Summer is here, and so, after nine months of writing a new novel, and in rather desperate need of a tan, yours truly took his husband to a European beach resort for Gay Pride. Imagine sun, beaches, concerts, drag queens, Lady Gaga and Kylie impersonators, skinny models, gogo boys, and over a thousand men in all shapes and sizes, celebrating their freedom. Being free to express our sexuality is wonderful. Let's remember that in 78 countries in the world, people still get imprisoned, tortured, hanged, stoned, or shot for being gay, lesbian, transgender, etc.
We partied for four days straight (or rather anything but straight), met some very interesting and some very loud people, gawked at rock-hard abs and bubble butts, danced to all sorts of music (including Boney M., if you believe it), shouted "I am titanium" and "born this way" a lot, and drooled over the Mr. Gay contestants on the catwalk before heading to a bear bar with some very drunk Australians and Swedes. All perfectly innocent. It's summer, after all.
We went to the White Party, the Black Party, the Jungle Party, and the Foam Party, but the real party was always out in the thronged streets. We lamented the loss of our own abdominal definition and vowed to go on a diet starting Monday. At 5 in the morning, we stumbled back to our apartment though alleys littered with vomit, garbage, and used condoms. As the sun rose red and pink, we watched the gorgeous model who never looked at anyone finally get his comeuppance in a side street and gave him a round of applause as he bent over graciously. Drunk with love and sunshine, we fell into bed. It would have been a wonderful day of moderate debauch if we had not then made the mistake of turning on Grindr.
Most hotels don't let strangers go up to the rooms until the doors are unlocked again at 6 a.m. That's why the parties last exactly until that very special hour and, as the cocks crow, almost instantly moves online. The apps lit up. The messages came in, two, three at a time. Within 20 minutes we had invitations to group sex, howls and woofs from lonely men clamoring for love, pleas by bottoms in need of tops, and tops in search of hot bottoms. Honestly, I've never been more popular on Grindr!
As we chatted to Tim from Croyden, Jan from A'dam, several "Aussie lads" and "Irish boys," and a fair number of Joaos, Jorges, and Jacobs, we quickly realized that many of the gentlemen were in a state of almost unintelligible horniness. Some used Google Translate to bridge the language gap. One Italian invited us to examine his sanitized donkey. Go figure.
After another 30 minutes the picture became very dark. Nine out of 10 men invited us to have bareback sex. I first thought "No Latex" was a subtle hint referring to a nonexistent clothing fetish. But "Allergic to Rubber" is not really a medical condition. We were presented with graphic images of orgies "in progress" and almost settled on visiting the "fit, sane, down-to-earth US/UK couple" two doors down the aisle when they also insisted on the absence of protection. So much for "sane." Somewhat shocked, we switched off our phones and went to sleep. That was on the first day.
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