My First Pridefest...I mean, Gay Pride Parade....I mean, Gay Rights March. With Mickey Muscle.

June 1982, after my junior year at Augustana College.  Thomas, the former Episcopalian priest who I met with my ex-boyfriend Fred last year, calls to invite me to Des Moines for the annual Iowa Gay Rights March.

I have never heard of such a thing.

"We march to protest police harassment, discrimination in jobs and housing, sodomy laws, that sort of thing.  We had one last year.  It's always close to June 28th, the anniversary of the Stonewall Riots."

I have never heard of the Stonewall Riots, either.  But count me in.

The full story, with nude photos, is on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends

Matt's Date with Johnny Sheffield's Son

San Diego, July 1989

My ex-boyfriend Fred's boyfriend Matt was loud and proud, out to everybody and everything.  

"Hi, I'm gay, and I'd like to order a large pizza."

 "Hi, I'm gay.  What time will the flight from Kansas City be arriving?"

Fred didn't care for gay pride events, but Matt dragged him to Christopher Street West in L.A. every year, and sometimes to the parades in San Francisco and San Diego too.  "Mon chevalier blanc, it will be fabulous!" he promised.  "And, as any queen knows, they come with nonstop cruising.  Finding a Cute Young Thing to share my butt and our bed will make it all glorioski, n'est pas?"

In 1989 they went to the San Diego gay pride parade, and afterwards to a "hair cutting" exposition at the Eagle.  One of the guys in the chair was a Cute Young Thing named Stewie (this was before Family Guy co-opted the name): early 20s, tall, slim, very tanned, with brown curly hair, a round open face, pinprick nipples, and an average-sized cock, cut.  Plus he came from a wealthy family and attended a private school, just like Matt.  They immediately hit it off, and were so busy talking that they almost forgot to cruise.

They went back to Stewie's apartment, where Fred topped him while he went down on Matt.  Then Stewie topped Matt -- versatile, not like those West Hollywood queens who were only into oral.  And kissing and cuddling afterwards!  Merveilleux!  Matt was almost in love.

Lying in bed enfolded in each other's arms while Fred dozed, they shared coming out stories.  Stewie had known since he was in high school, but he hadn't told anyone in his family: "Mom might be ok with it, but Dad's old school.  He was in Hollywood in the 1940s, when being gay was the worst thing in the world."

"Has he been in anything I may have seen?" Matt asked.  "I'm quite the movie buff -- the silver screen was my only escape from the dreariness of the Midwest.  Let me guess -- your papa is Marlon Brando?"

Stewie smiled and began kissing Matt's chest.  "He was in some jungle movies.  I guess they were popular back in the day."

"Your papa was Tarzan, Lord of the Apes?"

"Close.  He played Tarzan's son, a kid named Boy.  I know, lame, right?  No wonder he doesn't like to talk about his acting days.  How would you like it if...old guys grabbed you at the Target...and said 'Can I have your autograph, Boy?""  He moved down Matt's belly to his crotch and began to give him a blow job.

Later Matt checked a movie reference book and discovered that Stewie's father was Johnny Sheffield, "Boy" in 8 Tarzan movies (1937-1946) and "Bomba" in 12 movies (1948-1956).  He had never heard of him. 

"Mon petit etalon, it makes no difference if your dear papa is Jerry Falwell -- you must come out to him.  It is the only way to be free of the monsters of our childhood.  And the sooner the better.  How about tomorrow?  Fred and I can come along for moral support."

"Tomorrow's not good," Stewie murmured, licking Matt's shaft.  "Mom might be ok with it, but she's out of town.  Dad's all by himself, and he'll kick me out of the house, seriously."

"You don't live in his house, so voila! Problem solved!" Matt exclaimed, pulling Stewie's head away and drawing him in for a kiss.  "Tomorrow you and I will go to Papa and come out,  ok?"  He nudged Fred.  "Réveillez-tu, mon etalon -- tomorrow we have a date with Tarzan!"

Stewie hesitated, but Matt could be very persistent, particularly when his aroused penis was in your face, so finally he agreed.

Fred had to get back to San Bernardino, but Stewie invited Matt to stay with him for a couple of days.  In the morning he called his father and got an invitation to dinner that night.

Fortunately, Stewie lived in the heart of Hillcrest, San Diego's gay neighborhood, so while he was at work, Matt had a marvelous time wandering among the shops and boutiques and bars.  He had lunch at a quaint little Japanese bistro, bought himself a new outfit, and worked out in the gay gym/bathhouse.  Stewie got home at 6, with just enough time to shower, change clothes, and drive them to a Tudor-style house near Hilltop Park in the suburb of Chula Vista.

Stewie parked the car, honked, and waited for his Dad to restrain the dogs so they wouldn't get out.  "I don't think I can do this," he said, literally trembling.  "Can we just say that you're dating my ex-girlfriend?"

"Mais non!"  Matt said.  "Seize the day, mon petit etalon!  I guarantee you that dear Papa Falwell will know before dessert!"

John Sheffield was in his fifties, tall and rather portly, with Stewie's round open face, graying hair, and glasses.  He offered them both handshakes, then invited them into the back yard, where he was grilling steaks.

"All I can cook is steak and burgers on the grill -- put me in front of a range, and I'm all thumbs," he said, drawing a steak from its marinade and placing it on the grill with a smoky flourish.  "I'll bet you're a great cook, Matt.  In six months you'll have him fattened up into a blimp!"

"Well, I don't like to brag, but one bite of my Poulet Célestine and you'll be giving me the deed to the ancestral castle."

"Great, then give me a hand, won't you, and bring out the salad?  The kitchen is through that door, then turn right."

"I'll show you the way!" Stewie exclaimed, not wanting to be alone with his dad.

When they returned, John said "I've been wondering when you would bring one of your friends around.  Patty and I always thought they would be a great bunch of guys.  So, Matt, are you and Stewie...um...."

Dad knows already!  Matt thought  "No, Monsieur Sheffield, we only met yesterday."

"Where did you meet" John asked.  "There was a lot going on in San Diego, a lot of cultural events.  Parades, festivals."

"At...um...church," Stewie exclaimed.

"I came down from West Hollywood especially for...um...church," Matt added, although he actually lived in San Bernardino.  Come on, Stewie, your Dad knows.  He wants you to say something!

"West Hollywood!  Now there's a great town.  So much to do for guys like you and Stewie to do.  I'll bet you could go out every night for a month, and not go to the same place twice."  He brought a steak to a plate.  "Like it rare, I hope?"

"Still mooing, monsier papa.  Bien sur, there is a lot of partying in West Hollywood, but eventually one longs to settle down with that one special man..."

"Or woman," Stewie added frantically.  "Depending on who you...who you are, a man or a woman yourself..."

"And who you fall in love with," John added.  "Let me tell you guys a story about me and Johnny Weissmuller, who played my Dad at RKO."  [In John's version it was a kiss, not a blow job]

They finished dinner, watched an old movie, and left.

"Wow, I never knew Dad was bisexual!" Stewie said on the way home.   He nudged Matt.  "Hey, sorry I didn't come out.  I just couldn't get the nerve.  He thinks of me as this raging heterosexual ladies' man."

"Bien sur," Matt said dryly.

This isn't really a celebrity hookup story, so Matt never thought of telling it at a party.  He and Stewie stayed friends -- I may even have met him -- but I never knew that his father was Johnny Sheffield, who filled so many of my adolescent fantasies.

It's probably for the best.  Who wants to win "10 minutes alone in the bedroom" with someone at a party, and have him spend the whole time gushing "Your Dad was so hot!"

By the way, I have found no external sources attesting that Stewart is gay.

Levi's Date with a Star of "The Dick Van Dyke Show"

West Hollywood, June 1995

It's the night before Gay Pride, so of course Lane and I have a full house: Infinite Chazz, my ex-boyfriend Fred and his boyfriend Matt, Randall the Bear with the Pierced Penis and his date Levi ("like the jeans"), and some other guys.  Most of them will spending the night, six in the beds and four in sleeping bags on the floor, so they can march in the parade tomorrow or get a good place to watch (we're a scant three blocks from Santa Monica Boulevard).

The only one I haven't met is Levi, a Long Beach boy in his late 30s or early 40s, slim, very tanned, and just starting to go bald, with gray hairs among the black in his beard and poking up from beneath his white t-shirt.  Very nice bulge.  I'm hoping to get to "share" later, but chances are he and Randall will invite Will the Bondage Boy into their bed instead.

As usual at West Hollywood parties, we discuss celebrity hookups: Scott Baio, Michael J. Fox, Rob Lowe, Louis Ferrigno.

Randall tells about the time he and Dick Sargent competed over a Disney teen star -- not Tommy Kirk  (that's a story for later).

Then Levi stands.  "All right, boys and girls, it's time for a guessing game.  And to make it more interesting, everyone who guesses correctly wins 10 minutes in the bedroom with me on my knees:

On Gay Pride Day in 1978, when I was a 22-year old Cute Young Thing, fresh off the boat from Alamosa, Colorado, I met and had a swooning night of passion with my boyhood crush, a star of The Dick Van Dyke Show.  You have to guess which one."

The classic Boomer sitcom (1961-1966), about tv comedy writer Rob Petrie (Dick Van Dyke) balancing his work world with his suburban family!  I'm too young to remember first-run episodes, but I've seen a lot of reruns. Not a lot of gay content, no beefcake, but some of the guys were interesting.

"Was it Buddy?" Fred asks. (The short, spunky Morey Amsterdam)  "He had a wife named Pickles -- you don't get more phallic than that."

"I'm voting for Jerry Paris, who played the next door neighbor," I say.  "He was incredibly handsome, nice hair, great hands."

Maybe it was the son," Will the Bondage Boy suggests.  "Larry Mathews would be all grown up by 1978."

"Dick Van Dyke himself?" Matt asks.  "I always got a little -- je ne peux pas dire -- a vibe from him."

Nine votes are cast, with Randall abstaining: 3 for Jerry Paris, 2 for Dick Van Dyke, and 1 each for  Morey Amsterdam, Larry Mathews, Jerry Van Dyke, and Carl Reiner.

"Unfortunately, no one will be seeing what my mouth can do," Levi says, "Not until later, anyhow.  The famous tv star who set my heart aflutter when I was a boy, and who brought me to my knees that hot day in June 1978, was none other than Richard Deacon, who played Mel Cooley."

Huh?

Mel Cooley, the officious busybody, the easily perturbed stick-in-the-mud, the quintessential square, the brunt of a thousand digs and put-downs?   How could he set anyone's heart aflutter?

Besides, he was bald, bespectacled, and rather homely, with a W. C. Fields nose, a weak chin, and a nondescript physique, even for the 1960s.

Levi explains:






Alamosa, Colorado, 1960s

A small town in the scrub grass at the base of the Rockies, 200 miles from the nearest big city, where the biggest tourist attraction was sand dunes.  It was full of cowboys, Mormons, and hobos, with nothing to do on a Saturday night but go to football games and drink beer: painful for a quiet, non-athletic, bookish boy regardless of your sexual identity, but when you're growing up gay in the police-state 1960s, sheer torture.

Looking for survival strategies on tv, Levi hit upon Mel Cooley.  Obviously gay -- at least, no wife was ever mentioned.  And a master of the passive-aggressive barbs that let you survive and even triumph over bigger, more powerful adversaries.  When fisticuffs would get you pummelled, try a slow burn or a disapproving eye-roll.  When an open objection would get you killed, try a snarky quip.  Genius!

Smitten, Levi watched Richard Deacon in everything he could find: Mr. Ed, The Addams Family, That Darn Cat, The Gnome-Mobile, Blackbeard's Ghost, Get Smart, The Beverly Hillbillies, Here's Lucy, Maude, BJ and the Bear.  

He always played gay-vague, passive-aggressive, snarky sticks-in-the-mud aching to ruin the hero's fun.  But on the talk and game shows -- Dick Cavett, The Tonight Show, Mike Douglas, The Match Game -- he revealed the sensitive, sweet soul beneath the bristly facade.  Levi was intrigued: he wanted more.

Hollywood, June 1978

A few weeks after he graduated from Adams State College with a degree in agriculture (his parents insisted), Levi was living in California (top photo), working in a department store, and watching his first Gay Pride Parade.  Harvey Milk was the grand marshal. There were protests against the Briggs Amendment, which would prohibit teachers from making pro-gay statements.

 And -- sitting on the patio of a restaurant facing the street, Levi saw his childhood crush, Richard Deacon!  He was with Paul Lynde and Phyllis Diller and a couple of Cute Young Things.

He was 57 years old, graying, and kind of chunky -- Levi later discovered that he didn't like the gym, and followed Miss Piggy's rule about jogging: "One should run only when one is being chased."  But he was enormously tall, massive, and vibrant, talking animatedly, waving his hands about.

"Mr. Deacon, I loved you in Dick Van Dyke!" Levi exclaimed, rushing forward.  "And in That Darn Cat!  You're a genius!"

"I'm not a genius," Richard said, looking up with a cruisy smile.  "I'm a craftsman."

Levi instinctively looked around, waiting for an insulting quip like "You mean crap-man."  But the others in his party just smiled.  Richard -- "Deac" -- invited Levi to join them.

Later they all had dinner at Deac's house off Coldwater Canyon Drive, north of Sunset.  He cooked: steak with corn compote and summer squash,  asparagus, and a Napa Valley cabernet, with a chocolate torte for dessert.

After dinner, Paul and Phyllis and the Cute Young Things went home, but Levi spent the night.  And the next.  They didn't become lovers, but they became friends, and shared tricks and recipes and Gay Pride Parades until his death on August 8, 1984.

West Hollywood, June 1995

"During my six years of friendship with Richard Deacon, I learned three important things about him," Levi says.

1. He didn't want to play heroes, or God forbid, romantic leads.  No fisticuffs, no kissing ladies.  He found what he was good at, and used it to his advantage, crafting a respectable Hollywood career, making enough money to indulge in all of the things he loved: good food, good wine, art, theater, travel.

2. He was the nicest, most approachable, most easy-going guy in Hollywood.  He would talk to anyone, from superstars to the counter girl at the deli, and no one had a single bad word to say about him.  

Levi pauses.

"What's third thing?" I ask.

"For some of you, it might be the most important.  Not to me -- I couldn't care less.  But it was very nice on a hot Hollywood night with a glass of Merlot by the bedside."

"What's the third thing?" I repeat, annoyed.

He spreads his hands, spanning at least a Kovbasa+.

3. Richard Deacon was hung to his knees.

10 Types of West Hollywood Parties

When I was living in West Hollywood, parties were a major form of socializing.  We held them, or were invited to them, at least once a week, sometimes twice.  Around major holidays like Christmas and Gay Pride, you might be invited to two or three every weekend.

Parties came in different types, with different expectations about what would happen and how they would end.

1. The New Boyfriend.  To introduce a new boyfriend to the group and get their approval, typically on the third or fourth date.   At the end of the evening, one of the guests would be invited to "share" (go into the bedroom for a threesome).

2. Coming Out.  For introducing a new friend to the group, either someone who was newly out or someone who had just escaped to West Hollywood from a homophobic small town.  He had to tell his coming out story.  At the end of the evening, some of the guests would take him "cruising" (looking for dates at the bars).

3. Moving.  You're moving in with a new boyfriend.  Your roommate moved out, so you can no longer afford the rent.  You want to move closer to your job.  You want to move closer to the heart of West Hollywood, Santa Monica and La Cienega.  You didn't have a lot of stuff in West Hollywood, so grab a few friends, rent a U-Haul, and you're done in a couple of hours, followed by a shower and pizza.

4. Christmas.  Rather a depressing holiday, full of hetero family nonsense.  Gay men have often been rejected by their families, or their families are a thousand miles away.  We overcame the depression by hosting nonstop parties where you made fun of Christmas classics, sang double-entendre-laden songs, and unwrapped x-rated presents.

5. Dinner.  A West Hollywood staple, a chance for you to show off your culinary skills.  Followed by discussions of gigantic penises, dates from hell, and celebrity hookups, and entertainment (a nude dancer) or games involving nudity.  At the end of the evening, some guys would be invited to "share" the roommates, and others would go out cruising.

More after the break.

Face to Face with John Stamos' Bulge

In 1984, when I was living in Hell-fer-Sartain, Texas, the one moment of joy in my miserable life came on Wednesday nights, when I could watch Scott Baio in Charles in Charge, followed by 21-year old John Stamos as an aspiring singer in Dreams.  How could you avoid falling in love with him? Thick black hair, a smooth tan chest, a basket that wouldn't quit, and a smile that stayed with you for days.

It only lasted for 12 episodes, but John Stamos got the full teen idol treatment, with posters in teen magazines and articles on "What It's Like to Date John."

I wanted to date John, sure, but I also wanted the big-city Philadelphia freedom he was living.  He was an emblem of hope, an awareness that there was life out there, over the rainbow.

 After I moved to West Hollywood, I saw John in You Again? (1986-87), as Jack Klugman's teenage son, but not in Full House (1987-1995),  the ultra-conservative TGIF sitcom about three straight guys raising a family together in a strictly gay-free San Francisco.

It was rather depressing.  Could the guy who got me through the horrors of Hell-fer-Sartain be homophobic?






West Hollywood, June 1990

At Gay Pride in June 1990, when I was marching with Beth Chaim Chadashim, I saw John in the crowd of spectators.

I nudged Lane.  "Look.  John Stamos, the teen dream I had a crush on in Texas!  Is he gay?"

"I don't think so," Lane said. "Gay actors never come to Gay Pride -- somebody might recognize them.  He must be straight but a supporter."

"That takes a lot of guts in homophobic Hollywood.  I'd like to go over and shake his hand."

"Who are you kidding?  You just want to meet your childhood crush!"

"Young adult crush, actually.  I'm two years older than Stamos."

By this time we had long since passed by.





Santa Monica, September 1991

Lane and I were at the Divine Design fundraiser for Project Angelfood, which provides meals for people living with AIDS.  I saw several celebrities  I knew in the crowd, such as Michael J. Fox and Patrick Stewart -- and John Stamos!

But instead of going over to say hello, I stood frozen in place, staring.

"What's the matter?" Lane asked.

"John Stamos."

"So why don't you go over?"  He paused.  "Don't tell me you're nervous!  You see celebrities at the gym every day.  You dated a teen idol, remember?"

I reddened, embarrassed to be having such a strange reaction.  "This is different.  John Stamos was...special.  I'm afraid I'll gush."

"Ok, so he turned you on.  He's just a guy.  He's not even built.  Have you seen his chest recently?"

"Thanks for making me think about his chest! Now I'll never get up the nerve to go over."

Lane grinned.  "Sorry.  What I meant was, he doesn't even have a very big cock.  I imagine that when it's hard, it's not more than five inches. You could go down on it and have room for his balls."

"This isn't helping!"

Hollywood, October 1993

I was walking in the AIDS Walk along with about 1,000 other people.  I stopped to sit on the curve to tie my shoe, while Lane and Infinite Chazz walked on.  When I looked up, John Stamos was right there, just a few feet away, walking quickly while talking to a male friend.

No way I was letting an opportunity slip away again!  I was going to shake his hand!  I would jump to my feet, run two yards over to him, and say "Hi!  I just wanted to thank you for helping me get through a dark time in my life!"

I jumped up, but my shoe was still untied.  I came up to within a few feet of Stamos and said "Hi!  I just wanted..."

He stopped walking and turned to face me.

At that moment, I tripped on something.

I'm still not sure how it happened, but I ended up falling onto my hands and knees, hard, with my face against John's crotch!

"Whoa, dude!" John and his friend helped me to my feet.  "Are you ok?"

"I think so."  Actually, my wrist hurt and my knee was scraped and bleeding.  "Did I hurt you..um...down there?"

"No, man.  You didn't hit me hard."

His friend laughed.  "John's gotten head lots of times, but they usually buy him dinner first."

I should have said something like "Ok, I'll buy you dinner."  At least I should have gone into my "you helped me through a dark time" spiel.  But I was too dazed and embarrassed.  I just stood there.

"You sure you're ok?  You look a little out of it.  You want me to call anybody?"

"My friends are right over there.  Thanks, though."

John and his friend walked on, while I stood there, thinking.

My mouth had been pressed against John Stamos' cock, separated by only a thin mesh!  That counts as oral sex, right?  Even though neither of us consented to it.

I've told several people this story over the years.  Not one believed that it was really an accident.

And no, I can't comment on his size.

See also: Nate Richert's Kielbasa.

A Date with Two Gay Dads

Plains, October 2017

Dads with their children are incredibly hot.

Ok, not this way -- I don't want to be double-teamed by a biological father and son.

But at festivals and street fairs, at restaurants, in line at the movies, having a kid in tow increases your attractiveness by about 500%

 The attraction seems to be in the paradoxical juxtaposition of innocence and experience, the sexless and sexual.  Dad is nurturing you, but his arousal and orgasm created you.  You are walking, talking proof of his sexual potency.

So when I saw two dads at Octoberfest, holding the hand of their 3-year kid between them, visions of sharing rushed through my head.

They were both twinks, so my cruising was bound to succeed:  Chad was tall and slim with dirty blond hair, a goatee, and a basket.  Rod, more muscular, Mediterranean-looking with a broad open face, clean-shaven.

Their kid was named Will, after the titular character on the mega-homophobic sitcom Will and Grace.

Chad grew up in a small town in Minnesota, met Rod in college, and convinced him to move to another small town to restore the old opera house.  Now he was working on various historic restoration projects, while Rod was mostly a house-husband, cooking and cleaning and watching daytime soap operas.

I didn't ask how Will came about, but I assumed it was through artificial insemination.  It didn't make a difference: they had a child, innocence derived from experience, sexless derived from sex, and I wanted them in my bed.

I invited them over for dinner Wednesday night, expecting of course that they would get a babysitter.

Instead they brought a bottle of wine and a chocolate cake. And Will.

Ok, no sharing tonight.

No sex games or nudity.

No discussions of celebrity hookups, gigantic penises, or dates from hell.

What else do gay dads talk about?

Their kid: "He's so smart.  He already know his ABCs... Will, settle down! and he can count to...Will, don't chase the cat!  ...Will, use your inside voice!"

College: "I took a class in your field.  Do you know professor...Will, don't run in the house..Professor...Will, don't touch that, it looks expensive...Do you have any gay students?...Will, take that out of your mouth!  He just gets excited meeting new people."

Gay Pride: "We went to Gay Pride in...Will, get your hands out of the dip...Minneapolis.  We marched with the Gay Fathers...Will, if you don't want that cherry tomato, spit it into my hand, don't smush it on the couch.....It's a great group...Where's your bathroom?"

Maybe Will would like to watch a video?  I have some cartoons...

TV: "We love American Horror Story...it's so gay-positive....
Will, don't touch that...and we're going through Star Trek, the original series, on Netflix...Will, do you need a nap?...Kirk is totally hot, don't you think?"

Time to eat.  Bob made vegetable lasagna and a salad, which Will ate with his hands, picking up a piece of lasagna, showing it to his dad, asking "What's this?", and repeating for each slice.

Food: "There's a pizza place nearby that serves a 10 pound pizza.  It's free if you and a friend can eat the whole thing...Will, that's not a toy...I went with my brother-in-law, who is this massive truck driver type, and even we couldn't get through even half of...Will, use your fork."

I cleared the dishes while Bob dished out the chocolate cake, which Will ate with his hands.

Then, nerves frazzled, ears ringing from the constant yelling, bloated from lasagna and cake in the same meal, and nauseous from watching the kid eat with his hands, I said goodnight and shooed them out the door.


 I won't be inviting Chad, Rod, and Will over again for a long time.

Not until Will looks something like this.

Call me in 15 years.

See also: Nude Photos of Dads and their Adult Sons.

Gay Life is Happening in Turku

The port city of Turku, Finland straddles the mouth of the Aura River, a two hour drive from Helsinki.  There are 187,000 people.   It is now 2:00 pm in Turku, and everyone is busy.

A blond twink with a 6" cock is taking an aroused photo of himself to send to a friend in Sweden.

Students at the Åbo Akademi University are just finishing class, and on their way to the Bar Suxes on Yliopistonkatu.  It won't be very crowded at this hour, but they will make use of the dark room.

At the Raision Lukio, the high school on Kirkkoväärtinkuj, the soccer team is practicing.  One of the players is out, and another is planning to come out soon.

The Elixia gym near the river is crowded with mid-afternoon weight lifters, some gay, some not.

There's a guy sitting alone in a pew at Turku Cathedral, which dates to the 13th century, Catholic before Finland became Lutheran.  I don't know if he's praying or consulting a guidebook.

A gay guy is dressing for his shift as a barrista at the  CaféArt on Läntinen Rantakatu, where there are tables out by the river in the summer.

The most popular tourist attraction in Turku is the Turku Castle, which dates from the 13th century and became a palace for Swedish nobility during the Renaissance. The museum shop is housed in the old warehouse.

There are several British tourists being led through the old dungeons by a very bored tour guide who can't wait for his shift to end so he can get to his date tonight.

Somewhere in Turku, at this moment, two boys are kissing.

Somewhere in Turku, at this moment, someone is eating a cookie naked.

Gay life is happening in Turku.  And in Tampere.  And in Tulsa.  And in every other city you've ever visited or heard of.

Gay Pride Has Changed

Minneapolis, June 2017

I've been marching in gay pride parades since they were called gay rights marches.

I was in the first ever to be held in the state of Iowa, in June 1981.

When I lived in California and New York, from 1985 to 2001, I marched almost every year, either with the Metropolitan Community Church or with the gay synagogue.

 It was the biggest event of the year: we spent months deciding which group to march with, working on banners and floats, charting out the route, making plans to meet friends afterwards, at the festival.

The day of the parade,we would show up at the staging ground on Crescent Heights an hour early (walk, if you could), dressed lightly -- Los Angeles in June is hot!

It was fun to be walking down the streets we drove down every day, with a wall of spectators on all sides, more gay men and lesbians than we ever knew existed.

The hetero screamers, outraged by our existence, with their signs saying we were going to hell, were confined to a small area next to the Rage, where we could ignore them easily.

Then came the festival in West Hollywood Park: 20 or 30 booths from every gay organization you had ever heard of, and some you hadn't: Dignity (for gay Catholics), Frontrunners (for runners), Gay Fathers, the Gay Asian-Pacific Alliance.  A few food carts, whoever was brave and non-homophobic enough to be seen with us, selling ice cream, corn dogs, and Thai food on a stick.

A huge crowd of gay men and lesbians, some you would never see anywhere else.  A chance to catch up with friends you'd lost track of.  Acres upon acres of shirtless musclemen.
Nonstop cruising: it wasn't a successful pride festival unless you got at least three phone numbers.

Hetero screamers milled about with pamphlets about how we were going to hell, so the rule was: never accept anything someone tries to hand to you.  Representatives of gay organizations will sit at their booths with brochures for you to pick up.

In the evening there was a round of parties and dances, with a lot more cruising, and there was always that one guy who was completely nude in a public place.

At work the next day, you could always tell who was gay: they were sunburned.

In Florida I didn't go, and in 2005 I moved to the Straight World, where Gay Pride was a small, understated affair.  A barbecue in the park for about 20 people.  A parade with about 20 banners but no floats that marched down one side of the street, the other still open to gawking traffic.

I haven't been to a big-city Gay Pride for 16 years.

They've changed.

Last weekend I went to Minneapolis for Twin Cities Pride.  Due to a GPS problem, my wisdom tooth extraction, and oversleeping, my friend and I missed the Parade, but we went to the festival in Loring Park, near downtown.



1. It's not Gay Pride or LGBT Pride, it's just Pride. It's rather annoying to be erased from your own festival.

2. Instead of 20 or 30 booths, there were over 200.  Most were not gay-specific.  Banks, credit unions, colleges (not college LGBT groups, just "why you should come here"), sheets and towels, a service that would clean your rain gutter.

Instead of two or three food trucks, there were about fifty.  No longer do the organizers have to scrounge around to find enough vendors willing to be seen with us.

3. The rule about not accepting anything someone tries to hand you was gone.  Everyone tried to hand us something: beads, buttons, bags, brochures.  I didn't take anything -- force of habit.

Fortunately, I didn't see any screamers.

4.  But the festival wasn't for us anymore.  Over half of the crowd consisted of male-female couples, often with kids in tow, and most of the rest were groups of women  A scattering of gay men.  

5. The acres and acres of beefcake were gone. Very few of the men were shirtless, and very few were buffed.  At least I can say that I have a better physique than 99% of the men at a Gay Pride Festival.

6. The cruising was gone, too.  The few times I got cruised, it was by a woman or a teenage boy.  I get more action at the doctor's office.

Afterwards we walked back across Lyndale Avenue, through the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden.  A large Muslim family was photographing each other in front of the cherry spoon statue.  College kids were playing miniature golf on a weird course with brillo pads and maps of downtown.  There was a baseball game going on at the stadium.

They were half a mile from Gay Pride.  They didn't know, or they didn't care.

"Gay Pride has changed,"  I told my friend.

"For better or worse?"

"I'm not sure."

One of the college boys playing miniature golf looked over at me with a cruisy glance.

Some things don't change.

A G-rated version of this post is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding

See also: My First Gay Rights March