Slap & Tickle

On Saturday I went to the Lonestar Saloon in San Francisco alone. Yep, Mr. Chicken went all by himself to a bar. As I drove up I told myself I had to have two beers and then I could come home. As I walked in the bar, I changed it to one beer. I was so damn nervous…

The Lonestar is a ‘bear bar.’ Meaning, it’s full of burly, bearded men and “working class types.” For a guy like me, I feel so out of place in those disco-y bars with all the muscle-boys taking off their shirts and throwing attitude around. The Lonestar is full of guys who enjoy each other. You may not find the guy that finds you attractive, but you thank him for the interest—attitude doesn’t fly.

I found a wonderful spot in the back patio, where I could lean against the wall and bump my head against a wagon wheel precariously hanging on the wall all night. It was a great spot to watch everyone come and go, as I was right by one of the entrances to the patio from the main bar inside. Sure I might get a concussion, but what a place to be.

I finished my first beer (Guinness—ON TAP!) and decided to get another. Since the outside bar was, literally, three steps from my spot, I got another beer, only to find upon my return that someone had stolen my spot. I stood there, in the middle of the floor, like a complete moron for five minutes, waiting for a spot to open up against the wall, so that I could stand THERE like a moron.

“My” spot cleared and I again took my place… banging my head against that damn wagon wheel. I suspect the only reason the person moved on was because he was in danger of a permanent head injury.

After a bit, a group of guys stood near me and were chatting away, one guy mentioned he liked their spot because “the wagon wheel isn’t banging my head.” He looked to me, and I smiled and said, “You mean the way it’s banging mine?” He laughed and rubbed against me in a very sweet friendly manner.

Okay, it wasn’t much, but for someone that gets nothing, this was Something. Well, it was more than nothing, which may not be “Something,” but it was “something.” They were very fun and very loud and I eaves dropped on their entire conversation. They had some wonderful times in the Eighties…

I kept looking at the night sky rather than my watch, so I didn’t look like I was timing how long I was going to stay. It was a clear night in San Francisco, and there were only a handful of stars in the sky. There was one star to the North and I said a small wish upon it, hoping someone would notice me. I decided I would now stay until that star moved to where I could no longer see it: I was thinking about an hour or so—hoping it would be less.

I got another beer, again my space was stolen and again I claimed it back. I so wanted to shout, “I claim this space in the name of France!” But I just KNEW I would be forever dubbed as that idiot that actually claimed his spot out loud. As I was standing there, banging my head against that damn wheel, a guy who was in line to get a beer was looking in my direction. Being the bold person I am, I kept looking down or away whenever we made eye contact. Lord knows, I certainly didn’t want to meet anyone… I mean, what if he were to speak to me? What would I say? And how did I know he was even looking at me? Maybe he was wondering why the fuck there was a precariously hanging wagon wheel on the wall and who was this idiot standing beneath it banging his head? I continued to look away out of embarrassment and possible severe head trauma.

Let the word go forth to friend and foe alike: I am a total F’ing shcmuck.

It took a while but I realized that he WAS staring at ME in a friendly manner and finally, I stared right back. As he got his beer and continued to stare, I smiled.

He stopped.

I blanched.

He walked over.

My stomach dropped. I feared I would belch… loudly. Or worse, send it out the opposite direction.

He introduced himself. Keith and from Oakland. I tried to say “I’m Chris from San Jose,” but it came out more like “Mgflugmklezay.” He then said he had to go see his friends. And he quickly retreated.

Okay, someone noticed me. Someone said hello. I decided to have a cigar. I looked up and thanked my star, which seemed to be slipping away over a building in the distance.

I didn’t speak to anyone else the entire evening. I just stood there. However, as uncomfortable as that may sound, I actually found it nice. In a small way, I was home. I was accepted. I wasn’t looked down upon as I would be in most gay bars, I was “part of the scene.” It was nice just to be among them, if not actually taking part.

Guys continued to walk by coming and going, coming and going. And I continued to watch, smiling occasionally and banging my head.

I watched some guys make out. I saw two men in the very back having sex. I watched a bunch of guys smoke weed. There were a lot of guys smoking weed. I watched dozens of cuties walking by. I watched this unbelievably hot guy with an amazing body, make out with this older guy, who was not very attractive. My God… is this possible? Could I ever be that lucky? The answer was assuredly no, but none-the-less I looked up to my wishing star… but that mother f’er was long gone. I had to be content to watch and dream.

The nice thing is everyone looks at everyone. No one judges, they look and smile and keep walking. If they are interested, they’ll stop. Me? I was too chicken to do anything. My father may have been a US Marine, but I am certainly not of that solid stuff. My motto: I sum esse fui futurus homo ingAvus. Loosely translated: I am a coward.

Occasionally, some adorably cute thing would walk by and it would be all I could do to keep my tongue in my mouth. I had to keep telling myself not to salivate openly. Several cute guys stood in front of me looking out at the crowd and it took all my effort I could summon not to reach out and touch them, or nibble on the back of their necks.

At 1:00am, my cigar finished and my feet tired after standing there for three and a half hours, I decided it was time to go home. I took one last look around at the thinning crowd and headed back through the bar (taking one last look around there) and stepped out onto the street.

I walked out and headed up Harrison, deciding to check for voicemails on my cellphone (like anyone calls) when suddenly, the cutest (and I mean CUTEST) guy in the bar walks up next to me and asks me if I’m leaving. I said yes, and continued walking, thinking that he was heading home too and just making conversation.

We got to the corner and I was waiting for the light and he introduced himself.

Let me say that again: the CUTEST guy in the bar and introduced himself... to ME! His name is JD. I believe I introduced myself as “Krmflking.” Then JD asked ME for my e-mail address. I was stunned, to say the least. I couldn’t think of my e-mail address… hell, I couldn’t breathe. I have issues with speaking to people I find unbelievably attractive: my mind shuts down. My dick, realizing my brain is in overdrive, executed a coup and gained full control of all functions and frankly, my dick can’t think worth spit. Well my fully in charge and inexperienced dick had me just stand there looking like a moron and staring blankly at this totally cute guy.

Nervously, I pulled out my wallet and I shakingly handed him my business card. He might have been a psycho, he might have been a killer, but he was so adorable that I did it without pause (except to shake nervously). He looked at the card and looked at me and looked at the card again. I think I freaked him out somehow, but he read my name aloud (HE read MY name OUT LOUD!) I corrected his pronunciation and the light changed.

I started to walk across the street when he said, “Well, I just wanted to stop you before you left,” and he headed back to the bar.

It was half a block later that I realized what he said, that he chased after me. Each word sort of hung there: HE. CHASED. AFTER. ME. I was sought out. I was desirable enough—in his obviously alcohol clouded eyes—to follow me out of the bar and introduce himself.

I stood there for a moment wondering what to do. Do I go back? What would I say? The only thing I could think of to say was, “What the hell were you thinking chasing me with all these really cute guys all around you?” There were tons of hot men in that bar, and for some reason he took pity on me and expressed an interest in me. I decided that I would F’ this up even more if I had to go back, so I just wandered off to my car.

I flew home. Literally, my car was 10 feet off the ground. I couldn’t believe such an amazing guy would find interest in me.

About 30 minutes later, I suddenly realized what an idiot I was and frantically started looking for an exit to get back to the bar. Then I looked at the clock and realized that I wouldn’t get back there until 2:15am, well after the bar would have closed and my chance at getting to know this guy was gone.

I arrived home exhausted… but couldn’t sleep. I even woke up early. Yes, I woke up early on a Sunday.

I prayed all weekend that JD would e-mail me. You know, with my recent status as a man of the cloth [see last Blog], I would think that might have some weight. Wishing on a star worked and that is Pagan. A Reverend praying to the Lord gets nothing. What a world.

However, realizing my luck with men so far, I finally decided that in the likely event that he didn’t send me an e-mail, I should be happy with that moment that he gave me. That feeling of acceptance; of being desirable. He made me feel comfortable with who I am in a very uncomfortable way, if that makes any sense.

Well, it is now Monday and no e-mail from JD. He probably sobered up and looked at my card on Sunday morning and thought, “Who the F’ is this loser?” However, if I ever see him again, I need to buy the boy a beer and thank him. He rocks. He rocked my f’ing world, made my night and weekend.

I’m going back this Saturday with some friends, so hopefully I’ll be able to see him and thank him… or maybe I’ll just have a nice time ogling the men. That’s the nice thing about the Lonestar, you can ogle to your hearts content and everyone loves it and encourages it.