The Sausage Sighting at the Film Festival

The Plains, Spring 2015

When I lived in the gay neighborhoods of Los Angeles, New York, and Fort Lauderdale, there were annual Gay and Lesbian Film Festivals to attend.

In the Straight World, not so much.  You can go to mainstream film festivals to see an occasional gay-themed piece (mostly about gay teens being bullied at school) amid the many selections about lonely, isolated heterosexuals and melancholy children:

A woman tries to keep the rattling suitcase of her dead husband closed.

A young boy walks through a deserted city to a house where a little girl is ballet-dancing.

A man chases a balloon through a subway station.

A young girl collects fallen leaves.

There is occasional beefcake.  Graham Patrick Martin, who played a gay hustler on Major Crimes, plays a guy who hires an "authentic girlfriend," and instead of sex, gets a nagging harridan.  But at least he takes his shirt off.

Buffed Polish actor and dancer Rafal Iwaniuk, who has posted a "like" of a gay sauna in Warsaw on Facebook (unless it's another Rafal Iwaniuk) plays a tough who sits next to a guy on a train and makes him feel threatened.

The festival of short films here on the Plains last year was sponsored by the University, and held in three venues downtown.  Most of the shorts I saw were held in a t-shaped theater with folding chairs and couches.

My date (Jimmy the Boy Toy) and I sat on a couch on the left side of the "t," where we could see the screen and the projection booth, a narrow room separated from us by a curtain.

The projectionist stood and walked into the "t" to adjust the sound and so on.  Otherwise he slouched on a couch just in back of the curtain.  He didn't realize that I could see his legs and crotch perfectly, especially when the screen lit up with a bright scene.

He was a college student, tall, a little chunky, with thick hair and a bright, androgynous face, wearing a festival sweater, and very tight jeans that displayed a substantial basket.

He usually didn't watch the movies.  He texted on his cell phone with one hand.  The other was lying on his inner thigh, parallel to his crotch.

Right next to his bulge.

I nudged Jimmy.  We both put our heads on our elbows and pretended to fall asleep so we could see better.

This short was about a young man locked in a room with several versions of himself banging on the door, trying to get in.  Not very interesting.

The projectionist was now paging through something on his cell phone.  I couldn't see what.

He was starting to tent!

The short ended.  He got up to cue the next one: about a woman trying to assemble the fragments of her ruined life in a deserted basement.

Texting again, then back to paging through something.  Porn?  His hand moved to his crotch.  Now he was cupping.

I looked closely.  He was starting to fondle.  The tent came up.

The short ended.  He stood, tenting, and went to cue the next one.  A woman who is distracted by vivid daydreams, and goes to a clinic in an attempt to become "normal," but ends up dancing with unicorn people.

This was a long film, nearly twenty minutes.  The projectionist lounged on the couch and paged through his cell phone again.  The tent returned.  He began to fondle it.

Would he pull it out?

Yes!  Well, at least he unzipped.  Now the tent was in his white briefs, a clear view of a fully aroused Bratwurst+!

He fondled it for a few moments, then slid it back into his pants and went back to texting.

Unfortunately, at the 2016 festival, there was a different projectionist in the t-shaped theater, and no tenting happened.

I did get a glimpse of one of the participants at the urinal.

Impressive, but not really worth sitting through six hours of films about lonely, isolated heterosexuals and melancholy children.

See also: My Platonic Friends and Their Boy Toy; Topped by the Vietnamese Twink

The 4th of July in the Straight World: Fireworks, Cruising, and Searching for America

Plains, July 2016

In gay neighborhoods, we never went to 4th of July Fireworks.  Deliberately watching loud, flashy explosions?  More of a heterosexual thing.  Besides, gay people were criminals in 23 states, we were deprived of our most basic human rights, we were regularly beat up by the police and demonized by politicians -- why should we celebrate the Independence Day of a country that hated us?

But I live in the Straight World now, and apparently the 4th of July Firework Celebration is the big event of the summer, so last night I went, for the first time since high school.

My friend Gabe had to work at the gay-friendly coffee house, and my sort-of boyfriend Dustin was out of town, so I went alone, figuring I would run into people I know there.

First they had a Red Hot and Blue concert in the amphitheater, with the orchestra playing instrumental versions of semi-patriotic patriotic songs:



"Philadelphia Freedom"
"Party in the U.S.A."
"Born in the U.S.A."
"America" (the Neil Diamond version)
"American Woman" (weird choice)
"American Pie" (come on, just because of the title?)
"This Land is Your Land"
"Yesterday" (what was a Beatles song doing there?)
"The Battle Hymn of the Republic"

After that, things got even more weird.  It was like an episode of The Twilight Zone.

1. I walked around the park three times, and saw no one I knew.  I must know 100 people in town from school, church, the gym, the coffee house, and the bear parties.  Where were they?

Did I take a "step to the left" and pass into a weird parallel world?

2. The crowd consisted mostly of heterosexual nuclear families.  Thin tattooed Dad and super-hefty Mom, in their twenties or thirties, towing overly excited preteen kids and maybe their wrinkled, cane-wielding parents.

There were a few clumps of teenagers and college students, but:

3. No gay couples or groups, that I could see, anywhere.

For that matter, no Muslims.  No African-Americans.

Just a lot of overweight white people with "Build a Wall!" on their t-shirts and American flags on their coolers.   I was surrounded by conservative, redneck, Trump supporters -- and, no doubt, homophobes.

Gulp.

What, don't liberals like fireworks?

4. I wasn't being cruised!

The pickings were slim anyway -- not a lot of cute guys among the overweight white people.

But I'm a twink magnet!  I get that familiar face-crotch-face glance and horny half-smile constantly, from nearly everyone under 30 I see, whether it's at the Student Union on campus, at the J.C. Penney's in the mall, at a Christian fundamentalist pizza restaurant, even at the  doctor's office.

Here they weren't biting.  I walked past several clumps of teenagers and twinks -- nothing.  No hot Dad looked up from his hefty wife to give me a surreptitious glance.    Just a few boys in their early teens, too young to understand what they were doing.  And a few women.

I was being cruised by women!

Explosions, heterosexual cruising, and Trump politics.  This was not my country.

As Janet says in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, "If only we were among friends, or sane persons!"

Time to get out of there!

The fireworks hadn't even started yet, but I had enough.  I pushed my way out of the park, struggling against the stream of heterosexual Dads and Moms clamoring in with their coolers and lawn chairs, their overexcited kids pulling on their arms and squealing "Hurry up!  Hurry up!"

Not expecting anyone to be going the other direction, they almost crashed into me over and over again.   I had to inch my way forward, yelling "excuse me!" to gt their attention.

Finally I reached the street just outside the park.  I was stuck at a stoplight with another guy who was pushing against the tide:in his twenties, clean shaven, a severe military haircut, a little chunky but with thick biceps, wearing a red button-down shirt, cargo pants, and red tennis shoes.

Leaving the park before the fireworks -- was he also feeling out of place in the crowd of overweight, ultra-conservative heterosexual nuclear families?  Was he liberal, or gay, or both?

"Quite a crowd" I said.

The Pedestrian grunted something incomprehensible.  Then the light changed, and he rushed off.

My route home went the same direction he was going, so I followed, past the ice cream store, the comic book store, and some antique shops, a tea room, an incongruous travel agency, two heterosexual taverns, a halal grocery store, all of the familiar places of the Straight World.

To the corner of my street, and the gay-friendly coffee house.  The only business on the street that wasn't closed and dark.  There was cheery yellow light illuminating the rainbow flag in the window.

Sure enough, the Pedestrian went in.  I followed.

There was a small crowd, a few lesbian couples, a group of gay men, some college students working on papers, an older man staring at his laptop.

It was Open Mike Night.  On stage, a guy in his twenties was singing "America" (the Simon & Garfunkel version):

"Kathy, I'm lost", I said,  though I knew she was sleeping. "I'm empty and aching and I don't know why."  

Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They've all come to look for America.

I stood in line at the coffee counter behind the Pedestrian.  "Nice to be home, isn't it?" I said.

He turned back and smiled.

See also: A Nude Party with the Golden Boy

Nude Photos of Joe Dallesandro

Here are the nude photos of Warhol star Joe Dallesandro.



















Immortalized on film, magazine covers, and record album covers, and in the song "Walk on the Wild Side."

Bisexual, with two grown sons.

The full post is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.

See also: Joe Dallesandro's Date with Peter Pan