I Share the South-of-Market Bear's Boyfriend

San Francisco, March 1996

Lane and I were living in San Francisco, gay heaven.  I was 35 years old, far beyond my twink years.  He was 40, graduated to Daddy.

We rarely saw anyone under 30.  San Francisco is hard; it takes time, money, and strategy.  Most twinks and Cute Young Things can't manage it.

Our circle of friends consisted entirely of guys in their 40s and 50s: chubby, bearded bears or smooth musclemen, with nipple rings and tattoos, black handkerchiefs in their pocket, handcuffs attached to their belt loops.

They worked entirely within the gay community: as a leather craftsman, the manager of a travel agency that catered mostly to gay men, an AIDS support specialist, a  lawyer whose clients were exclusively gay men, an artist who made leather bears to sell to gay tourists.



Our best friend was probably Drake, the leather bear artist (left) -- teddy bears in bulging chaps, in leather jackets, carrying whips and gay flags.  He was 53 years old, husky but muscular, with a hairy chest, prominent nipples, and nice biceps.  Kielbasa+ beneath the belt, uncut.  A bondage bottom.

His boyfriend, Darrell the Cartoonist, was younger, in his mid-40s (ten years, the limit to an acceptable match!), already mostly bald, with a salt and pepper beard.  Moderately hairy chest, cut Bratwurst.  A bondage top (below).

We didn't see Darrell much.  We went out to dinner once and "shared" after, but he didn't go out to the bars or the bear parties. In fact, some guys in our circle of friends wondered if Darrell existed at all, or if he was just an excuse to not "get out there and date."

One day just before Halloween, the start of the gay social season, Darrell was in Oklahoma visiting his parents, when his allergies started acting up.  He took an antihistamine, drank a glass of wine with it, and died.

The funeral was in Oklahoma.  We didn't go.

But this story is about Drake's new boyfriend.

A couple of weeks after Darrell's death, Drake returned to the gay social world.

Beer/soda bust at the Lone Eagle
Underwear contest at the Lone Star
An AIDS benefit at the Metropolitan Community Church
A book signing at Different Light
The bear parties every Wednesday and Friday night.


We saw Drake at every event, eating, drinking, socializing, cruising.  But he didn't hook up with anyone, not even at the bear parties, he didn't ask anyone for dates.  He always went home alone.

Why do you go to a bear party without even looking for someone to share your bed?

At Christmastime, Lane and I tried to fix him up with a guy we knew, but he refused: "Been there, done that.  The domestic thing isn't for me, anyway.  Too many rules."

So we let him alone.

Then one day in March 1996, Drake met us at brunch after church and announced: "I have a new boyfriend!  Last night was our third date!"

Lane and I glanced at each other in surprise.

"Your first date in months!" I exclaimed.  "Why didn't you tell us about it before?"

He stared down at his menu.  "Oh, I didn't want you guys making a big deal about it until I was sure."

"Well, we're making a big deal of it now," Lane said.  "Where did you meet him?  What is he like?  Details, details!"

"His name is Zack.  He saw some of my bears at All American Boy and asked about the artist. He's from across the Bay."

Very vague.  "So, are you bringing him to the beer bust at the Eagle?"

"Um...no, he had to get home."

I frowned.  You were expected to introduce new boyfriends to "the family" on the second or third date.  He had to be evaluated, to make sure he was good enough for you, that he would fit into our world.  And he had to be "shared."

Tuesday night underwear contest.  Drake, but no Zack.

"Oh, he would win so easily, I wanted to give you other guys a chance."

Wednesday night bear party. Drake, but no Zack.

"Oh, he's uncomfortable in big crowds like this."

Saturday night dance at the Metropolitan Community Church.  Drake, but no Zack.

"He's got a thing tonight."

The next week, more of the same.

We asked around.  No one had met Zack.

Was Drake just making him up?  Or was he so spectacularly attractive that he didn't want to risk getting him stolen away?

Or was he embarrassingly ugly?

Time to take the initiative.  We invited Drake and Zack to dinner -- not in our apartment, too small, but at the Ethiopian restaurant down the street.

Ethiopian food comes in dabs of colorful mashed vegetables and minced meats on a bed of spongy bread.  Everyone tears off some bread and uses it to spoon up the waadi, ayibe, and kocho.  Perfect for pre-"sharing" intimacy.

Drake and Zack arrived a few minutes late, Drake in a white t-shirt and a leather vest, and Zack in a yellow button-down shirt and a leather jacket.

He was a kid!  A Cute Young Thing!  A few years ago Fred scandalized West Hollywood by dating Matt, eight year younger.  This kid must be at least 20 years younger than Drake!

We tried not to stare as Zack shook our hands and sat down between us.

Soon we warmed up.  Zack was a freshman at Berkeley, only 19 years old.  But he was relaxed,  articulate, well versed in gay culture, and completely at ease with guys 20, and 30 years older.

Of course, we shared later.  No tattoos, no nipple rings, no piercing, a single earring.  Smooth, pale, flawless skin, a big chest, prominent nipples, xylophone abs, an uncut Mortadella.  I went down on him while Lane was going down on Drake, and then we kissed while Drake was going down on Zack.  We ended the evening by tying Drake and Lane together on the bed for a bondage scene.

Later I called Drake.  "That's why you didn't want us to meet him?  Because he was younger?"

"Well, you have to admit, he's not the usual type you see hanging around the Eagle."

"I didn't know you were into younger guys."

"It's the darndest thing," Drake said.  "I didn't used to be, but for the last few years, there are twinks everywhere I go. They're smiling at me, cruising me --  It's like I'm a twink magnet."

"Sounds annoying," I said.  "Who needs a lot of skinny, giggling schoolboys in your bed?"

"It has its benefits.  They're awfully enthusiastic, and their energy -- they just keep going and going!"

 "Still, I hope I never become a twink magnet."

See also: The Leatherman who never left South of Market.; Zack Hooks Up with the Prince of Sweden; Handsome or Hung?