Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Almost like a startled bird

Taking the bus to the BART to go to Steamworks I'm suddenly all wired, even though it's early in the day -- I have to go early, otherwise the BART will close and I'll get stuck. Where did all this energy come from? I guess it's not just about the sex but the expansion of possibility, like that guy at the front of the bus -- maybe I should go home with him, he keeps looking back. Of course there are still limitations -- the special Pride rainbow flags are already out on Market Street, and there are tourists trying discreetly to snap photos of me.

On the BART, more options for fantasy: the way this guy jiggles his legs back and forth, all the way on the other side of the car from me but still; someone's talking about beach balls; this other guy keeps pulling up his pants, which means they keep falling down. But I'm tired already.

Still I'm thinking about the sex clubs I can go to when I'm traveling, it's always better when you're traveling. Except when it's awful; then it's still awful. I kind of feel like I'm traveling tonight, I mean Berkeley feels far enough.

I get to Steamworks just after 9 p.m., which means I have about 2 1/2 hours, probably good to have a time limit. For the first time I notice the ceiling -- old wooden beams and it's kind of gorgeous in that rotting industrial way, I wonder what this building was originally. But it doesn't take long for me to feel exhausted and sad, thinking why am I here I mean I haven't had sex in three weeks but I don't feel horny at all -- should I come anyway? I watch two guys fuck on the other side of a plastic wall but it's too dark to see the details and I'm just trying to feel turned on. Outside, the darkness might feel like something interesting, here it just annoys me like public sex without the public, something to stumble into and you don't quite know what's going on.

The music is horrible -- disco and top-40 and ‘80s sped up to a house beat -- "I Feel Love" then "Heart of Glass" then "Don't Want No Short Dick Man." Actually that one comes first but I didn't want to say it.

I walk around again, and again, and then someone’s sucking my dick but I'm not into it -- I like that he smiles at me first, though. I go for this other guy and then we're in a room until he puts a condom on and tries to fuck me but there's no lube, I say we need lube. He says I'm going to take a shower.

I hug someone else, this tall guy with glasses who was cruising me earlier but I wasn't sure so now I'm trying and it's okay, except for his stale alcohol breath. Eventually he says: I was trying to get into it. Does he mean the place, or me?

I'm walking around again, then sitting down and eating, then walking around -- maybe I like looking at people with clothes on better, here it's just white towel homogeneity although the crowd itself is definitely more racially diverse than any gay crowd I've seen in San Francisco. I'm trying to think about why I'm not turned on, maybe it's too early at night or I'm too hypoglycemic or I'm just exhausted or I don't have a libido anymore or everything feels strange and suburban or whatever, I'm just not turned on.

Now the music is some kind of fake-‘80s electro-pop with some nasally vocal, I'm washing my hands in the bathroom because I touched my foot after stepping on several condoms, and I say I hate this music, can't they just turn it off, and then I just start laughing oh that's what I need I need to laugh why isn't anyone laughing I mean no one ever laughs in places like this. Some guy is staring at me like he's trying to figure out whether I'm crazy and I say it again: can't they just turn this music off?

Back in the porn area I'm laughing some more, this one guy says is it because of the credibility? I don't know, I say, I guess I'm just laughing. I try to imagine what this place would be like if everything was comfortable and soft and bright and flamboyant and hilarious, I mean we could be sitting on plastic-covered red velvet sofas instead of this chain mesh bench, watching Pink Narcissus instead of some tired wrestling video, gazing up at a spectacle of light and color in a room filled with gorgeous foliage and flowers and artwork covering every surface instead of nothing but black walls and metal booths and a sad resignation.

I think I've reached my limit, my limit with these places now they just make me feel shut off instead of turned on. I decide to try the steamroom but then I don't because I'm scared of the Pine-Sol so I walk around again and then I try it anyway. Oh the steamroom is the answer, this bear-type guy is rubbing all the sweat on my chest sure everything smells like Pine-Sol but it's like his hands are part of my sensation of myself until he keeps trying to get me to come even though I push his hand away, his head away he forces it back. I never understand that -- no one wants to come when they’re trying not to. I put his hands back on my chest, down to my belly until I'm too hot and then I try the cold shower, earlier I was thinking it would be nice to take a hot shower because at least here they don't run out of hot water but now it's all about the cold.

Walking around I feel closer to the ground, 11:15 I should come before I leave and I'd like to do it somewhere public where people can actually see so I sit back in the video area, look up at some buff, pale leather-type in a cage with a hole ripped in the back of his underwear and FUCK HOLE written on his ass next to some guy sitting on a dildo in his bedroom next to that guy who's been jerking off the whole time I've been here it's some sort of endurance exercise. And the guy who wondered about credibility earlier is next to me I let my towel fall back so it's just me with a hard-on and he's rubbing my chest like the guy in the steamroom while I'm jerking and there's someone on the other side of me who acts like none of this is going on until I come and suddenly he thrusts his head diagonally downwards, almost like a startled bird is what I think.

2 comments:

grantatee said...

wow, you've done a lot of traveling lately-- first connecticut, not berkeley!

love,
grant

mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

Not Berkeley, indeed!

But Connecticut has a very special place in my heart...

Love --
mattilda