a little while, explaining the subtle inner-workings of the gay community.

Then after a while I said goodbye and walked out. I don't think it was terribly late, but I was getting terribly drunk. Something inside me told me to get back to my room before it was too late. I saw a cab across the street and decided to flag it down. He did a big, obvious U-turn and came back to get me. I told him where my hotel was. I must have been largely incoherent. I wasn't exactly sure where I was, but I knew I only went a few blocks on my way there. This guy seemed to be taking me all over the place. Maybe he figured I couldn't tell the difference and was just trying to bump up the fare.

At one point I said, "This is good enough, let me off here."

He was like, "Are you sure???"

I said, "Yeah." He pulled over, I paid him, and got out. I was on Market Street, but still about a hundred yards from my hotel. I guess I thought I was closer. Maybe I just recognized Market Street and figured I was home. Either way I walked the relatively short distance to the hotel, went up to my room, and passed out cold on the bed.

Monday, November 1, 1999

I never finished writing this story, but suffice it to say I had a miserable, hungover flight home. I assumed that it wouldn't matter bing hungover because I'd just be sitting on a plane. Ooooh, boy was I wrong. It was nightmarish being cooped up on that plane the whole time. Never again!

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