If I need to explain why this is another example of how gay men and the dominant culture do not respect or honor our own dignity, pain, and passion, then the cause of internalized self-worth in gay men is dead as well.
Today is World AIDS Day and it appears to be an afterthought for… well, for everybody. On facebook, on TV, and in my email inbox. AIDS and all the bravery, horror, and heroism of that time is not something anyone wants to acknowledge when we’ve got Black Friday sales and the Hollywood Christmas Parade.
I get it. AIDS is not sexy and it’s not even lethal anymore for those of us lucky enough to be on meds. But AIDS killed more American men than World War II and a combination of those war dead and the dead from every American war since.
We fought and won a victory of sorts from the plague. Guess it’s over. Move on.
That’s all I’ve got. What else is there to say?
I miss my best friend, Alvin Lorenzo. I miss my boyfriend, Tony Pruzzi. I miss my mentor, Gustav.
If I need to explain why this is another example of how gay men and the dominant culture do not respect or honor our own dignity, pain, and passion, then the cause of internalized self-worth in gay men is dead as well.
When I was
22, I sat across the table from a San Diego County Healthcare Worker who told
me I had 6 to 18 months to live. That’s what they told newly diagnosed HIV
positive men in 1987.
It seemed
that getting old was not a state of being I’d ever need to face.
Until now.
I’m 54 and healthy.
I’ve buried
many friends who died during the plague, received a reprieve from death thanks
to medications, and am now missing more than a half million
peers who could be
helping me sort out this aging stuff. And, as an added bonus, I now get to
watch my face and body wrinkle and sag.
In all the
chaos, fear, and grief of the plague, it never occurred to me that survival
would include getting old.
The most glaring challenge of aging, and one I’m not hearing anyone talk about, is sex. Or, more to the point of this post, diminishing access to sex.
For gay men
like me who have received copious amounts of joy and validation through sexual
encounters, facing waning access to the quality and quantity of those
encounters is psychologically daunting.
If you are a
man who doesn’t relate to the swelling of contentment that follows one or more
particularly hot sexual experiences, you probably should not read this post. That’s
because a big part of me just doesn’t believe you.
Men want to
stick it in.
Even when
sex would literally kill us, we still wanted to stick it in. It’s a powerful
force of nature that refuses to be tamed.
Denying the
power of sexual energy is like denying global warming. Unwise.
I also don’t
want to be judged for my sexual lifestyle and I’ve found that type of judgment
usually comes from the white picket fence gays doing their best to adhere to
the demands of a hetero supremacy culture.
I’m not
interested in retiring like a straight person. Gay culture is not only more interesting,
it serves my authentic mental, physical, and spiritual needs. And much of gay
men’s culture is tied to sex.
In another
post, I will explore what we might do on the other side 50 that is not tied exclusively
to sex. I’d written a four-page post on those topics when I realized I was
hiding my most shameful and painful real feelings about getting gay-old
behind those topics.
My ego’s deep
desire to avoid the topic of diminishing superficial beauty makes it clear that
this is exactly what I need to be writing about.
So, here it
is.
Before
hitting puberty, I thought I was one of the least desirable kids at school.
With lots of reinforcement from my older brother and one or two adults
responsible for my care, I was under the impression that I was an idiot, that I
didn’t know how to carry myself, comb my hair, or dress right, that I was an embarrassment
to be seen with, and that anything I said only revealed how hopelessly stupid I
was.
When I
started having sex with men, and I started young (in Junior High), all of that
changed. Much of that is captured in my memoir, Drama Club.
Sex and
offers to have sex helped define my sense of self.
Suddenly
everyone was laughing at my jokes. I was told how smart I was. I was often the
center of attention. In this new secrete society of gay men I was popular. A
man named R.L. Ferguson became not only my lover, but also my mentor regarding
all things that active adult gays needed to know.
Sex was a form a protest against the establishment. Gay sex was illegal in the three states I grew up in. That just made getting a blowjob even more intense. It was defiant, liberating.
Through R.L.,
and the men he introduced me to, I learned about the 1978 realities of STDs,
civil rights, things that get a gay guy arrested, and the slang we use to
negotiate sexual tastes. This was all the stuff my older brother and adults didn’t
know or would never tell me.
Being
desirable afforded me protection, information, and what at the time I thought
was most important of all, SEX!
Superficial
beauty brought me more than my fair share of dating opportunities and sexual
encounters, even with HIV in my veins. Without beauty, I doubt my first
roommate situation would have materialized when I moved to San Diego in 1985. I
would not have received my first job as a fry cook in a restaurant owned by a
gay man.
Superficially
beauty allowed me to pay my rent when I ran ads in Frontiers magazine as a
masseur. It allowed me to travel to New York City for the Gay Games in 1992,
and subsequently secure a room on Fire Island.
It got me
access to clubs, VIP rooms, and private after parties. At sex clubs I could
choose the guys I wanted to play with. It landed me a job dancing on a box at
the Palm Springs White Party, a life event that made it clear (if only for an
instant) that being the focus of desire has its limits in its ability to heal the
frightened boy inside me.
It’s one of
the big reason’s I won International Mister Leather in 2007. It’s the reason I could not keep up
with all the offers from guys on hook-up apps.
But that’s mostly gone now.
That
image of myself as a powerful being is threatened as age slowly takes away the
attributes that once allowed me to have so much access to sexual validation.
I lived in
West Hollywood for nearly 30 years, from 1991 until 2018.
Men would
pull over and offer me a ride when I was waiting at the bus stop. Guys would
usually try to catch my eye as I walked down the street. I received big tips as
a bartender at Revolver and as a waiter at Figs. It felt like everyone wanted a
piece of me.
So much so,
that it was annoying.
That’s no
longer a problem.
Guys I pass on the street invariably are not interested in checking me out or even making eye contact. My hook-up apps do not draw the onslaught of attention that they once did. My workouts at the gym are now free of guys offering me advice on how to work out, compliments on how my shorts fit, or the size and shape of any particular body part.
Now, it’s
time for the younger guys to have all that kind of attention.
It’s time
for me to learn how to be in the world differently.
While
discussing this idea with a member of my gay family, who is also a therapist, the
suggestion was made that I need to grieve the loss. The instant he said it, it
felt right!
If the
plague was good for anything, it taught us the transformative healing power of
facing loss. Pretending people are not dead does not help us celebrate their
lives or integrate the beauty of their love into our souls. And, pretending my
circuit body days are not behind me will not help me honor the delight and stressors
of that life or transform the journey into wisdom. Grief transforms experience
into wisdom and wisdom brings peace.
I am also
aware that daddy culture is a real thing.
I was “daddied”
by guys before I was expecting it; calling out “daddy” during sex or on hook up
apps was my unceremonious initiation into Daddyhood.
It appears
to me that the daddy image can simply be a look, just as superficial as a
circuit queen look. Stepping into it in that context, however, feels like I’m
just moving closer to my sell-by date, repackaging aspects of a failing
resource.
It’s still
grasping.
I’m interested
in “Daddy” culture that puts social responsibility on the Daddy to use the wisdom
he’s cultivated during his extended time on planet earth. I’m intent on
providing generative, protective, and challenging space for my peers and our
younger brothers so that we can use our authentic intrinsic instincts (sexual
energy) to bond, grow, and love.
Honestly, I
wish I were above this kind of vanity. It would hurt less.
Ways through
this?
Acceptance
Clearly
understanding the roles of youth, adults, elders, and ancients
Cultivating
mature masculinity (as opposed to “boy” energy)
Those will
be in another post.
For now, as
much as it must infuriate those that have never felt particularly beautiful,
the fear and loneliness are real for me.
Judging by
the waves of beautiful guys I’ve watched come and go through West Hollywood
(and The Athletic Club, Golds, and Crunch) decade after decade, there are
plenty who’ve felt, or feel, the same way.
I wonder where they are now, what they are doing, and if
they’re ready for the next step of gay men’s evolution.
In 1987 I found out I was HIV positive. In 1988 AIDS took my best friend Alvin. Less than two years later my boyfriend Tony’s body was flown in a coffin from LA to his mother in New York. That same year the LA Gay & Lesbian Center began treating my HIV even though I had no money and no insurance. My mentor, Gustav died from AIDS only weeks before the protease inhibitors came out that began literally saving lives of people like me and those newly infected.
Tomorrow I begin, for the fifth time, a 7 day bike ride from SF to LA to raise money to help people like the kid I was way back then. We also raise the money to prevent new infections.
But many of us do this because there is little else we can do with the pain of the horror we’ve lived through.
Every donation, every bit of applause, every hug, smile, and show of support, bring hope to the future.
But this event also works as a communal salve for those of us on this annual pilgrimage who are exorcising our demons from an unimaginable past that still stalks us each day.
The man in a wheelchair does not want your silent condolences, he wants you to look him in the eye and engage. The HIV positive man does not want your mournful laments of his condition, he wants a clear assessment of his abilities.
To project deficiency on our fellow human brings him down. Do not yield to the temptation to placate the challenged. Instead, respect the diverse gift of their experience and expect great things from them.
This is my answer to a question posted on the TRIBE – WeHo Gay Men’s Discussion Groupfacebook page. “If condoms are only 70% effective at preventing the spread of HIV, and less that 17% of men who have sex with men are using condoms every time, where do we go from here?” Putting the Nail in the Coffin of Condom-Only HIV Prevention We should change the discussion to match today’s sexual and medical realities.
I think we need to start being honest with men (like you are in your column, thank you!) about the real risks of HIV transmission. We need to insist that “prevention experts” like AHF stop their infatuation with the false notion that condom use leads to a panacea of prevention. We need to insist that they redirect the insane amount of money they are spending on ineffective, shame based, sex negative, billboards into programs that give men the real tools they need to slow or stop infection. The established AIDS communities infatuation with the condom-only-nothing-else-matters concept, is only leading to more infections because guys are fucking without condoms. It’s a fact! How many studies are we going to do before we face that reality? If our brothers are fucking without condoms, we need to talk to them about doing it in the safest possible way…which, by the way, may be safer then putting ALL their trust in condoms alone.
We need to stop shaming and start celebrating sex. We need make it cool to be responsible. Make a trip to get tested for HIV or STIs a badge of honor.
I’d like to know more about the men still getting infected.
Do they know all their options? Do they know there is a sliding scale or risk? Do they know who is most likely to shed the virus and under what circumstance? Do they know about PrEP? Are they being taught to talk openly about medications as well as HIV status with their partners? Do they know what “undetectable” means? Do they know that a guy whose on meds and undetectable is statistically safer to have sex with then a guy who doesn’t know his status and is wearing a condom?
Gerle Men 