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.