spring, when a young man's...
2 march

After a week with family I was more than ready to get to New York. Again, I had a last minute advertising deadline to deal with, and again the woman at the express mail counter wanted to talk about how much she missed Orange County while she tried to find out all my business.

In New York, Pop Tart celebrated his birthday by getting a pack of us to go to to the latin gay fixture Esqualita. I joined up with them after I finished a call, and we had a decent time. The highlight for me was seeing a troupe of drag queens tap dance. Not something to check off my life list, but only because I hadn't thought to put that on my list in the first place.

During one of my bus rides across town who stepped on but Rollerina. I met him/her out of drag in the late 80's and was probably one of the few people left in the city who knew who Rollerina was. Or is- maybe in the Spring she reappears like hyacinths.

Attended an art auction in the Village at the Salmagundi Club, where my NY host was a member until his recent resignation over a difference in the use of the term 'gold medal'. One of the last bargains in New York, the twice yearly auctions offer up original art for as little as one hundred dollars.

Workwise, not a good week, but not completely bust. Social-wise, had a terrific time. This came to be the theme for the rest of my trip in the states.

13 March

I fled the chilly Northeast and landed in sunny California, just missing the last of the winter rains. From then on, I brought sun and warm temperatures wherever I went. I was anxious to see my LA pad for the first time after I left, remembering a question about painting the walls purple. I actually got from the airport to my house using only public transport: a bus to the train, the train to the subway, and a short walk from the subway station to my house.

One of my friends was home to let me in, and I was impressed: art all over the walls, including a Rodney O'Neill, and no purple paint. The garden I planted last year filled in and was vibrant with all the recent rain. New flowers brightened the stretch by the front gate and the wisteria was about to bloom. In the back yard, I practically squealed at the sight of jasmine flowers; they smelled heavenly. And the ferns and scented geraniums, everything looked lush. I called clients who had asked me to contact them when I arrived and would spend the next day and a half pruning and cleaning up the grounds.

Had no pages that night but the next day I visited Will Clark's Cocktails with the Stars at Micky's. Walking through WeHo I noticed several storefronts had changed hands since I left: no Ray Dragon, no Orek, no Gold's, gone was the clothing store where it was said some guy with a huge dick worked in the mornings. Worst of all, no SFO; I'd have to find another source for the socks I used to buy in bulk. But there was still Cocktails.

After mixing with a heady mix or porn stars, including Tom Katt, I decided to skip the nearby release party and instead raced (well, as fast as one can race on a bus) home to change for the Wet Shorts Contest at The Gauntlet II, where I was a contestant.

My subletters were hosting a dinner party where I met some new friends, including Teenseses, who offered to let me ride with him up to San Francisco Saturday morning, sparing me a half day on a Greyhound. I showed the guys my special boxers that I bought in a thrift store in New York just for the event. Still no pages, but then, but I just wrote it off to not having an ad running.

After a quick workout at the gym, I got a cab over to the bar. The other 'contestants'- I found out later there really was no contest- were Steve Hurley and Joshua Scott. The tireless Will Clark was the host for the charity event, and one of the LA Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence was the official 'water boy'.

My Cold Stone University kid briefs, with a stamp sized portrait of Cold Stone Steve Austin on the back band, were a hit. I was so busy trying to compensate for my nervousness that I didn't look down to see how I looked wet. I tossed my consequently soaked socks into the crowd.

After the show, I checked my pager. Nothing. Oh well, there's more to life than work, time to get some shut eye. I hitched a ride with Joshua Scott, but not without ticking off another item on my life list. We were walking toward partner Gene's SUV when a pair of cute dogs stopped us, because these dogs were sitting in the seat of a real live truck, belonging to a real live gay trucker.

"Can I go in? Can I go in?" I had already lost the night's inhibitions in drenched cotton jersey, asking a stranger if I could hop in his cab was an exercise in restraint. He generously allowed me to explore the hidden world of The Truck Driver while he talked to the other guys about dogs. Inside was a big bed, lots of shelves, even a small tv.

"What does it mean if a trucker flashes his lights at you?" I asked. Several times while driving cross country in Bruno, truckers flashed their lights.

"Means 'get out of the way'". Not the code breaking secret of trucker cruising that I hoped for. I climbed out so Joshua Scott could turn into a ten year old in the cab. Soon we were off to my house and I went right to bed, tomorrow was the GayVN's, Gay Porn's Oscars.

After spending half the day tidying up my garden, I realized I only had a couple hours to come up with an outfit for the awards. I didn't bring anything worthy of an awards show, and tried on every combination of the few clothes I did bring. Nothing looked good, so I gave up and wore the same t-shirt and jeans I wore the night before, and added a tired looking jacket. My mood could have been summed up by quoting my sister: "I wouldn't wear that to a dog fight." So much for wowing any porn directors.

At the subway I used the transfer from my bus trip, and it expired while I waited for the train. Great, this would be the night transit cops would actually appear and check for tickets. And that's exactly what happened.

I saw them get on another car and walk through the train checking tickets, and thought maybe they'd get off at the next stop. And they did, to get on my train. I dug out my expired transfer but the cop either didn't notice or didn't care. Relief.

I got out downtown and walked several blocks toward the Bonaventure, hoping at the last minute to find anything to wear that would be an improvement over my get-up. I stopped short of chasing an interesting bag being waltzed down the street by the night's breeze.

At the lobby I took out my invite, waving away any security guards wondering if I had lost my way to an SRO. Once inside, I watched the other porn stars, all dressed up, even the t-shirts were shiny clingy things out of International Male, while I looked like a marginally indigent, godmotherless Cinderella. Then came the first of several sweet moments.

Hunky Mike Radcliffe, even more bulked up then I remembered, appeared out of nowhere and was so kind I started to chill. I hoped I'd see him. We got snared in a conversation with someone who just wouldn't let us go. Mike excused himself, I eventually pried myself away and grabbed some more rolls. Again out of nowhere came a real live fan named Elliot. He was so complimentary that I may have blushed.

And from there the momentum increased exponentially. After eating my special plate of mashed potatoes, I left the chilly ballroom and hung out just outside. Just like the real Oscars, this was where all the fun happened. I chatted up my favorites: Matt Bradshaw, Dylan Reese, and new comer winner Caesar, with his lovely wife Julie. Ru Paul pranced by, Joe Stack and I discussed rugby (he's a memeber of the San Francisco Fog), I found myself tailed by a cute but drunk reporter from Kansas City, took polaroids with Wash West who asked me to join him to the after party, as did Geoffry Karen Dior, then I had my last truly Cinderella moment.

I had noticed this porn star whom I didn't recognize, but from his cast looked like he had been in some kind of accident. At the end of the night I saw him again while I was talking to Jim Steele. Turns out the guy was not a porn star at all, just looked like one, and we grabbed some small talk while trying to keep up with Steele. He gave me a kiss and suddenly I found a second wind, but I still declined invites to the after party, I had to be up and ready for a drive in the morning.

The Cast Man and I exchanged phone numbers (he was a lefty!), another kiss, and I was so blissed out I can't remember how I got home. Had to have been subway.

next installment

list of installments

CONTACT ME
details | news | upcoming | travel | videos | photos | etc. | gear