Behind Your Eyes

I was in the Air Force, stationed at Area II at Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas. I had found a small circle of friends who were gay and we helped each other - in some strange way - come to terms with our sexuality. This particular night that I’m about to reflect back on is something that has been permanently imprinted on my memory. I can’t remember the date or the time of year or even the exact year. I do know that at the time there were only 3 gay bars in Las Vegas: The Gypsy, Gelo’s and The Buffalo. 

The night was young and my friends and I stood inside of Gypsy talking or dancing. Soon, my friend Randy had come in and told me to go outside and look after Sean. I walked outside of the club and found Sean by my car in hysterics. I asked him what was wrong and he cried - shouting that he could not take the Vegas Queens anymore. I proceeded to calm him down.

I remember Sean as being a tough little bitch from New York who spoke his mind and faced a confrontation if one should happen to cross him. I remember being surprised at the hysterical mess I had found by my car that night. And he was right, The Vegas Queens were full of attitude and arrogance and a snobbish exterior that was monstrous. I myself had tried to break through that so-called velvet rope only to find myself - over and again - standing in the middle of a bar with egg on my face. That night with Sean, I had discovered that I could not understand attitude and, therefore, could not throw on a costume and declare myself Peacemaker Man. It was just something I would have to get used to and live with. And as I look back on that time in my life, I am grateful to those Vegas Queens back in the Eighties...they had prepared me for West Hollywood, even though I did not know it at the time.

Living in both Las Vegas and Los Angeles, I had been introduced to cultures that seemed slightly off-kilter to what had been presented to the world as a whole...or, I do have to admit, what I thought was presented to me. Plastic, fake, flaky are just some of the adjectives used to describe L.A. Over the years, I had gotten used to the city which I had begun to call home. I promised myself that I would not become one of those attitude-ridden paper dolls and found myself living as something of a loner. People tended to pay more attention to where you worked, how much was printed on your paycheck, what type of car you drove, you skin color and if you could grace the cover of a magazine if not the opening credits of a television show or movie. And this was just if you wanted to spend a night fucking.

When I finally decided to move to Seattle, I wanted to do so without expectations or an agenda other than to build a new life for myself. I found the culture a little less broad than Los Angeles, and what I mean by that is that back in L.A. there seemed to be a standard of expectation that was as nearly as impossible to fulfill unless one was prepared to have his shattered heart placed in a jar and put on display. Seattle seemed more down to earth and less flashy. Of course, I missed L.A. a lot in the first few months, but as I became more inducted into the Pacific Northwest the more I felt at ease. Comfortable, if you will. There was a small town atmosphere that I found charming.

Seattle did not lack of culture nor did it leave a negative impression how beautiful it’s residents were. Years later, I heard of this phenomenon called The Seattle Freeze which I wondered about as I had made quite a few friends in Seattle and that number was growing by the day. Next came the questions: Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Why aren’t you sleeping around? What is the matter with you? Sure, when I first moved to Seattle I got the pleasure of indulging myself in the clothing of ‘fresh meat’ during the first year as a resident. I got compliments left and right with the back of being told how beautiful people thought I was. And, soon enough, I started to believe my own press. And getting laid became more of a challenge that dipped itself into a vat called games.

If you have been reading this thing, then you know how I came to move to the Bay Area (with goals to move into san francisco) and my reaction to it. Blah, blah blah...

San Francisco. The Atlantis of The Pacific. More laid back and open than both Los Angeles and Seattle combined; culturally on the same level as both L.A. and Seattle when it comes to the arts. I’ve heard a lot of people complain about San Francisco’s transiency and, to be quite honest, there does seem to be a truth laying dormant in those descriptions. I have met some people and have enjoyed their company on more than one occasion. I have been inside of bars where people would introduce themselves and a great time would be had for the evening.

Transient.

Hmmm...I can see it, but I can’t quite put a finger on that perception just yet. A culture like San Francisco’s which is rich in history and firmly established in sex and sexuality is evident, but that could also be a subversive negativity somewhere in there.

However, moving along, I’ve never had so much sex in my life. I have never been admired so much (that i can think of). The color of my skin does not seem to be something that conjures up a barrier or a fantasy bourne from a fetishist’s outline...I know it’s out there, but probably not as evident as it was back in Los Angeles.

There is a kind of irony floating around me since moving to the Bay Area. I miss my friends back in Seattle so much that it almost hurts, but, in the interim, my dick is getting a lot of play without me having to jump through hoops or light myself on fire. And I know that sometime in the future that I will want to settle for having a barbeque with those that I love instead of attending an orgy.

The cultural differences from Las Vegas to Los Angeles to Seattle to San Francisco are as vast as each city’s reputation. I guess it is all in the population and it’s degree of boundaries and depths. Tight, loose, open, closed, stern, insecure, attitude-ridden, lost, found...

Real?