Troy, my boyfriend in Upstate New York, was a high school French teacher and soccer coach -- rather an anomaly in a town obsessed with baseball -- 25 years old, tall, slim, athletic very handsome, except for the big black earrings and a pink triangle tattoo.
He had never been farther west than Buffalo, so in the spring of 2011, I offered to fly us to West Hollywood and San Francisco.
"That sounds cool," he said, "But you know where I'd really like to go? Texas. Cowboys, sage brush, cattle ranches, oil barons, all that glitz and glamour. You know what they say: 'they grow them big in Texas."
"But...after 210 miserable days in Hell-fer-Sartain -- um, I mean Houston -- I vowed to never set foot in the state again!"
"I know -- you've told me lots of horror stories about your year in Texas. But that was in 1985, before I was even born. I'm sure it's changed a lot since then. Being gay is even legal now."
It took several conversations, but finally I agreed: three nights in Austin, Texas, a liberal, bohemian college town nowhere near Hell-fer-Sartain, and then March 15-19 in West Hollywood.
When the plane landed at Austin International Airport on March 11th, and the blue sky of Texas enveloped me, I began to feel anxious, almost panicky. What if we were trapped here? What if we could never escape again?
"Relax!" Troy said, taking my hand. Wary of homophobes, especially in redneck Texas, I jerked it away.
The highway into town had tall barriers on either side. I couldn't see anything.
We stayed at a gay bed and breakfast on Lavaca Street, just south of the State Capitol, near the Mexi-Arte Museum, a gay bar called Rain, and a sushi restaurant. Adequately Bohemian. I could stand spending three nights here.
But then Troy had another surprise: "I want to drive out to Houston. It's only 165 miles."
"What? Why?"
"The Montrose is one of the oldest gay neighborhoods in the country. And besides, I've heard so many stories about Hell-fer-Sartain that I want to see it for myself. We'll drive up tomorrow, spend the night, and drive back the next day, ok?"
"No way, Jose! You talked me into coming to Texas, but no way I'm going near that place! I haven't been there in 25 glorious years, and I'm up for at least another 25 years without setting foot in Hell-fer-Sartain."
"Ok, ok! But would you mind if I go myself, just for curiosity's sake? I'll keep a complete log of what happened. Oh -- and carte blanche for cruising?"
"Sure, whatever. You won't find anybody in Hell-fer-Sartain, anyway. Lord knows I tried."
So I spent all day Monday and Tuesday by myself in Austin. Troy returned in time for dinner Tuesday night. As promised, he kept a log:
11:00 am. I arrive at Lone Star College, where Boomer taught bonehead English to rednecks. I meet with Cammie, the head of the Gender-Sexuality Alliance, who prefers not to use gender pronouns. "It's not a gay club," they tell me. "Most of our members are transgender or genderqueer. We have cisgender straight members, too. And a couple of gay guys."
12:00 pm. Several members of the GSA -- two gay, two genderqueer, and one straight -- take me to lunch at the China Bear, near the campus. They're going to be on a panel in a sociology class at 2:00, and ask me to go along.
2:00 pm. The panel. We sit on chairs in the front of a room with about 30 students -- not all rednecks (there's a Muslim girl in a hijab). Each of us tells our "coming out" story (as gay, transgender, and genderqueer). Then the students ask questions, mostly about "what causes it?" and "how did your parents react?" One asked me if I was attracted to buttholes the way straight guys are attracted to boobs.
3:00 pm. The other gay gay on the panel, a biochemistry major named Mason, offers to take me on a tour of the area. We try to find Boomer's old address, but the house is gone. The streets are now paved, by the way, and have sidewalks.
5:00 pm. Back to Mason's house. I expect dinner, but instead he invites me to "share" with his partner Donovan, an older guy, balding but otherwise cute, firm hairy chest, big dick. I go down on him while Mason is going down on me, and then he tops Mason. Hot!
7:00 pm. We shower (together) and then drive into Houston, where I check into my hotel and (finally!) go out to dinner at Baba Yegg, which disappointingly doesn't serve Russian food. But there are lots of gay guys there, in groups and couples.
9:00 pm. Time to hit the bars. There are a dozen within walking distance of my hotel: South Beach, JR's, Blur, Ripcord. Mostly dancing and drag queens, but there's one leather bar, the Eagle (naturally).
12:00 am. No luck at the Eagle, and I'm a little tired (and hungry), so I go to Boheme, an artsy wine bar with a pizza menu. Naturally, I get cruised when my mouth is full of artisanal eggplant-kalimata olive pizza.
1:00 am. Rolf is a little older than me, in his 30s, with too many scents and too much gel in his hair. But otherwise he's hot, very muscular, bare hard chest, cut Kielbasa+, into "worship" (where you kiss and lick him all over the body). I am glad to oblige! For sex, he's an oral bottom. As Boomer knows, I'm mostly an oral bottom, too, but I don't mind getting a blow job every now and then, especially if the guy is hot.
Tuesday
8:00 am. Breakfast with Rolf, then jogging through the Montrose.
10:00 am. The Museum District: Museum of Fine Arts, Natural History Museum, then cruising at Rice University. A cute college guy seems to be flirting with me, but I don't have time to stop.
1:00 pm. Lunch, then a stop at the gay sex shop to buy Boomer some souvenirs, a 9" dildo and some nipple clamps (he'll use them on me, hopefully). They have video booths with glory holes, so I stick around for awhile. Soon a 9" penis comes through the glory hole at me. I don't know who it belongs to -- it's dark, maybe Hispanic. Who cares?
Later a college-aged guy puts his very hard average sized penis through. Is it the same one who flirted with me before? I can't tell for sure.
"What about you?" Troy asked. "What did you do during your two days alone in Austin?"
I visited the State Capitol and the State History Museum, which was kind of boring. I cruised at Oilcan Harry's but didn't meet anyone, worked out at the Gregory Gym at the University of Texas but didn't seen any Texas penises, bought used books at a public library book sale, not very interesting ones.
"Meet any hot guys?"
"No. I saw Alvin Rangel's biceps and bulge at a dance recital.
I should have gone back to Hell-fer-Sartain...um, I mean Houston.
See also: Troy's First Video Booth
This story was really annoying to write, since I still hate Texas, and I hate the fact that Troy had more fun than I did because I refused to go to Houston.
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