Paranormal Activity

Remember that time when you were a kid and you first realized you were afraid of the dark?  How could you not?  It's probably one of the most terrifying things kids have to experience the hard way (next to the first day of school).  It's the mysterious black emptiness that lurks behind every corner, inside every closet, and beneath every bed.  Lets not forget the myriad of frightening monsters (and, yes, I'm in including Sarah Palin in this category) just waiting for the chance to creep up on you when least expect it.  And every night before bed, you would demand to leave the hallway light on, or some kind of night light because you thought that was your sanctuary from the encroaching darkness. I don't know about you, but I always found that hiding under the covers was a sure way for safety.  I'd call it my safety blanket; if I didn't want to see what was lurking in the shadows then I would quickly bury my face under the sheets.  What better way to tell those monsters to fuck off then to hide like a little sissy under the covers?  I'm proud to admit that I was one of those sissies, and the old hiding under the sheets trick worked like a charm.
For as long as I could remember, I've always been afraid of the dark, and I suppose in part because of my fascination with horror movies.  From an early age, I was glued to the television (or the movie screen) watching scary movies that most kids avoided like the plague.  Some might call it unhealthy but I say it toughens you up and prepares you for the real horrors of the world (like the antiquated electoral college system).  Even to this day, I still sleep with my closet door closed.  Yes, I know there's nothing there, but at times I feel like that perpetual seven year old kid hiding from the things lurking in the shadows.  But nothing could prepare me for what was to come in the weeks ahead at my cozy home with three lesbians, two cats, a dog, and a partridge in a pear tree. 
It was a quiet winter evening at the Quintera and 47th home in the Outter Sunset.  The house was quiet, and everyone was sleeping peacefully, including myself.  And in case you're wondering this isn't a story about sugar plumbs dancing in our heads.  At around four in the morning, I woke up to my entire bed shaking, and as a looked over at my closet door, it was opening.  My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my throat, and with my mind foggy from just waking up, I wasn't sure what exactly what was going on.  The first thing that popped in my head: earthquake. I quickly jumped out of bed just in time to see my roommate leaving for work.
"Did you feel that earthquake?"
I distinctly remember the look she gave me.  The look that told me she thought I just lost my marbles.  "What earthquake?"
"The one just now.  You didn't feel it?"
Again, that look!  Damn those eyes!  "No.  I didn't feel anything."
"Really?  My bed was just shaking..."
After she left, I lingered in the hallway with my only my thoughts to comfort me.  I knew what I felt, and I know I didn't imagine it... or did I?  At this point I gathered my fiercest bravado and walked back into my room and turned the light on. I walked over to the closet door that was open all the way.  I remembered before I went to bed I did leave it slightly ajar, but I didn't shut it completely.  I pushed the door back and forth trying to figure out if I was going cuckoo for nutty puffs.  With my mind still racing, I turned out the light and went back to bed (or at least tried to), but I didn't go back to sleep until the sun came up.
The next day I checked online to see if there were any mini earthquake reports within the area.  I thought for sure I would find something because San Francisco is prone to small earthquakes, but unfortunately I couldn't find anything.  Is the plot starting to sound a little like a scary movie?  I wasn't ruling out the idea, but I didn't like it either.  Worst case scenario: I would wake up to my head turning counterclockwise and spewing pea soup.  Best case scenario: it was all in my head.  In case you hadn't noticed, I was counting on the second option.
The next couple of nights continued to brave my bedroom in hopes that I could avoid another earthquake simulated evening.  Without fail, my bed performed it's usual shaking bit ritual of lets scare Will to death.  I was suddenly beginning to feel like Carolann in Poltergeist (minus the cute girlish looks and long blond hair), and at any moment my closet door would open on it's own accord again swallow me whole. Don't go into the light, Carolann!  But like any brave soldier, I didn't leave my room, and I was determined to show this ghost-apparition-poltergeist bastard that I was here to stay and this was my room.  But like any good old fashioned haunting, it always gets worse.
Towards the end of the week, I had my fair share of close encounters of the ghostly kind, and I was hoping that my tormentor would soon give up.  And just when I thought I was going to enjoy a quiet, peaceful evening, I jolted out of bed and gasped because I thought I saw a silhouette of a face staring right at me!  I was panting, trying to catch my breathe, and I felt as if I was being watched.  Call me crazy (and you just might at this point), but I felt like there was someone else in my room, and it paralized me with fear beyond anything I had felt before.  I could feel a presence in my room because the air suddenly got heavy.  It was as if someone was there lurking in the dark, but I could not see them.  It was then that I decided I would no longer sleep in my own bedroom, so I chose to sleep on the couch in the living room.
After about a few days of me sleeping on the couch my roommate finally noticed and asked me why.  As embarrassed as I was about telling the story, I just let it all out and told her everything.  And after telling my story she looked at me and said, "Oh, you mean that ghost in your room?"  Now she tells me after I've moved in and paid my deposit!  She knew this whole time and was keeping it from me?  Was she ever planning on telling me that I shared a room with a ghost?  She explained that other people that rented the room out experienced similar things, but she assured me that the ghost meant no harm, and there was no way he could hurt me.  I guess she's never seen Amityville Horror, has she? (The original, not the remake with a half naked yummy Ryan Reynolds)  Even after she tried to assuage my fears, I still couldn't bring myself to sleep in my room.
Luckily for me, I was dating a handsome older gentlemen at the time who had experience with these so called ghostly hunting's.  On night after dinner, and a few glasses of wine later, I explained my story in hopes that he wouldn't think I was crazy.  As a matter of fact, explained that his current home had a few ghosts of it's own.  Great, now I was living with a ghost and sleeping with a guy that had his fair share of ghostly problems, except he believed that his spirits were non threatening.  He explained to me that the only way to get rid of these disturbances is by reassuring the ghost that I meant no harm and that he can leave in peace.  On top of that, he gave me some sage and told me to burn in every night when I communicated with the spirit.  Well, if I wasn't going crazy before, I was more then certain I was going crazy by talking to imaginary ghosts.  But I decided to give it a try because, at this point, I was willing to try anything.
Within the next few days, like clockwork, I talked to the spirit (what would my therapist think?) and lit the sage before I went to bed.  To my surprise, I didn't experience any paranormal activity within the first few nights, and by the end of the week it seemed to have stopped.  Was it that easy?  Did my ghostly ritual work, or was it all just in my head?  Whatever the reason, I was finally sleeping peacefully in my bed, and I didn't have any hauntings whatsoever.  I might have been rid of my ghost, but I wasn't cured of my fear of the dark.  It's going to take more then sage and conversing with myself to appease my fear of the things that go bump in the night.  Until then, I'm content with getting a  good night's sleep.  The other stuff can wait, for now.

Till Death Do Us Part

If you could wrap marriage into one neat little package, what would you call it?  Love, commitment, trust, security, entrapment?  Is marriage nothing more then just a legal, binding piece of paper, or is it a sacred religious ceremony that bond two people together for the rest of their life (or at least until they get tired of each other)?  I've seen couples get married for all the wrong reasons, yet they still walk down the isle of uncertainty and hope that it will solve all of their problems.  Some people settle, some are lonely, some are married with children, and some are high school sweethearts.  And if you thought getting married to one person was daunting enough, try being in a polygamous marriage!  On the other hand, some people aren't suited for marriage; they're better off alone, or perhaps they just can't commit to one person for the rest of their life.   
While some people claim that the institution of marriage is too antiquated, I do feel it has somewhat adapted to a new and ever changing world.  The media, for example, has taken marriage and put a modern spin on it.  Have we glamorized and commercialized marriage to the ground with TV shows such as Bridezillas, The Bachelor, and The Marriage Ref?  I've heard of marriage counseling, but on public television?  Is marriage the car that is perpetually stuck in the slow lane, or are we just going to fast?  I don't claim to be an expert on marriage whatsoever because I come from a family full of failed marriages.  I've never been married, and I've always found myself going back and forth as to whether or not I could take on that kind of responsibility.  My grandparents, on the other hand, have been married for 60 plus years, and they are still dedicated to each other to this very day.   However we try and define marriage there is one thing I am certain of: marriage is a deep and profound commitment between two people that will forever change the course of their lives.
But all my ideas and notions of marriage were challenged in the fall of November of 2008.  It was the year that Barack Obama was elected President of the United States, and the world felt a sense of renewed hope for our country.  It was also in that same year that the people of California decided that marriage should only between a man and woman.  I remember only a month before the election all the controversy and political fervor that San Franciscans felt in regards to Prop 8.  There were marches, peaceful demonstrations, and a myriad of sings that advocated marriage equality for all people.  Everywhere you looked, there were people in support of gay marriage, and they made their voices heard in whatever way they could.  I was inspired and in awe of the number of people that came forward and made themselves heard, whether it was in a large march down Market Street or a peaceful sit down demonstration in the Castro. 
About a week before the election, my past was catching up to me once again.  I received an e-mail from my ex-partner (whom I was with for seven years), and he revealed to me that he got married to a guy that he was dating for only three months!  I couldn't believe my eyes.  I read the e-mail over and over again in disbelief.  Why couldn't he tell me in person?  Was this really happening?  We had only been separated for six months before I had moved to the city and now he's married? (Can you hear my voice getting louder?)  Now lets cue the water works!  I could hear the melodramatic music playing in the background as I kept pacing back, and forth crying.  We were together for seven years and we both agreed that marriage wasn't something we were interested in, but then I started wondered if it was just me he didn't want to get married to.  I suddenly felt like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally when she found out that her ex married some random woman.  And yes, I practically had the same emotional breakdown as her.  The only difference is that I didn't sleep with a charming and witty Billy Crystal. 
I picked myself up off the ground and tried to brush myself off (and that was a big feet).  So I did the one thing that any mature adult would do: I called him to congratulate him and his new husband.  Yes, I did offer  my worlds of pseudo happiness; however, I also told him that I couldn't see or speak to him because it was too hard for me to digest at that particular time.  Perhaps in the near (or not too near) future.  I was proud of myself even though it hurt like hell.  That last week prior to the election I walked around San Francisco like a zombie, lifeless and devoid of any emotion.  And when it finally came down to entering that election booth, I was faced again with the reality of my ex partners new marriage.  There I was staring at the Prop 8 ballot.  I stood there for a few minutes even though I knew I was going to vote no.  I finally filled in the box that said NO and walked back home.
That night Barak Obama did win the Presidental election, and the world was ecstatic and overfilled with optimism.  There was a huge celebration in the Castro for Obama's victory; the streets were closed and filled with people cheering with the rest of the U.S.  But San Francisco's victory was bittersweet because we also found out that Prop 8 had passed.  All those people who came to San Francisco to have their marriage validated was now taken from them.  We became second class citizens.  I was saddened and shocked beyond all beliefe that this could happen, but at the same time I knew it would only be a matter of time before we would win finally win this battle.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but our day will soon come.  Until then we'll keep on fighting.

Digital Lust

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A Bird's-Eye-View

Most kids of my generation were afraid of your typical run-of-the-mill things such as the bogeyman, the dark, and things that go bump in the night. My nightmares, however, slightly differed then that of other kids, but that's not to say that I wasn't equally afraid of things lurking in the dark. My fears included, but not in any particular order: clowns, man eating sharks (thank you Steven Spielberg), and birds. First of all, you're probably wondering why I even bothered to include birds in my category of things that sent me running for the hills. I wasn't always fearful of birds. In fact, I grew up with pet birds throughout most of my adolescent childhood. It wasn't until I saw Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds that this completely altered my view. I distinctly remember the horror of sitting through the movie and realizing that birds might not be the cute house pets we made then out to be. The image of my eyes getting gouged out by cannibalistic, flesh eating birds kept replaying in my head over and over. If it flew and had feathers I was most likely afraid of it. It was official: the master of suspense installed a fear so deep in me that I couldn't go near a single bird, caged or otherwise.

But as the years past and I became a teenager, I had conquered my fear of birds. Hell, I even developed a fascination and appreciation for Hitchcock because of that traumatic experience. I realized early on that most Hollywood horror movies were bogus, just like Santa Clause or the Tooth fairy. Yes, I still got that scary tingling sensation when I watched horror movies; however, at the same time, I knew that I was out of harms way as I sat there eating popcorn in my safe, cozy chair. On the occasion I would scream (sometimes like a little girl) or even jump out of my seat, but it was always a thrilling adrenaline rush to be scared. For me, it was the perfect relationship, and I walked away knowing I could always come back for more (sounds sadistic, I know). What I didn't realize is that sometimes movies can imitate life in one way shape or form. After all, the writers have to get material from somewhere if not from their vivid imagination. And whether I liked it or not, I was about to relive my childhood fears all over again as a full grown adult.
Fast forward to San Francisco, 2009. Even though it was fall, it felt like Indian Summer was still lingering throughout the city. The days might have been shorter, but they were still filled with blue skies and sunshine. I had just gotten off the train from my usual commute home, and I was walking home with a handful of groceries. It couldn't have been a more beautiful evening: there was a slight breeze in the air and the sun was just about to set. I was halfway home when I suddenly felt something brush up against my head. Immediately, I looked up and found a bird flying not to far above my head; he seemed frantic, and he was making a lot of noise. Before I knew it, the bird was swooping down again, but this time, I dodged his attack just as he neared my head.

To make matters worse, there were two other damn birds that showed up out of nowhere and followed suit. This time, I wasn't so lucky, and both birds managed to graze my head which caused me to drop one of my grocery bags. I suddenly felt like I was Tippi Hedren trying to evade the ravenous flock of birds, but luckily for me I wasn't wearing heals. This time there was no avoiding their attacks as all three of them made a mad dash at my head. I could hear their high pitch calls, and I was terrified that they were calling the rest of their rapacious clan of hungry, flesh eating birds to come and pick at me one by one. With one hand trying to protect my head, I grabbed my bag and sprinted down the street, and when I turned the corner I realized they were gone. I was panting and my heard was pounding, and I stood there trying to digest what had just happened. I couldn't help but wonder if my my childhood fears were coming back to bite me (or peck for that matter) in the ass.

With the traumatic bird attack behind me, the next day I decided to completely avoid the street altogether and take an alternate route to catch my train. I went about my day trying to concentrate only on my job, but my thoughts always brought me back to the bird encounter. I did, however, managed to stay focused at the gym later on that day. Thank you hot, sweaty half naked men! After the gym I headed over to Jamba Juice, and by this time my bird dilemma was almost completely forgotten.

But sometimes, life has a funny way of reminding us of things we just want to completely forget. I was just turning the corner when I felt little something tug my hair. I looked up, and sure enough there was a small black bird above my head, and he was coming in for another attack. I managed to avoid the attack, but not the humiliation. The people that were watching me seemed to get a kick out of the fact that I was being ambushed by this bird. Did they know the bird would attack anyone who passed by? Once I realized I was the main attraction, I decided not to exacerbate the situation and walk away with my head held high. I did, however, manage to take a quick glance back, and I realized the bird was already on to another victim.

For the next few days, I managed to avoid both combat zones, but in the back of my mind I felt foolish for not confronting my fears head on like a rational adult. But how can you rationalize with birds? And besides, I was encroaching into their territory. For them, I was the enemy. Then I got to thinking, what if I could compromise, or perhaps meet them halfway? After all, I was a firm believer in reciprocity, so why couldn't I negotiate something with the birds? Granted, I realize I must sound crazy, but I was willing to try anything at this point.

When Monday rolled around, I decided to try out my new tactics in hopes that I would get rid of my childhood fears once and for all. On my way home from work, I started walking down the same street I was attacked on, but this time I decided to walk on the opposite side of the street. As I began to make my way halfway through the street, I saw an older Asian woman walking on the other side, and I instantly realized that she was walking right into a trap! And in a matter of seconds, there were several birds ambushing her from the trees. The woman let out a few screams and attempted to beat them off with her walking cane. My eyes widened with horror, and I started to cross the street to help her when suddenly I realized I was also being attacked! I ducked down and I even tried to hit them, but they were still diving at my head like heat seeking missiles.

Luckily, the older woman managed to run away and escape their invasion, but as for me I was still at the mercy of the birds. I surely thought that I would be safe if I walked on the opposite side of the street, but clearly I was wrong. My plans of negotiation weren't going as well as I'd hoped. In fact, I don't think birds give a shit about reciprocity. About a block later they finally gave up and the first thing that came out of my mouth was: "Fucking birds!" So much for rationality.

With the latest bird intervention still fresh in my mind, I was wondering how to conquer my other one that was still waiting for me near Jamba Juice. Not only did I have to deal with the bird, but I also had to take into consideration the audience as well.

Like clockwork, I finished my workout at the gym and made my way to Jamba Juice, but I still wasn't sure what my plan was. Before I walked into the trap, I stood there and watched other people get attacked one by one. In between his prey, the bird sat in the tree waiting patiently for it's next victim. I stood there for a moment and watched him, and then he met my gaze. I slowly started walking, but I never took my eyes off the bird. Surprisingly, he didn't even budge and inch. There we were both intently watching each other as I put one foot in front of the other. It was a showdown like no other, and one of us was bound to give in sooner or later. At this point I didn't care about anyone else. It was just me and the bird. I kept a slow walking pace as I made my way across the courtyard, but the little shit still didn't move. What was he playing at?

With all the staring and walking, I realized that I had finally made my way across the courtyard without getting attacked. I let out a small relief of triumph. It was official: Will 1, Bird 1. We might have been tied, but at least I knew how to play his game. I took my eyes off the bird and started walking away. Just as I started hearing the victory music playing in the background I felt the SMACK right against my head! I immediately turned my head around just in time to see the bird fly away, basking in it's glory. He had played me the whole time, and I fell for his hook, line & sinker bit. I walked away defeated and embarrassed, and I could hear everyone laughing in the birds victory.
After that week, I gave up trying to negotiate, rationalize, or reciprocate anything with those damn birds. Besides, I was one and they were many. Futile as it might have been, I did manage to confront my fears head on and put my childhood fears to rest once again. The birds might have won this time, but there will be another time and another place. Just remember, they always make sequels. And this time, I would be ready.

Modern Day Hauntings

It's been said that jack-o'-lanterns at one time might have been used to ward off evil spirits that roamed the nights aimlessly on All Hallows Eve. By carving a pumpkin that resembled a monstrous face, some people believed that they could elude any hauntings by these so called spirits. Whether or not this version of Halloweens folklore is the definitive on how to get rid of pesky spirits remains to be seen. It does, however, demonstrate what people are willing to do to appease their superstitions. I then realized that if jack-o'-lanterns could do that for ghosts and demons, then why not for modern day hauntings that terrorize you on a daily basis? Wouldn't it be wonderful if they could do the same for lingering ex boyfriends, the IRS, or even your archnemesis? It would also be most useful against those annoying churchgoing bible thumpers that try to coerce you into joining their religion because you need saving. If our problems could be solved so easily, I think therapists would seek another occupation because their clients would be well equipped to handle any situation with the help of a pumpkin!

Folklore aside, Halloween has been and will always be my favorite holiday (a little morbid, perhaps). The night is filled with all kinds of ghoulish activities that include, but not in this particular order: haunted houses, dressing up (and drag does count), watching horror movies, and candy galore. It was also the one day out of the year where I could dress up and embrace my inner freak. Interestingly enough, I always felt more at home behind the mask then I did in my every day, banal life. Now there's an interesting therapy session, wouldn't you say? "So tell me, Will, why do you like wearing the Wonder Woman get-up?" I would then try to articulate my reasoning with: "Have you ever tried this thing on? I feel so empowered, and fits like a glove! Plus, the lasso comes in real handy in the bedroom!" I don't think he would object to any of those things, do you?

It was my first official Halloween in the city, and I opted to play it safe and stay away from all the chaos on Castro Street (as tedious as that may sound), even though I was tempted to frolic in the streets. Instead, I was spending it with a guy I went out on a date with that previous week. His name was Brad, and we met online. He was tall, well educated, good looking and everything a man could ask for. But there was one itsy bitsy flaw (if you want to call it that) that didn't settle well with me. Yes folks, he was a gay Republican. You're probably wondering how and why. Yes, they do exist. No, they're not an endangered species, yet. He wasn't a supporter of Obama, and from our fist date I had a sneaky suspicion he wasn't in favor of gay marriage either. Danger Will Robinson, danger! I realize I should have called it quits after the first date, but I'm a firm believer in second chances. Maybe there was another side of him that I hadn't seen, or perhaps "what you see is what you get". Either way, I hopped on a bus and headed to Pacific Heights, hoping that he would prove me wrong.

Fortunately, I was running ahead of schedule because the bus managed to brake down halfway to my destination. I only sat there for a few minutes and realized I wasn't going anywhere, so I started to walk the rest of the way. But seeing as how I still wasn't too familiar with the city, I managed to get myself lost. And to make matters worse, it started raining. Seriously? This was beginning to play out like a cheesy horror B movie, and I was inevitably playing the damsel in distress. Instead of trying to find my way around, I called Brad and asked for directions again. He was more then happy to give them to me again. As a matter of fact, he insisted that he would meet me halfway. Normally, I would be ecstatic if any man told me he would meet me halfway for anything, but at that particular time I felt like the sky was falling (dramatic, I know). As I turned and started walking in the opposite direction, I realized that my Halloween was not getting off to a good start.

The rain came and went, but after a while of walking, I saw Brad off in the distance walking towards me. That turned my frown upside down. At that moment I briefly forgot about my perilous journey that brought me to this point, and as he approached I saw that he was wet from head to toe. Dry or wet, he still looked good!

I smiled, trying to hide my embarrassment. "Sorry, I got turned around. Whoever thought Pacific Heights could be so confusing?"

He snickered. "What part of my directions didn't you understand?" He looked at me with those deep, piercing blue eyes, and then he flashed his perfect white teeth. He seemed ever so charming and sincere. "Let's get going, I've got dinner in the oven."

Dinner in the oven? So far he was willing to meet me halfway and he had dinner in the oven. What more could a guy ask for? Hot sex? I couldn't help but feel that this wasn't Brad I met just a few days ago. Maybe this was a cloned doppelganger? Or perhaps his body got abducted by body snatchers? I would even venture to say that this might be his identical twin brother, who was a Democrat! But in the back of my mind I couldn't shake the feeling that his true Republican rhetoric would eventually find it's way into our conversation.

Soon enough, we arrived at his charming two bedroom apartment in Pacific Heights. The apartment was warm and cozy, and as we made our way to the kitchen I could smell the roast that was in the oven. He had also made some appetizers and dessert. A girl could get use to this kind of life! He poured me a glass of wine and we drank to a more pleasant and dry Halloween.

When the roast was done, we made our way to the couch, popped in Big Trouble in Little China (with a very young Kim Katral) and ate our dinner. He seemed more approachable this time around and not as caustic. This second date was turning out to be, by comparison, much better then our last one. Good food, good wine (already on a second bottle!), and surprisingly good company. It felt like one of those nostalgic San Francisco nights where everything was falling into place and things could only get better. But I still couldn't help but feel that Brad had lured me into his parlor to brainwash me with conservative propaganda. I half expected Rush Limbaugh or Sarah Palin to be lurking under the bed or in a closet ready for the chance to recruit me to the dark side! But don't worry, I was my best guard and kept my defenses up. They weren't going to recruit this homo! All joking aside, Brad was a perfect gentleman throughout the whole evening, and he didn't once embark into Republican territory.

Towards the end of the movie he pulled me closer to him, and the next thing I knew we were both spooning on the couch. After a while of snuggling, he kissed me ever so softly, and I returned his kiss. If Jeopardy had a category for best kissers his name would definitely be listed under it. In fact, I would qualify him as a Daily Double! After a while of kissing and heavy petting, we decided to call it a night and head to his chamber (but alas, no slings or whips).

Normally in the gay world dinner was just another euphemism for sex, but this evening was an exception. For whatever the reason, we didn't have sex that night. We spent it canoodling in his bed watching The Simpsons. When we did go to bed, the snuggling continued throughout the night, and occasionally I would feel him kiss me on the shoulder. Like I said, he was the perfect gentleman. There was no sign of Sarah Palin lurking under the bed or hiding in the closet, for that matter. In fact, I think she was more afraid of us then I was of her. The idea of two men sleeping together half naked probably sent her running back to Alaska. That, or she's a dirty soccer mom and recorded us and watched it when her husband wasn't home...

I woke up to the sound of rain on the window, and I looked around and almost forgot where I was. I rolled over and realized that Bard was not lying next to me. Now this is the part in the movie where you find out they left in the middle of the night.But seeing as how I was at Brad's place, I highly doubt that happened. I sat up and and found him rummaging through his closet. he seemed irritated and frantic.

"I slept through my alarm. I'm running late for work." That was it? No hello and definitely no good morning. Maybe he just wasn't a morning person?

I tried to change the subject. "I had a great time last night."

"Yeah, me too." Except his tone didn't really reveal his conviction. After that he said nothing and left the room to take a shower.

The room suddenly got cold, and I felt as if I had overextended my stay. I sat there on the bed wondering why the sudden change. Maybe I was just overreacting and he had a lot on his mind. Or perhaps now that Halloween was over he decided to take off his mask and show his true colors. Revenge of the Republican has returned! He entered the room again and I reached to touch him, but he wasn't responsive. In fact, he was cold and distant.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just running late." I didn't buy it. Like a typical Republican he was begging the question.

I got dressed and the lingering silence was unbearable. We said goodbye (and no Jeopardy kiss), and I walked to the bus stop feeling like I had been kicked to the curb. I attempted to make some sign of interest by telling him I'd like to see more of him again, but he said he wasn't sure if he had time to date because he was so busy with his job (ouch, that's gotta hurt!). I hadn't heard from him in about a week, and then by chance (if that's what people are calling it these days) I ran into him on the subway. He seemed cheery and friendly like the evening on Halloween. This time I was cold and distant, and I pretended I had somewhere to be (way to play the game, Will!). He sent me a text message apologizing for the other night and said I'm a sweet guy and a good kisser. A good kisser? A few days after that I ran into him again (San Francisco is a small world) on Market Street just coming out of the subway. He attempted the same friendly dialogue with me again, but I was growing tired of trying to decipher his cryptic conversations. And then the next thing that came out of his mouth was predictable and cliche: he just wanted to be friends. I declined, but he seemed upset that I wouldn't at least make an attempt to be friends.

Funny thing about San Francisco is that you always run into the people you don't want to see or you're trying to deliberately avoid. So, instead of trying to worry about running uncomfortable encounters, I decided to take matter into my own hands. That night when I got home, I carved my own jack-o'-lantern (even though Halloween had passed) and put it outside my front door in hopes that it would keep away the bad Republican man away. I waited, and after a month had passed I didn't bump into on the streets. As a matter of fact, I wasn't haunted by him at all, even to this very day. Never underestimate the power of the pumpkin!

The Show Must Go On

Throughout most of my pubescent teenage years I was socially awkward, and that was the plain and simple truth. If I ever had been given a yearbook superlative it would probably read: Most Likely To Run Away and Join the Circus. Step right up folks and behold the reclusive freak homo boy from Lard (that's Spanish for my hometown, Manteca)! Seriously, whoever coined the phrase "high school was the best years of my life" was probably Most Popular or Best Looking. They were also "most likely" the ones who stayed in my home town, became unhappily married, and spawned three kids. I knew I was special and didn't fit into the typical "normal" mold like most other high school kids. I wanted to travel, meet new people (people that weren't from my home town) and see new places. Most importantly, I wanted to shed my skin, and I couldn't indulge in my uniqueness if I continued to live in my home town.
Twelve years later (took me long enough) I did just that: I moved to San Francisco and joined the circus, or something close to it. In a city where anything goes and endless possibilities, you could be anyone (or anything), and you didn't have to worry about the most likely popular crowd looking down on you. And the best part is I could either be a voyeuristic member of the audience or a willing participant that would entertain and amaze. That's what so great about running away to join the circus: there's never a dull moment. I realized that San Francisco was the quintessential "stage" where everyone was constantly rehearsing their lines to perform their next act.
And on a mild mid-October evening, I was assuming the role as an audience member because I was on my way to see a drag performance. I had only lived in the city for a little over two months, and I decided it was about time to embark into unknown regions (also known as the Tenderloin). Put aside the fact that the Tenderloin was rampant with crime, prostitution, drug dealers and plain old fashioned crazies, it was still a great place to go out and have a gay old time. So I jumped on the train and met my roommates and a friend of theirs at Deco Lounge; they had already found a perfect table right in front. The evening was already starting off on a good note with good times, good friends and very strong drinks!
As the night got closer to the performance, I realized that I was quickly running out of money but unfortunately the ATM machine inside the bar was out of service. The bartender was nice enough to give me directions to an ATM that was close by. All I had to do was go up one block and take a left turn on Golden Gate Avenue. Sounds easy enough, right? I wish I could say it was, but I was about to learn that sometimes even the easiest of things can be a challenge (especially when you're in the Tenderloin). And as I stepped out into the night and started walking across the street, I realized that the circus was most definitely in town tonight, and I had a front row seat. Come one, come all and see the magnificent and amazing performers of the Tenderloin! In just a matter of minutes, I came across a drug deal, a prostitute offering her (or his) services, and a man ranting and raving lewd comments to himself. Ah, the joys of living in the city! After I found the ATM, I made my way back to the bar and managed not to make eye contact with anyone.
I sat down at our table and realized that the lounge was filling up fast, and people were getting rowdy and anxious. It was only a few minutes before the show when I felt a small tap on my shoulder. I looked up and saw a drag queen all decked out in short baby doll dress with long stockings, and her hair was braided in pigtails. It was Baby Jane Hudson meets Pippi Longstocking, and I was completely mesmerized! She handed a Polaroid to one of my roommates, and the drag queen knelt down next to me while my roommate took a picture of us. I was starstruck and speechless all at the same time, and before I knew it she had vanished into the back of the bar. My face lit up and everyone at my table started speculating as to why she took my picture. I didn't realize it at the time, but the evening was going to be a most memorable one that I would never forget.
As we sat there and watched the show, we saw some amazing and not so amazing drag performances. My eyes were glued to the small stage, and there was no way anyone could tear me away. We saw a wonderful Janis Joplin 60's tie died performance, and a memorable interpretation of Beyonce's "Single Ladies". The show was getting off to a good start, and the crowd was enjoying every moment. The next performer (who's name eludes me for some reason) was less of a hit, but still looked good in her long, elegant evening dress that matched her equally long, wavy hair. In the back of my mind I kept thinking Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair! I could tell she was nervous, and I thought how daunting it must have been to be up there trying to give it your best. As she made her way to our table, one of my roommates tipped her, but on her way back, the drag queen got her hair caught in the big fan standing next to the DJ booth. The audience let out a small gasp as she struggled to break free from the fan, and finally one of my roommates untangled her hair. But the drag queen kept her head held high (and her hair away from our table) and walked back up to the stage to finish her number.
Finally, it was time for my mystery queen to reveal herself. Her name was Raya Light, and I was fascinated from the moment she stepped foot on the small stage. She was still wearing her baby doll dress, and I noticed that she had the picture that she took of me in her hand. I glanced over at the girls at my table and they all had equally suspicious looks. The song started off all lovey-dovey and gooey, and Raya would occasionally glance at my photo from time to time with adoration. After only a few minutes into the song, it started to turn sour (think Alanis Morisette and "You Outta Know"). Then out of nowhere she proceeded to pull a small dildo from her dress and threw my photo on the ground. Clearly, I broker her heart, and now she was done with me. She took that dildo, turned her back to the audience, pulled up her skirt and pulled down her underwear to reveal her ass (and might I add it was a nice one). The crowed was relishing every moment and they cheered her on by whistling and making sexual noises. When she turned back to face the audience, she took the dildo and placed it every so carefully up her ass. Mind you, no one really saw this happening because of her poofy, frilly dress. The audience just assumed that she was "enjoying herself" because it looked as if she was going through the motions of getting off.
And it didn't end there, my friends. Oh no, that was just a warm up, and the good stuff was just about to begin. After a minute or two of enjoying herself with the dildo, she pulled it out and it was covered with a mysterious brown coating! But it wasn't until she started sucking on the dildo that the audience let out several gasps of disgust and confusion. At this point, the audience didn't know whether to cheer or look away, but I realized I couldn't keep my eyes off the stage because I had never seen anything so trashy, so in your face, and so raunchy in all my life. Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore...
As the song was drawing to and end, my roommates convinced me that I should tip her, but I was petrified of going up there. I took a deep breath and made my way towards the stage. I had officially become part of the performance, I just didn't know it yet. And as I started to put a dollar in her chest, she grabbed me by my head and pushed my face into her crotch, and I could hear the audience cheering and laughing from behind me. When I came up for air I felt my face getting red, and I made my way back to my table, embarrassed.
When I sat down the table next to me blurted out: "You have some of that shit on your shoulder!" And there it was: the mysterious brown something right there on my shirt. I quickly ran into the bathroom and realized there was also a little in my hair, and as I began to wash it out I got a strong wiff of sugar and chocolate pudding. It wasn't until I started scrubbing my shirt that I realized the smell was coming from the brown goo on my shirt. It must have been chocolate frosting, but I wasn't about to do a taste test and find out. I was relieved, but I still wasn't sure how she managed to pull it off. I cleaned myself up as best as I could and made my way back to our table.
We didn't stay long after that because the night was drawing to and end, and it was getting late. But that unforgettable performance never left my mind. It was the night I saw my first authentic drag performance, and it was also the night I became an official fan of Miss Raya. As we hopped into the taxi and back to The Sunset, I realized that the circus wasn't over by any means. The shows were constantly being performed day and night, regardless of what neighborhood you were in. It was all around me, and I was part of it. And the best part is I didn't have to look that far because it was always right outside my door.

Behind Closed Doors

I always dreaded gym class in high school. Every time I walked into the locker room I could feel an impending doom hovering over me. I was petrified of getting undressed in front of the other boys. The thought of showering with them, which I’d always managed to avoid, filled me with so much anxiety I could hardly breathe. My only saving grace (if that's what you want to call it) was when I got lucky enough to steal a sneaky peek of all the boys in their tighty whities. I had planned it so carefully that I think I managed to take a gander at every single boy in my class. I think I can officially say that this pubescent exploring was the birth of my inner voyeur, as well as my underwear and jockstrap fetish.
Going to the gym in San Francisco is completely different then the hell I went through in high school. Of course I still checked out men in (and out) of their underwear, but at the same time other voyeurs were checking me out. There were even certain gyms in the city where there were all kinds of shenanigans going on in the shower and steam rooms. At one point a certain gym had to close down their steam room because of all the sexual activity that was going on. Yes, it was a place to work out, but whether you liked it or not, it was also a place to cruise and be cruised. Why go to a bar when you can just go to the gym?

And in some sense it was still like high school. There were so many clicks and social circles. Gay men, especially gay men at the gym, tend to bring out that after-school special “I'm-so-hot-I'm-more-important-then-you” melodramatic attitude. One time I was waiting for a guy to finish up with his workout when all of a sudden he stops everything just to answer his phone...seriously? But for the most part, I just keep to myself and focus on the things I need to do…for the most part.
I had my fair share of cruising in and out of the locker room, but I never acted on any of them. And I certainly didn't get caught dropping the soap in the shower room (whoops!). But then again, there’s a first time for everything. There was a cute Latino who was checking me out almost every time I saw him at the gym. I tried to be subtle in my flirting, but subtlety really isn't my forte. My friends have always said that I'm too obvious for that sort of thing. One day, while I was getting dressed in the locker room, he started up a conversation. After breaking the ice with some small talk, I said goodbye and he left the locker room. That should have been it, but as I was leaving the gym, I stopped and decided to listen to the niggling in my gut telling me to go back. Maybe it was the fact that I was lonely and wanted some company, or maybe it was just the plain and simple truth that I was horny and needed to get laid. Either way, I got his number and we made plans to see a movie the next day.
The next day I got off work, jumped on the subway, and met Miguel downtown where we made our way to The Metreon on Mission and 4th. We grabbed a quick bite to eat and opted to see a horror movie (nothing more exciting then getting scared and grabbing hold of the nearest thing for support...). As we made our way into the theatre, Miguel pulled me back and started kissing me, and this is before we even sat down! After that he pushed me up against the wall and began sucking on my ear lobes (sensitive area!), and kissing my neck. I started to feel like I was a scandalous character in a trashy Danielle Steele novel. Is that a bad thing? As hot as it was, I had to remind him that we were there to see a movie, and so we made our way up to the top of the theatre where there were only a few people.
I was getting a sneaky suspicion that we were going to watch very little of the movie. But to my surprise, Miguel only held my hand throughout the movie and neither of us tried any other “smooth moves.” But after the movie, when the other people started clearing out, he started kissing me on the neck and massaging my crotch. Even though I felt a little uncomfortable, I didn't really argue. We indulged in a bit of heavy petting, and then we made our way out of the theatre and headed for the restrooms. It was a large bathroom with several stalls and urinals. To my surprise, there wasn't anyone else in the bathroom (this is starting to sound like the perfect scene for a horror movie). Miguel vanished into a stall while I used a urinal. Within a matter of minutes I felt his hands grab my waist and he started kissing my neck. I quickly looked around, hoping that we weren't being watched, even though the idea completely turned me on. I just managed to zip up my pants as he guided me to an empty stall and closed the door. I had officially graduated from a Danielle Steele novel to amateur Xtube porn star; I could hear the cheesy “bow-chicka-wow-wow” music playing in the background as we started making out. I could faintly hear a few people coming in and out of the bathroom and I was terrified that we would get caught. But in the heat of the moment I lost all of my reservations and forgot about everyone except Miguel and myself.

One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was on my knees giving Miguel a blowjob, and he was more then happy to return the favor. After a while of sucking and kissing, we finally finished off by cumming right there in the bathroom stall! We looked at each other, laughed under our breaths and cleaned up our mess. After we both were dressed, I peeked my head out of the stall door only to find an empty bathroom once again. We said good night and went our separate ways.

I still ran into him at the gym and we even went out on a few more dates, but that was about the extent of it. Alas, there were no more steamy, public hookups either. I think he wanted to get serious, but I wasn't ready to jump back into another relationship. I'll never forget that night, though. It will forever be ingrained in my memory. That’s when I realized that all sorts of things are possible, even behind closed doors.

Past and Present

Indian Summer in the city usually rolls around early September and lasts until the first rain of late October. For the most part the fog hibernates for those wonderful two months of sunshine and allows the people of San Francisco enjoy summer the way it was suppose to be spent. Those are the days where you can find people taking advantage of the crystal clear blue skies and ideal warm weather. The streets and parks are usually teeming with people soaking up the sun and catching every as much sun as they can before the fog rolls back in.

I was one of those people about to get out and enjoy my sunny Sunday with the rest of the city. It was early October and I was meeting my date, Jeremy, at the Castro Street Fair; I had met him through work, and it was an instant attraction right from the get go. A few days after we started conversing, he gave me his number and asked me out. It felt good because it reinforced the idea that I was still a qualified and eligible contestant in the perpetual gay dating game. I had gone from wading in the shallow end to an almost bona fide deep end swimmer, and I didn't need any swimmies to help me stay afloat...yet.

I hopped on the train and found Jeremy at the top of the subway stairs and made our way to a small hole in the wall for a bite to eat. I found him easy to talk to and approachable, but at one point our conversation took a detour right into a subject I wasn't yet comfortable talking about: I'll take Past Relationships for 500 please! Seriously, isn't there some kind of rule that you can't talk about your previous relationship on a first date? I tried to maneuver and dance my way around the conversation, but Jeremy was very candid and open about his, which surprised me. Turns out he was still living with his ex and was trying to find a place of his own. That sounded all too familiar and close to home. So why did I make it out to be such a big deal? I suddenly felt like a politician trying to feed him a red herring in hopes I wouldn't be caught.

After lunch, we headed back to the Street Fair and enjoyed the various booths of arts and crafts (not the Martha Steward kind), and we made our way through the crowds of people eating and drinking. There were a few places that were designated dancing areas, and at one point I stopped to watch a very entertaining improv performance by the radical faeries. All in all it was turning out to be a good day and I was glad I was out and about enjoying the beautiful weather. But sometimes all good things must come to an end.

From across the crowd of people, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face that was walking towards us. At first I convinced myself that it wasn't, but there was an undeniable feeling of dread with every step I took. And sure enough, there he was: my ex. And he wasn't alone. He was accompanied with his new and improved boyfriend. Out with the old, in with the new. I guess they didn't get the memo that I was going to be at the street fair as well. It seemed that this new beau in his life was as tangible and real as any other person in the crowd. I felt like my past was colliding with my present, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it. Should I say hello, or do I pretend not to see them? They were only ten feet away, and my ex hadn't noticed me yet. And just as they began to pass us, I turned the other way. It felt as if a ghost had passed me by. I opted for the easy way out instead of confronting my past head on. Perhaps it wasn't the right time. I turned back to look at them.

"What is it?" Jeremy asked.

I paused. "That was my ex and his new boyfriend."

"Do you want to say hello?"

I paused and stared at them until they blended with the rest of the crowd. "No, it's fine." But it wasn't, and I pretended that it was. Way to go.

We walked around for a while after that but I wasn't up for staying much longer. I felt as if I was in my own world and no one could come in. Jeremy didn't say much either, and I knew it was in part because of the encounter with my ex. He only lived a block away, so I walked him back to his place and gave him a kiss goodnight. Funny thing that night, the fog crept up over the city just as I made my way back to the subway. It stayed there for the duration of the night and vanished the next day. As for me and Jeremy, we didn't see nor talk to each other again. It was an unspoken understanding that I probably wasn't ready. But that didn't stop me for trying again, and again, and again. I was never one for giving up so easily. I was determined put myself out there each and every day until the memories of the past stopped haunting me.

On the Rebound

According to Wikipedia, someone who is on the rebound "is popularly believed to be psychologically incapable of making reasonable decisions regarding suitable partners due to emotional neediness, lingering feelings towards the old partner, or unresolved problems from a previous relationship." I don't know about all that mumbo jumbo psychological hoopla, but I do know one thing: I was horny and I needed a good distraction. And a good way to remedy that is to go out on a pseudo can-we-skip-the-getting-to-know-you-I'm-trying-to-forget-about-my-ex-and-I'm-very-horny date. Look no further because the Internet can cater to your every need (seriously, it can...have you seen the stuff on the Internet these days?).

I figured it was time to test the waters and get my feet wet in the hopes that I wouldn't drown in three feet of water. And the saying goes, "there are plenty of fish in the sea." And trust me, there are plenty of men to go around in San Francisco, so the possibilities are endless. Needless to say, I was a bit rusty in the dating department, so I closed my eyes, held my breath, and pulled a name out of hat (or so it felt like it). I met him from gay.com. He seemed nice enough and cute enough, so we made arrangements to meet for a bite to eat in the Castro (like, oh my gawd, how gay is that?).

At first it was awkward and a bit uncomfortable, but we both managed with small talk and the getting-to-know-you bit. After dinner we decided to grab a drink in hopes to break the ice a little more. We chatted more freely and our conversations became more candid as the drinks went down. We got to know each other a little better and became a little touchy feely. I could feel his eyes lingering on me, so I returned his gaze with my glossy, alcohol infused eyes. After the third drink I was feeling pretty damn good (and I'm assuming he was too), and the next thing I knew his tongue was down my throat, and I didn't do a damn thing to stop him. In fact, I returned the kiss, and we made out right there at the bar like two horny teenage boys who couldn't wait to take their clothes off! After a few minutes of intense kissing, I was completely turned on and ready for second base (how square is that?). And then he popped the question: "would you like to come back to my place?" It's been so long since someone has asked me that, so I was a bit speechless at first. But my fourth (or fifth..) drink said... yes, yes, yes!

After a of night hot and heavy petting, he drove me back to his place in San Mateo, which is only a hop, skip, and a jump away from San Francisco. He showed me his cute one bedroom apartment that came fully equipped with a pool, tennis court, and one adorable dog. By this time we both felt more comfortable with each other so we immediately went straight for the bedroom and starting making out. One thing led to another, and before I knew it we were no longer wearing clothes. There we were naked and going it at it, except this time we weren't two teenage boys. It was hot, exciting, and brand new. I could feel my heart racing as we made out naked on his bed. The only thing that struck me as odd was the fact that his dog was sitting quietly next to the bed watching us with the most strangest look. Talk about three's a crowd! I brushed it off because I was still buzzing from the drinks and, not to mention it was the first time I had sex in two weeks. In the gay world that probably meant two months...

About an hour of kissing, licking, and sucking, and mutual masturbation, we ended with a mediocre finale. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. It was what it was: just plain old sex. As we got ready for bed, he snuggled up next to me, and his dog joined in by practically sleeping on my head. I couldn't help but think that the dog was jealous of my presence. I knew there was no way in hell I was ever going to sleep, not to mention it wasn't even my own bed. And sure enough, I tossed and turned all night. At one point I woke up with the dog's ass in my face, and I decided that was the last straw. I got up and slept on the couch in the living room, and in the early morning I crept back into his bed. He didn't know I was even gone. However, the dog didn't seem too pleased that I found my way back to the bed.

When morning came we had another go at it (still, nothing to boast about), and then I took a quick shower. I thought he would drive me back to the city, but told me he wanted to take me out to breakfast. I thought it was a nice gesture, and I knew it would cure my monster headache, so I said yes. He showed me around town for a bit, and we finally got around to eating breakfast. After breakfast we walked around for a little more and I had this nagging feeling that I knew what was about to come next. "Do you want to hang out for a while?" And then... "Maybe we could take a dive along the coast or something." Or something? Great, now I felt cornered and practically obligated to join him and his peeping Tom dog! I thought that if I said no he would make me hitch hike back to the city. I put on my sweetest smile and said I had other plans today; he didn't seem too distraught, but I could tell he was disappointed. We drove back making small conversation, and when he dropped me off we said we'd keep in touch, but we all know where that leads. And sure enough, after about a week or so, we talked less and less until we talked no more. It was probably better anyway because he was just my rebound guy. I didn't run into him again, but San Francisco has a funny way of bringing people back into your life whether you like it or not.

New Beginning

At one time, The Sunset District was once covered in a vast blanket of sand dunes; a place that was devoid of any homes, cars, roads, or people. They called it the "Outside Lands" and for a good reason. It was a place where the fog lingered day and night and was usually colder. Few people didn't travel out there far because there was no reason. But today, The Sunset District is one of the biggest neighborhoods in San Francisco; however, the fog still finds a home in the most western part of the city. And I should know because on most days when I wake up the fog is there, and when I come home it still hovers, almost as if it doesn't want to go away.

In some ways, I felt like I was living in the Outside Lands of my usual self; it was as if I was in some limbo place where no one else could find me. I was still trying to adjust to my new found freedom that I so eagerly wanted; the idea of being single was going to take some getting use to. I performed my daily commuting routine of getting up, going to work, going to the gym, and then getting back on the train. Rinse and repeat. And every night I got home I turned on the TV and watched (get ready for the gayest cliche) reruns of Sex and the City. Yes, I was living vicariously through each and every one of them. And before you begin to ask the question, yes, even Charlotte. She might have been uptight and predictable but at least she had hot sex from time to time! They made the single life look so effortless and fun even though it had its ups and downs.

One day, I decided to skip the gym because it had been a long day at work, so I jumped on the train and headed home to my usual ritual of Carrie and her wonderful girlfriends. I was beginning to feel like one of the girls and I was planning a night on the town with he four of them. I know, it sounds pathetic.

There I was on a Friday night sitting in front of the TV watching reruns of Sex and the City. What happened next was something I didn't expect: I got a phone call from a friend of mine. He invited me out for happy hour, and he wanted me to meet some of his friends. Being the domesticated homo I was at the time, I didn't make any promises and told him I might stop by. It was at this moment that I almost expected the words "get your ass out of the house, you loser" to appear at the bottom of TV. I stared at the screen for a moment and then the proverbial light bulb turned on. Shouldn't I be out there making my own adventures and being single and fabulous? That was rhetorical in case you didn't notice. I got up, turned off the TV and made my way to the gayest neighborhood in the world: The Castro.

Several train stops later, I made my way up from the subway and onto the street, and I could feel myself getting anxious with every step I took. I was nervous because this was something completely different then what I was use to doing. I was stepping outside myself and walking into something completely unexpected and exciting! It was new and unfamiliar territory, and as I approached the bar everything felt like it was moving in slow motion (think Bionic woman slow). As I walked into the bar, the music got louder and louder, and I could hear the voices from within. There I was at the entrance, and I was petrified. You would think I'd never been to a gay bar before, but at thirty years old I've had my fair share of bars and clubs. I couldn't help but feel everyone was staring at me. Was it that obvious that I was the new guy in town? As I stepped closer into the bar, I could feel the electricity running through my body from all the new found excitement. I was like a kid at a candy shop.

The room was crowded with men from wall to wall, and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. Why shouldn't they be? They were, after all, at happy hour! After a while of looking around the bar, I spotted my friend, and he motioned for me to come over. I felt a smile creeping up on my face as I approached him, and he introduced me to the other men he was with. I realized that it felt good to be around real, tangible people that I could actually have a conversation with. And as I looked around and met several gazes from various men, I couldn't help but think that this was the beginning of something long overdue.

Home

My new cozy home near the beach with two cats, a dog, and three lesbians (and a partridge in a pear tree) seemed to be an ideal place for me to move on with my life; I was finally on my own, and I wasn't living with my ex (this is a good thing, this is a good thing). After I had moved everything in, I sat there on my bed and took a look around my new bedroom. There were no fixtures on the wall, no curtains, and several boxes were scattered all over the room. I felt like my life was still scattered even though I had finally found a new home. I knew I had the best roommates anyone could ask for, but I knew it would be a struggle to live my new single life.
I sat there for a while trying to figure out how I was going to get through these coming months when my roommate, Jessie, walked into my room.
"How are you doing, do you need anything?"
I looked at her with my sad, puppy dog eyes, and I could feel the tears starting to swell. Damnit...big girls don't cry! Wait...nevermind... And finally, I succumbed to my emotions and started crying uncontrollably; I felt like I couldn't stop crying and no matter what anyone said it wouldn't ease the pain. Jessie immediately came to me and comforted me with a big hug.
"You did a brave thing. Not many people can do what you've done. You'll get through this, and everything will be just fine."
And she's right: I will be fine. I wasn't dead, crippled, and I still had all my most basic sensory functions (last time I checked)...so what was I so distraught about? Perhaps it was the fact that I had to start fresh and make a new life in an unfamiliar city? Or perhaps I wasn't use to being on my own and alone? It seemed so daunting that I couldn't even imagine how I would get through each and every day. But in the back of my mind, I just knew that I would overcome and move forward (can we please que the cheesy melodramatic music???). It would be a long journey, but with the help of my new family, and the support of my friends, I would be just fine. Take a deep breathe and take each day one day at a time. This is your new life, Will, and you're living in beautiful San Francisco! It's a new chapter, and so many things are waiting for you...you have no idea.

Not As We

Trying to start fresh can be challenging at times, especially when you're not in a familiar niche and you're still living with your ex partner. It was hard at first because I felt like we were still attached at the hip (and no damn surgery could tear us apart). We didn't really have the chance to fully go our separate ways. Isn’t it tragic? Don't worry. I won't get all maudlin on you...yet.
So, there we were. Broken up, but not apart. We still lived together. We still slept in the same bed. And, yes, we still had sex (really hot sex!). I was in my comfort zone, and at times I felt like things hadn’t really changed (can you blame me?). I still cared for him and loved him, but it was difficult at times. I knew the clock was ticking and time was changing us every single day. How was I supposed to move on when we still shared a life that I didn't want to be a part of? I knew I needed my own space, but I wasn't sure what that would mean. Where would I find myself in this beautiful city by the bay?
Room hunting in San Francisco is ultra competitive, and I found myself becoming more and more discouraged with each passing day. The wide variety of ads was overwhelming. Requirements such as: extreme tree huggers, vegans, no alcohol or drugs, females only, clothing optional, no pets or parties, ageist, and 420 friendly folks was mind boggling. Where did I fit into all this mess? Then a bright spot! I managed to land an interview for a room for rent with five other gay men (can we say DRAMA??). There I was, sitting in their living room; surrounded. They were all staring at me like a piece of meat. As they all asked me individual questions, I could feel my hands getting clammy. I felt like I was a contestant on a cheesy game show hoping they would choose me over the other contestants. Unfortunately, I was not the “lucky winner,” which put me back in the market of rental roommate hell. Then a friend told me that I had to sell myself to land a room for rent. Sell myself? I pictured myself: a trashy hooker in high heel stilettos and fishnet stockings! Hi, I'm here, I'm queer, and I'm going to rent your room from you! Needless to say, I didn't hear from any of the ads I was applying to, but I wasn't ready to give up. I knew I would find a home and everything would fall into place (I’m just optimistic like that).
Meanwhile, my partner and were still having amazing-after-relationship-I-love-you-but-I-can't-be-with-you-hot-animal sex. Sometimes that's the best sex there is. I mean, who hasn't had amazing after relationship sex and thought this is the best sex we've ever had even during the relationship? You can raise your hands. No one will see you (unless, of course, you have a web cam). However, as amazing as the sex was (really amazing) we knew we had to move on sometime. At one point, we talked about seeing other people...DUM DUM DUM! And we handled it like two, mature, consenting adults (do those really exist in the 21st century?). We decided, for the sake of our break-up and our burgeoning independence that it was probably best if we branched out. So, he was casually talking with another guy, and I was doing the same. I wasn't actually ready to date other men yet, but he was talking with this other mystery man. It made me a little uncomfortable, but I was the one who insisted on it (mature, consenting adult, remember?).
This is the point where things started getting weird. He started gaining a real interest in this new guy and I became more interested in finding a place to live, because, interestingly enough, I found myself getting jealous. It pained me to think of him being with someone else, so I knew I had to kick it into high gear if I was to get out of my current (little piece of private hell) living situation. I tried to distance myself and create a wall between us while I was looking for a place to live. Hell, I even slept on the couch at times because I thought it was beneficial for the both of us. My ex didn't like it, but I insisted that it was for the best.

Finally, I took my friends advice and created a "10 Things You'll Like About Will" response to the rental ads that I was interested in. I was becoming desperate and I didn't know what else to do. Was I ever going to find a place, or the freedom, I deserved?And then the Heaven's cried with rejoicing Angel voices! I had found a potential roommate situation! It was a shared house with three lesbians in the Sunset District near the ocean and close to public transportation. The moment I stepped off that train and walked up to the house, I knew deep down that this would be the place that I would soon call home. After a few days, they contacted me and told me I was "the one". And with that I started my new adventure with The Lesbians. However, it required me to let go of the past I was still clinging to with both hands and grab hold of the present.

City by the Bay

When I was a kid, my parents use to take us to San Francisco about once a month. It was like entering a magical world that seemed to float on a blanket of fog. It was wonderful. We would hit the usual tourist traps: Fisherman's wharf, Haight Street, Pier 39, and Ghiradelli Square. I was elated to be in any part of the city, touristy or not. I never wanted to leave. Why would I want to go back to my mundane, suburban life? I wanted to be a part of the thriving, bustling life of the city! And every time we left I truly felt like "I left my heart in San Francisco." I remember rambling on and on to my parents (like a broken record) about how one day I would live in the city by the bay. I wasn’t aware of a sexual preference at the time, but in retrospect it is obvious that I was a big homo in the making.
It wasn't until I started reading Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City that my dream became an obsession; an itch to scratch, a longing to be in the middle of things. It was constantly on my mind, and it was the only thing I could think of. When I saw the PBS movie of the first book, I was convinced that San Francisco was going to be my future home. I would watch that movie over and over, relishing every conversation, storyline, and character. I wanted to be a part of 28 Barbary Lane. I still wasn't sure when, but I knew that one day I would end up where the "little cable cars climbed halfway to the stars." (Yes, cheesy, I know, but just go with it for God's sake...).
Fast forward to two years ago.
I was made an offer that I couldn’t refuse. Though it wasn’t the most ideal of living situations (I would be living with my ex), I had the chance to live in my beloved San Francisco. And while attempting to start over in a new place is difficult enough without the added pressure of living with an ex, there was absolutely no way I was going to pass up this opportunity.
And this, my friends, is where my journey begins: my journey as Will in the City. Some of it’s good and some of it’s…well, let’s just say, interesting. It was definitely a bumpy beginning, but, gradually, I found my niche and made myself a life in the city. I hope you enjoy reading about it as much as I enjoy living it.