Thud … Thud … Thud …

Thud … Thud … Thud …

My eyes opened with a start to a loud repetitive knocking at the door.

“Hold on!” I groggily bellowed as I dragged my naked frame to the offending sound. Taking in my surroundings, I noticed that Michael’s bed was unspoilt. As I opened the door, I was almost knocked over as Michael and Markus hurriedly brushed by me while frantically chattering in German. Sitting back down on my bed, I asked Michael how the rest of his evening went. Apparently, judging from the bags under Michael’s eyes, fun was had by all. At least by Michael and an acquaintance of his that took him to Mansville, which is a couple blocks outside the periphery of Boystown. Unfortunately, when he was changing, last night, Michael accidentally forgot to take his room key with him.

“Was that the guy who cuddled with you the night before?” I asked rubbing my eyes. Crap, I slept in my contacts, again.

“Who? Him?” Michael motioned to a nonexistent individual. “Oh no, sweetie. He was just too messy! When I found an escape, I left him at the San Francisco party.” Michael started a bath. Markus lounged on the bed and looked through the many programs, flyers, and advertisements that came with the IML package. “While I was having a cigarette an old friend showed up.” Michael’s voice echoed from the bathroom. “We spent a little while in the lobby and then left to go back to his apartment. He doesn’t have a room here. He just comes to the lobby to see friends and hook up.” Walking out of the bathroom, completely naked, Michael added, “I am going to take a quick shower, and then we will go to Starbucks™. Yes?” Markus nodded ferociously at the idea.

I dressed and joined Michael, Leonhard, and Markus as they embarked on their journey to the nearest Starbucks™ – it had to be Starbucks™. While visiting Michael in Munich last year, the only cafés I saw, apart from high-end serious bistros where the wealthy hobnob with each other, were Starbucks™. I assume Starbucks™ coffee is what they grew up drinking. Coming from Seattle, I have a slightly jaded outlook regarding the quality of Starbucks™ as a corporation and the quality of its coffee. However, I don’t drink coffee. Therefore, I have no opinion regarding where they want to purchase their choice of caffeinated elixir.

Upon returning to the hotel, I had the unfortunate displeasure of running into Eve. Well, bless his heart! What I can gather, from appearance only, is he’s claiming to be a ‘skinhead’ – or at least playing one in a porn. One thing I will give Eve is his skill at lying. Who knew lying could qualify as a talent? Not one I share, but hey, we all need something we are good at. Oh joy, now I hear Eve’s braying laughter. The world is his stage and in Eve’s eyes, everyone is merely a supporting role or in the audience being witness to his brilliance.

Me? Well, I am just one of the little people out in the rain.

All my angst vanished as I ran into Mr. Hunde and Eli. We had a lovely conversation outside while Eli scratched my back. The weather was finally warm and not nearly as windy as it has been for the past three days.

“With the coming summer,” a narrator with a sincere, deep, and controlled voice begins his commentary, “watch as the walruses lay out and bask in the weak rays of sunlight. See how they find a spot and rest in it for long periods of time. With there closed eyelids, one might think they are sleeping; however, walruses use the whiskers of their mustaches and beards as antennae. Subtle temperature changes alert them to the proximity of fresh meat.”

For those not well-versed in the queer experience, this behavior demonstrates cruising is not only relegated to dark bars, parks, or sand flea-infested causeways. Even in a place typically less romantic, like the parking lot of a major hotel in down town Chicago, can fairy magic exist. Can I hear some hand clapping please?

I finally accepted my fate and brought my laptop and headphones down to the atrium so that I could at least be productive with something. I figure that if no one is going to talk to me, then I can at least people watch and work at the same time.

Mais quelle surprise! I have yet to finish editing the first sentence and I have been interrupted. Apparently, I look either less hostile or like a challenge because the moment I start writing, random men popped up and talked about random subjects with me. If random individuals insist on interrupting me at least they could make it a randomly dirty, trashy distraction. Instead, I have men approaching me wanting to swap recipes.

I spy with my little eye Michael riding the escalator. From what I can see, he’s had another shopping expedition today, and bumped into some other Germans. Later on, he tells me that there is some dirt and dish going around regarding the current Mr German titleholder. Ah, middle-management politics. I am so happy that I escaped from that part of the leather scene.

Sadly I didn’t escape unscathed. But I did, at least, escape.

Normally, headphones are the best way to keep people away from me. Sadly, in this scenario, it is not as efficient as I had hoped for. Even with the brief interruptions, I am much more entertained simply observing, while not hearing the typically banal conversations. I find it odd that removing the dialogue makes this tedious experience almost enjoyable. Anyway, if I am going to be constantly overstimulated with noise, I prefer it to be a sound which I can control.

Have I mentioned recently the hotel coffee kiosk is charging $2.00 for a banana?

Or they charge $4.00 for a 12 ounce cup of chopped fruit?

Or too many normal people wandering around in the hotel this year?

Or my belief the internet is destroying cruising environments like this? Why bother coming down to the lobby when you can just stay in your room and order in. I believe gay men, in general, have grown used to shopping online and have lost the art of face-to-face communication. I guess without online monikers and two screens separating the men, they find the initial assertiveness required to break the silence too difficult. With each passing hour, this event feels more like a clique-ish high school reunion than it does a Leather party/convention. I am quite revolted.

John, who owes a great deal of thanks to Sarah Jessica Parker’s accessories, dragged me out of the hotel to show me the local indie music stores. Being a large city, I expected a huge and diverse music selection or at least stores dedicated to specific styles of music. Sadly, I was underwhelmed. However, riding the L was a first for me.

As we entered the hotel lobby, I was witness to a well-known local celebrity presently collared by his partner. The scene was clearly false, yet mawkish. I find it a bit odd that he comes to these events when he doesn’t really ‘get into’ this stuff, or at least that is what he used to tell others. Of course I instantly recall my old roommate telling me about a lovely little watersports adventure with him. Hmm… I didn’t see a yellow hanky in his back pocket.

Leonhard, Michael and I had dinner. Over which we discussed life and the difficulties of meeting guys. Michael’s difficulties stem with his job. Since he and Leonhard own a well known and successful Leder und Fetische shop in Munich everything they do is scrutinized by the leather/kink/queer community. Thus, he finds it quite difficult to meet potential boyfriends. In part because he already knows everyone in the scene, and because many of the men he does meet tend to expect him to play sugar daddy or fall into a very specific role. Michael is sexy, so he really shouldn’t need to do either to find a boyfriend. Actually, ‘sexy‘ doesn’t really do him justice. He exudes sex.

Leonhard, who is Michael’s partner in the sex shop business, is much more reserved. Where Michael is very outgoing, Leonhard likes to sit and quietly observe. Thus, I believe his problem with finding a boyfriend stems from his high standards potential lovers are expected to contain. I think this is rather reasonable.

Also, I feel an underlying current which they never discuss with others. As Leonhard and Michael were a couple for almost 10 years before opening the shop, they have much history together. If you date one, you get both – which is a bit daunting. I see no reason to bring this up. I think they are subconsciously aware of this aspect in their relationship. My problem is easy, I am a depressive with a tragically low self-esteem. Also, I am emotionally unavailable and not really sure what I want. Very simple and very clear.

I fought Michael and Leonhard for the dinner’s bill. I finally won! Yes, it is always a battle.

I spent most afternoon wandering in a daze with a blank expression. I think the depression I am settling into, or perhaps it’s sadness, is shutting me down and overwhelming the desire for anything. Everyone appears comfortable – and then there is me. I feel like an impostor. I feel uneasy and awkward in my own skin. I refuse to wear less than a short sleeved shirt and jeans. I am acting, as my friend Mark described it, demure – pearls, cream pumps, lace gloves and a nice white dress with my legs crossed at the ankle.

I am duly horrified.

I see men looking at me. Because I am not a mind reader and I cannot interpret their facial expressions I decide to play it safe; none of their thoughts are good. I threaten Michael and the guys, that I am going to commit a form of erotic suicide while journalling on my computer as I shovel spoonful after tasty spoonful of Häagen-Dazs™ Dulce de Leche ice cream in my pie hole.

For the time being the suicide has been held in check. Presently, I am staring at my computer screen writing this entry sans ice cream.

I want to leave this cocoon in which I am smothering myself, but its seam eludes me. I want to be part of something, but I grow more antisocial in this crowd while the men around me busily make lurid contact with those who might be sex dates over this weekend. And then there is me – silent, alone, demure. Even acquaintances from Seattle avoid talking with me. The only communication I have, excluding Michael, Leonhard, Markus, Alex, and Tobias, is with those whom I wish I didn’t know.

When I start feeling uncomfortable in the lobby, I move outside and smoke in the cancer zone until I feel uncomfortable there. I then head to the lobby and repeat this pattern for hours. This unease has nothing to do with location. There is nothing disagreeable outside, except the cold wind off Lake Michigan, and no one is creating the physical discomfort in the lobby. This tension is internal. I cannot shake it like an external situation or another person.

A local boy, Danny has been chatting with me on and off. I believe this is due to his friendship with die deutschen Jungen. Since I am with Michael and Leonhard, I am being talked to by default, like the fat fag hag. Eventually, he announced he was going to head up to his room and that it was #2872. Was he being polite? Was he inferring anything? Was this announcement directed to me or to the group of us? I forgot to be blunt and ask him. Will I go? Of course not. He is probably not there now, or worse, for me in my fragile state, he is busy with some cute boy his age. I am sure he is definitely not interested in having sex with me. Even if anything were to happen, all I would really want to do is be held as I sob quietly. What is left of my dignity is out the window and self-centered vanity has entered the building. I am the piece of shit around which the entire universe revolves.

I have been taking clonazapam to help me with my anxiety. It helps to lower my guard, but it seems that this is unnecessary as I have no one for whom I need to do this.

It is midnight, I am really not tired, bored, or ready to call it a night, but I gotta say, this ‘hoping for something’ sucks balls. Regardless, I will head to the lobby again. Maybe my hopes and desires will die a little more!

Okay. That was an interesting hour. I just love that word: ‘interesting’. I think the appropriate word would be: pathetic. First, I bumped into Robert, ILS 2004. He asked me how I was doing. Well, instead of towing the line and saying everything is ducky, I proceeded to inform him of the truth and I went on and on about my feelings and about what I have been going through. For a brief moment, I felt good receiving confirmation. Whether I can believe any of what he said is another story.

Next, I headed outside for yet another smoke. If I am not having sex or sleeping, smoking is the next best option. While with the herd of self-smoked beef, I bumped into Rich. He came up to me and asked if everything was okay. It must have been written all over my face. I replayed my issues – but an edited version of them. More comfort. More kind words. All of which felt cold but at this point anything is better than nothing. I certainly don’t want to be a downer, I know most of the guys here are having a great time, but I just can’t seem to find my own pace. I guess pity is better than nothing.

Then I had to watch a self-proclaimed celebrity of the leather cesspool emerge from the hotel lobby to have a cigarette. Daddies and boys, Sirs and slaves fawned over her in a way that would make an Elvis Presley sycophant look like child’s play. All I see, whenever I look at her is a sucking void.

Toxic doesn’t even begin to describe her personality. Still, so many men desperately need to be acknowledged by her and one of her tawdry little name tags.

Finally, while smoking my last cigarette for the night, I bumped into a kid, with whom I had chatted for a few minutes throughout the evening. While thoroughly inebriated, he came up to me and asked me what I was up to. I told him I was going to bed. I guess being so drunk that you can’t see straight is the best way to approach me. This is how the conversation progressed:

Random: So what you doing after this?

Me: Going to bed. completely uninterested at this point since I find drunk to be a huge turn off

Random: With anyone? stumbling

Me: Just me, myself and I looking around for anyone to save me from this conversation

Random: chuckles, swaying back and forth

Me: feigned chuckle, hoping that my terse response made my point clear

Random: Want some company barely audible, he leaned forward and backward as if a buoy in a lake

Me; Huh? Shocked. No, seriously, quite shocked. The only time I am hit on is by a shit-faced Smurf

Random: Would you like some company? holding his composure for a few moments

Me: Well, I don’t know. looking around again for help, I see the eighties pop star again but no help coming forthwith

Random: It’s negotiable. pause I don’t bareback. stumbling and taking another swig of something red and alcoholic

Me: Oh. more shocked than anything while also tragically sure he wouldn’t remember how he was fucked in his inebriated state.

Random: Are you not interested now? already looking for someone else to cruise

Me: Oh, well it’s not that, I am just really tired. I don’t think I would be much fun. anyone, please help me

Random: Why not? stepping backward, still looking around

Me: Because I am not really in the mood anymore for anything to happen. certainly not with him

Random: Oh, I just wanted to get off. I wouldn’t have to stay the night, I could go back to my room afterwards. desperation coming to the front, he’s horny and drunk he doesn’t care who it is

Me: Oh, well I don’t know. offended because I am his last ditch effort before going back to his room to pass out while trying to masturbate

Random: That’s okay, I understand if you aren’t interested. has lost interest in me, the conversation and beginning to stumble away

Me: If you were anywhere close to the vicinity of sober I would be. true, he was cute, but I draw the line at any form of altered state and sloppiness

Random: Well I’ll be going now. stumbling into another guy and he drinks his red drink and looks for another victim

Me: Maybe tomorrow? I say, being polite

Random: um… yeah… bye. he flops his hand and arm up and down in the air like a wave without looking back

Me: ciao. stubbing out my cigarette

Now I am going to bed.