Going Deep: A Gay Guide to Reality

“Hey! It’s you guys. I didn’t know you’d be on the ship!” It takes me two full seconds to recognize the tall, lean Italian with dark eyes and grey-speckled beard stubble before a surge of joy-filled love overtakes me. I embrace him with one arm and squeeze my husband’s wrist in the elevator bay crowded with men in costumes. “Dennis! Look who it is!” We are taking a

Easy to say. “You’re perfect.” “I see you as perfect.” All you need to do is let go of all the thoughts, beliefs, emotions, mental constructs, advertisements, comparisons on social media, and the tap tap tap of that nagging voice that says, “Don’t fall behind. You can still catch up. You can still win!” Just follow your breath. Well, notice it first. Can you? That t

Just feelings. That’s what this week is about. Preparing for an ayahuasca plant ceremony is an opening of the raw self. It’s day 6 of taking away most of the things that help me avoid feelings. Coffee, weed, alcohol, refined sugar, red meat, lots of other things… and, wait for it, ejaculation! Yup. Just sit there and take it bitch! Worried about your substack, your husband’

Moments after the door to my condo closed behind us, the stranger I’d cruised on the subway locked his mouth on mine. I eagerly accepted. The tension of 30+ minutes of eyeing each other in the train car, up the escalators, down Sunset Blvd., to this moment, piqued our primal need to engage. He pulled at the bottom of his shirt. I leaned away from kissing his scruffy face and said

My last post, Love, Contempt, and Leather Contests, ended up being a lackluster whimper that confused a few people. Thank you guys for the feedback. “Where’s the contempt?” they asked. And they were right to ask. In haste to meet my publishing deadline (on the 1st and 3rd Thursdays), I rushed a piece that was not ready for release. I also let an effort to be magnanimous preve

Overwhelmed by crowds of geared-up men at my first leather event, a Tom of Finland “Butt Boy” party in Hollywood, I escaped to an outdoor patio for a cigarette. I was in my late 20s, in the mid-1990s, wearing gear I’d purchased specifically for the event: a harness, armbands, a classic leather cap, leather shorts, and boots from an army surplus store on Santa Monica Blvd. Wit

“I blink, and you’re hooked up with someone!” My husband says with his testosterone-fueled competitive voice.I get a wonderful turn-on when I see this side of my normally deferential, even-mannered, Vulcan-like boy. It’s dangerously delicious. His full 42-year-old, tall, masculine body radiates primal testosterone. Men turn me on, so seeing him charged with desire and vexed

I was recently at an all-gay birthday party, standing in a small gaggle of well-known friends comparing ages. The birthday “boy” was 44. I let the group know I will be 59 this April. Then said, “I’m old.” “You’re not old!” One of them insisted, his eyes confused. I stood my ground and insisted that, by the numbers around life expectancy, I was in the final 3rd or 4t

Two years ago, while in my 57th year, I began going out to dance parties again. To my surprise, reentering the gay dance party scene at 56 proved to be, and continues to be, a much more edifying experience than it was in my 20s. I give credit for this transformation to decades of seeking with my MFT therapists Karen, Jim, Winston, and Sharon, a Forum-like intensive called The Exper

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