Monday, October 31, 2022

Halloween Horror: Cruising in the Scariest Place on Earth


Hell, October, 2017

We're only 30 miles from Hell.

I'm spending fall break with Jonathan Peng Lee, my hustler/engineer/paranormal enthusiast/gym rat friend who I met 12 years ago at Alan's funeral.  It's two days before Halloween, and he has promised to bring me to the scariest place on Earth.

I expected a haunted house, but no: we're spending two nights in Lynchburg, Virginia!

How did I let Jon talk me into this foolhardy trip?  Over an hour driving through the Shenandoah Valley that General Sherman burned, through Arkham...I mean Amherst...Stonewall -- no connection to the birthplace of gay rights -- Greif (grief misspelled by rednecks).

Now it's only 20 miles to Hell.

The site of Thomas Road Baptist Church, where Jerry Falwell, the biggest homophobe in the world, spewed his venom.  The site of Homophobia University, where the top homophobes in the country send 15,000 of their kids to be indoctrinated into how to hate us more.

We're going undercover as fundamentalists, but still, I doubt we'll make it out alive.

""Why would anyone name a city after the mob murders of thousands of African-Americans in the years after the Civil War?" I wonder.

"It was named before that, after its founder, who ran a ferry in the 1780s," Jon reads off wikipedia. "Hey, guess what?  He was an abolitionist.  Progressive, huh?"

"Oh, very.  I'll bet he was pro-gay, too."

We cross nameless suburbs, then the River Styx (I mean James).

My first view of Hell: Eerie yellow lights, a dark stormy sky, the dark tower like something out of Mordor.

We have a reservation at Craddock Terry Hotel on Commerce Street, "steeped in history."  There's a giant woman's shoe over the lobby.

"Fabulous, isn't it?"  Jon says sarcastically.

"Don't use that word.  Remember, undercover -- one room, two beds, and call me 'Brother.'"

"Whatever you say, darling."


We have dinner at a place called Bootleggers, a couple of blocks away.  You enter from the basement: "like you're entering a speakeasy."  There's a gigantic mural of old-time rednecks.  I order a turkey burger and truffle-laced french fries.

Rather elegant for Hell, I have to admit.

Afterwards we return to our hotel room and go on Grindr to look for a hookup.  I expect a lot of married closet-case-angst types, but we end up inviting over a student from one of the local colleges -- not Homophobia University.  Tall, slim, thick black hair, about 7", into oral.  He's a Humanities major, and on the swim team.

"You must be closeted among your teammates," I say.

"Oh, no, not at all.  Everyone on the team is completely supportive. The captain is majoring in Human Services with a concentration in LGBTQ Advocacy."

LGBTQ Advocacy?  WTF?

"Not everybody in town is as backwards as that other university," he says.  "Too bad you won't be here next spring.  They're doing The Laramie Project at the Renaissance Theater."


He spends the night, but doesn't go out for breakfast with us: waffles at the White Hart Cafe, which is also a used bookstore. No gay books per se, but I do find a biography of Truman Capote.

"What do you want to do today?" Jon asks.  He reads the possibilities from Trip Advisor: "A children's museum, the city museum, a historic mansion, the old cemetery with a Confederate Monument, the Pest House Medical Museum..."

"Have a lot of pestilence in Hell, do they?"

After breakfast we visit the old mansion, the Point of Honor, and go hiking at Blackwater Creek, where I could swear I am being cruised by a cute twink  AND I see what looks suspiciously like a couple of gay dads with their kid.  Lunch is Szechuan Shrimp (surprisingly not terrible) and Collector's Lair to look at new comics and graphics novels.

Then we hit Randolph College, a fine old brick college where the news magazine has an article about an alumnus who has returned to teach mathematics.  He's "involved with LGBTQ Advocacy Programs like the Change Project."

Change?  Uh-oh.  Sounds ex-gay.

We seek out his office hours.  Turns out the organization is meant to "elevate the voices of LGBTQ people throughout the Deep South."

"Most people in town are pretty progressive," he says.  "We try to distance ourselves from that university down the pike.  For instance..."  He closes his office door and points out the calendar.

Shirtless, muscular firemen!  WTF??

"Twelve local firefighters posed shirtless for this calendar, to raise money for cancer research." {Photo by Allison Creasy]

"Hmph!  For ladies only, I suppose. Heterosexist tripe!"

"Oh, no, it's for everyone.  'Everyone is welcome.'"

"So....I'll bet there are no gay organizations in town except for some closeted 'support groups.'"

"Well, there's the Diversity Center on Jefferson, sort of our gay community center. They have movie nights and First Friday art shows.  There's a gay community choir...."

"Yeah, sounds dismal...."

We just have time to check out the campus gym, to gawk at the muscular, bulge-worthy college students lifting weights and playing basketball before "Meditation Monday" at the Maier Museum of Art, led by a practitioner in Buddhist meditation.

Several of the regulars look like they could be Friends of Dorothy, including a tall, ripped guy in his 30s.  He introduces himself as Zeke, an IT director for a health care service in town.

"My...um...friend from the Midwest and I are visiting for the day," Jon says. "Maybe you could recommend someplace that's active on a Monday night?"

He grins.  "There aren't any bars in Virginia, really, but a lot of the restaurants draw an eclectic clientele.  Have you heard of the Kegney Brothers?  I'll be happy to show you..."

It's another brew pub in yet another historic building downtown (established 1879).  Practically deserted on a Monday night, and the few patrons are all male-female couples.  Our waiter is wearing a rainbow flag lapel, though.

I order the shepherd's pie.  Zeke, who is vegetarian, surprisingly, orders the curried vegetables.

"Sorry," Zeke says.  "I thought it would be more active.  Maybe later."

We decide that it's safe to out ourselves.  "Any gay activities in town?"

"They have a LGBT queer-e-oke at the Unitarian Church on Wednesday nights," Zeke says, "And I don't know if you're into it, but there's a sex party at a guy I know's house every other Saturday."

"We're leaving tomorrow, unfortunately," Jon says.  "But if you want to call the guy you know, we can have a mini-party."

So we visit the guy Zeke knows, an organist at the Holy Cross Catholic Church -- there are Catholics in Hell?  In his 40s, rather portly, collects spoons, of all things.  With a rather hot twink boyfriend.

After a five-person mini-sex party, we stumble back to our hotel room and go to bed.

In the morning, we have breakfast in the hotel and a brief workout at the downtown YMCA before it's time to head back to Charlottesville and a gay Halloween party.

"Boy, am I glad to be out of that place!" I say.  "I couldn't have stood it for another minute!"

"I know -- it was awful!"  Jon says sarcastically. "Now I know what Hell feels like."

The travel guide version of this story is on Small Town Beefcake

4 comments:

  1. Funny how we read through the story nude pics and all. On to bottom of the page to read that there is a g rated version elsewhere. Not that I want too, it's just funny.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. When there are nude photos that go with a story on "Boomer Beefcake and Bonding," I always post them here and include a back-link. In this case you have the whole story, so there's no need for a back-link, but I put one in anyway.

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    2. the back-link seems to be gone now?

      Delete
  2. Welcome to the new order, Boomer. Those ignoramuses at the Liberty Universities if the world are dinosaurs. And I see a strange object in the sky.

    ReplyDelete

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