Is "Gay Sex" dead"?

www.sexinthe70s.com

At the beginning of “Gay Sex In The 70’s”, artist and activist Barton Benes is sifting through pictures of some of the men he’s “come across” during his sexual awakening in the 70s. He has chosen to immortalize these images by affixing them to jagged pieces of hardened clay and keeping them on his coffee table. One of the interesting things is that the pile is quite high- filled with “cowboys”, “leathermen”, “trade” and other staples of the gay community that any fan of the Village People would be completely familiar with. This is his segue into the tawdry tale that is his experience as a gay man in the city that never sleeps during one of the most turbulent and storied periods in gay history- and he is not alone or unique. Cart out the procession of older gay men with their own versions detailing the freedom of being “happy, carefree, and gay” during a period about which they wax poetic with so much zeal that is almost seems made up. However, we are presented with irrefutable evidence that is most certainly is NOT made up. What is so titillating about this- and one of the reasons the film succeeds- is the cross-section of subjects that the documentary puts in front of the camera; from pioneers of the ACT UP movement and The Gay Men’s Health Crisis to Larry Kramer (author of “Faggot”) and Mel Cheren (founder of West End Records, whose recordings were a large soundtrack of the PHENOMENON of Larry Levan and The Paradise Garage).

“Gay Sex in the 70s” is chock-full of stories (and imagery) of the “libertine” period of homosexuality- and examines the rise of the “sex without guilt or consequences” dogma that many a present-day fag longs to return to. It is Gay Camelot- the time immediately following the riots of Stonewall (which mentally “freed” gays as a whole) and right before the discovery of “GRID” (which would be renamed AIDS once the bigoted medical community realized this new disease affected more than just gays). This period is brought to life by Benes and other “survivors” of this era. All of which is book-ended by historical references, stock film of “Vintage Gay NYC” (the mere mention - never mind the footage-of The Paradise Garage made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end), and thoughtfully-edited images of gay sex (dare I say classic porn?) that illustrate the bacchanalian revelry known as “gay sex” back then.

The film eases into the subject of STDs that became commonplace as a result of this “lifestyle” (is that where this expression comes from?), and tales of taking penicillin before a night of “partying” and such (one person’s re-telling of having gonorrhea of the throat was particularly NOT SEXY) lead us to the END of the fantasy. Benes talks about the “pervert” that asked him to wear a condom during sex. People start questioning whether they are destroying themselves literally with all the preoccupation with sex. It is then that AIDS rears its ugly head and, as one of the subjects put it, was “out the door before we could catch it”. Cue moral: gay sex in the 70s was GREAT, but would be greater if there were more of us around that could talk about it. Remember the irrefutable evidence that these tales were definitely NOT made up? Well, here goes. All of the men whose faces don the artistic clay chips on Benes’ coffee table- every last one of them- is now DEAD (it is inferred as a result of AIDS). Moreover, the stilts that held up the abandoned factories down at the pier (where footage showed men having anonymous sex by the hundreds) are now just a collection of thick wood pieces just barely visible above the water- a grim allegory for the hundreds of thousands of gay men that are no longer “above ground”.

The “RE-EDIT”…
Ok, the first thing that was interesting about this movie was that the vast majority of the audience attending the screening could have been in the movie. For the most part I was surrounded by older white homos out on the town with their lovers or ‘dates’. These were the people who nodded in agreement or who let out knowing laughs at points during the film that showed sex behind or in trucks parked down at the piers, orgy-parties on Fire Island, or taking a line of coke at Studio 54. No judgment- this just wasn’t MY experience (for the record, I wasn’t even OLD enough to be having sex during the 70’s!!!). . I knew that going into the theatre. I did, however, feel excluded from the discussion (as most black gay men can attest to when entrenched in conventionally “white gay” situations). I mean, black gay men DEFINITELY had sex in the 70’s, did we not? Maybe someone will make a documentary about THAT (hmmmm)

Another thing that was interesting was the arc of the film, and how it mimics the “gay” experience of the 70’s through present day. At the beginning “we” are titillated with erotic images of man-sex and Dionysian orgies. We are regaled with “I remember this one time…” stories that are fantastic in every sense of the word. We are shown how sex and sexual freedom changed our own perception of our homosexuality; it went from something to be ashamed of to something to be celebrated. I could almost feel the “pride” and freedom that was present during that time in the audience. However, when the onset of AIDS is broached, I can hear and feel a collective “sigh”- a feeling of the wind being taken from sails- in the voices of the movie as well as in the sorrowful moans of the audience members. This has to be what those that are still among us must be feeling about being gay BEYOND the 70s; a new-found sexual freedom “high” (which was really “the calm before the storm”), followed by so-called “consequences” of gaining said freedom, and a return to the restriction of such.

I wish I had made the earlier screening, because Joseph Lovett and other members of the cast were present afterwards to discuss the film. I would have asked about the idea that “gay sex in the 70’s” is just not that different from gay sex now. I mean, I know PERSONALLY that there is a large contingent of gay men out there at this very minute who are having indiscriminate “raw” sex with reckless abandon. The only difference now is that most don’t appear to be doing it with the freedom and license that those in the 70s seemed to; it’s been reduced to a subculture. Even as people are still having “gay sex” in the manner that is discussed herein, for the most part that behavior (which defined “gay” for a lot of people in the 70’s) is now reviled in the gay community- at least on the surface.

I think every gay person should cop this documentary once its released on DVD- put it on the shelf right next to “And the Band Played On” and “Paris Is Burning”.
But I digress…

The Rear-view Mirror of Life...I'm Testifyin'!!!!

"You can't go forward looking in the rear-view mirror of your life"- Tammy Faye Baker (From the Logo Channel TV special "The Eyes of Tammy Faye")

You know, I'm generally not one for hanging on the every word of Tammy Faye Baker- but when somebody says something that's sooooo right and sooooo true and soooo succinct, you HAVE to give credit where credit is due damnit! When she was asked about how she is going to "recover" from the stain of the Jim Baker/PTL Scandal, La Baker basically said that sometimes you have to concentrate on moving forward and doing what you need to do and leave the past exactly where it is. Otherwise, you're not living life, you're RE-LIVING the past over and over again. HOW PROPHETIC, POETIC, and TRUE!!!

Hearing that made me mull and reflect on the times in my life when I SHOULD have just LET GO- of insignificant things, of hurtful situations, of damaging people- and just moved ON. Many times we are so intent on looking BACK at situations where things went awry and beating ourselves up about how we could have fixed them or done better- so busy checking and reanalyzing the 'rear-view' of the past- that we don't allow ourselves to see what COULD be coming up in the front windshield of possibility. We allow the MACK TRUCK that is life roll down the road on 'cruise control', hoping that it will eventually transport us magically to happiness. We fall asleep at the wheel, and then any number of things can happen. We could miss the exit or the offramp to very lucrative opportunities that maybe we could have taken or we might speed past very important spiritually-uplifting people that God is trying to bring into our lives. I can recall being soooo caught up in the "failure" of a relationship (that had LONG since been over) that I couldn't fully take advantage of a new and profitable employment opportunity. I also could not fully emotionally avail myself to key people in my life at important times when THEY needed ME-which made me the worst kind of friend to have. Had I not been so stifled by the fact that something that I thought I wanted so bad didn't turn out the way that I WANTED it to- had I left that situation in the rear-view mirror- I could have been more of a TRUE source of comfort and wisdom to those that really mattered to me. This kind of regret is completely preventable- by using the 'rear-view mirror' philosophy.

I'm not saying to go through life with a hardened heart and the cynicism of, say, a Michael Musto (who really is kind of BRILLIANT) and not allow your emotions to guide you through SOME situations. Emotions are REAL and should NEVER (well, hardly ever) be disguised or dismissed for fear of reprisal, exposure or pain. However, there comes a time when you have to put emotions to the side and say "you know what? It is what it is, and now what its going to be is DONE"- and TRULY accept that. Pining for the return of a lover is NOT going to make him/her come back through sheer pining- and if they don't come back of their own volition you shouldn't want their crusty ass anyway. Moreover, you should be grateful that they are quickly becoming rear-view mirror images- which can APPEAR closer than what they really are- so that you can turn around and look into that HUGE windshield in front of you and proclaim that YOU are the navigator of your life/car. This doesn't just apply to scorned lovers, but for any situation where you have no choice but to accept the fact that 'hey, shit didn't turn out the way I wanted it to". It took me 2 LOOONG years to fully integrate this philosophy into my life, and now that it is such a genuine part of my being I wondered how I could have gotten to 36 years old without having learned it (through the grace of God, that's how- but that's another story!).

I have decided to LET GO of the pain, deception, hurt and fear that has come my way. I have also decreed that all of the disappointments, limitations, and injustices of the past are just that- THE PAST. It is time to experience (as Joan Didion so intelligently entitled her new memoir) "The Year Of Magical Thinking". So here I am repeating what is fast becoming an important mantra in my life---I AM NO LONGER LOOKING INTO THE REAR-VIEW MIRROR OF LIFE; I AM PEERING OUT OF THE FRONT 'WINDSHIELD OF POSSIBILITY'.

Join me in repeating that, if you feel like it. For now, I digress...

Noah's Arc...Let's get REAL!!!

So... I've had a chance to FINALLY sit back and etch onto the tableau in my mind exactly how I feel about the whole 'Noah's Arc' controversy/debacle/ground-breaking series that has erupted on the LOGO channel (www.logoonline.com) and on countless online groups/blogs. Let me first admit something- being the prurient "pseudo-homo-thug" I sometimes like to THINK I am, I agreed with those that said that the show was unrealistic- that the characters were overdramatized fem/drag queens and that seeing those images of black gay men would only further marginalize US. I agreed with those that found Noah's "drag" disconcerting (I mean, c'mon, the last person I saw tie a scarf around their neck like that was Pinky Tuscadero on 'Happy Days'!!!). I agreed with those that complained that the only "masculine" offerings were the main character's mates. I agreed with those that pooh-poohed the idea of these decidedly feminine creatures actually having MANLY partners ("that would NEVER happen in real life!!").

And then I did something that I think a LOT of us should do- I let go of all the BULLSHIT. I let go of the FEAR of being represented by someone who was not as masculine as I purport to be. I let go of all of the stereotyping and nitpicking and critiquing of the "realness" of the show and realized---it IS realistic. It's SOMEBODY'S reality. This is SOMEBODY's story. There ARE millions of Noah's and Chances and Rickys and Alexes- and some of us are fortunate enough to know a lot of them. How many of OUR friends/associates possess the "I'm happy, I'm carefree, I'm gay- I was born this way" nonchalance of Noah, or the stoic witticism of Chance? How many of us, while at the club, enjoy the occassional company of a flamboyant femboy with a heart of gold like Alex? And while we're discussing REALNESS, how many of us know (or ARE or HAVE been), the 'looking-for-love-in-all-the-wrong-places' SLUT that we see in Ricky? Once I was able to put THAT into perspective, I was able to do what I should have been able to do in the first place---WATCH THE SHOW. I was able to dissect and discern the VOICE of the show- what it is trying to say. I'll say this; even if I don't necessarily relate personally to the main characters, I relate to its central theme; that through all the trials, tribulations and travails of this hurricane we call LIFE, it certainly is great to be able to have ONE other person in your life who will be there through thick and thin to complement, assist, and guide you through it. If you have more than one (in this case, THREE), you are truly blessed. Love is love is LOVE and you don't get any more DEEP than that. That when all is said and done- when the general population has devalued and denigrated you, when the love of your life turns out to be the regret you wish you hadn't had to experience, or when you need somebody to just back you up with a baseball bat (lol), we ALL hope to have SOMEBODY in our corner. I've only watched the first 3 episodes, and I already get that.

Now here I am, 3 episodes deep, and I'm deeming Noah's Arc Tivo-worthy. I think we as a COMMUNITY need to check ourselves with regard to who we're fighting against (ourselves?) and what exactly ARE the stories we want to tell about ourselves. Are we, as Noah so aptly states in the last episode, so caught up in "idolizing... hyper-masculine ideals" that we don't want our somewhat-limp-wristed brethrens' stories to be told? As there are undoubtedly countless stories we can tell (because we are NOT monolithic), I submit that this show opens the door (and indeed the DIALOGUE) for us to continue to tell the story of the gay diaspora. And before I come off all "holier-than-thou", I need to state what I think is the obvious- Wade and Trey are fine as F&*&^%%^CK!!! I hit the rewind button a COUPLE of times when Wade is shirtless on the treadmill or when Trey comes out of the bathroom KILLIN it in those boxer briefs! But I digress...

The Day My Life Changed Overnight

It was almost TOO fantasy-like; but that's what made my heart feel as though in the next 2 or 3 seconds, it was going to implode- sending rays of multicolored sunshine bursting forth. The rain was coming down not in a flash-flood manner, but as though we were in a movie and a production assistant was following us (just out of the camera's perspective) with a showerhead apparatus; such that the camera would only catch the frame telling the viewer it was raining. The droplets caught the wrinkles in his forehead, the ends of his lashes, and crept willy-nilly into his beard. His semi-curly fade-and-taper was transformed into this wet Caesar cut, with the moisture developing a deep wave pattern starting at the crown of his beautiful manly head. Resplendent! The water dragged the bottom of his jeans past the sole of his Timberlands, making his thighs more apparent and even sexier than in my recent memory.

But here we were, standing in the middle of EVERYWHERE, looking into each other's skies. We were where every couple finds themselves in the 10 seconds after they realize and admit to each other that they are indeed in love- with each other- and that they are fine (in fact, elated) with it. The noise of shuffling feet passing by, the weight of furrowed brows and side-glances, and all the injustices of the world seemed to melt in that instance. We were in love with each other, and we knew it. We not only knew it, but we communicated it to each other. We not only communicated it to each other, but we were fine with it. So fine with it that this moment- this etching out of time and space- is (and would continue to be for the remainder of my existence) one that I would forever take to be a DEFINING MOMENT. One that would play over and over and over and over just like this:

him taking my hand (or did I take his?), the cupping sound made by the insides of our hands smashing violently against the raindrops that found themselves there. Myself watching (and I'm sure mimicking) the calm, knowing smile I found on his lips. Me watching as his eyesight sharpened enough to penetrate mine. Me holding my breath, even as I watched his chest heave innumerable small, nervous exhalations. Me thinking "things will never be the same, we have crossed a threshold" as I focused on him leaning into me so close I could taste his bodyscent. My own body quipping as I felt first his hand on the small of my back and then his other hand at the base of my neck, followed by the sweet cushion of his lips and the indescribable wetness of his tongue. My eyes turning into squints as I took him in.

And we STAYED that way, for about 2 minutes of eternity, feeling God's tears and Zeus' winds whip around us- and not giving a damn. We didn't care about who might see us, what they might think, how our over-priced and over-soaked gear might be deemed unwearable heretofore, or what challenges Satan had in store for us. I wanted this feeling, this moment, to last me long enough so that I wouldn't mourn its end. And then our lips finally parted, making that juicy separation sound that the end of the most intense kisses make toward the end of their creation. I stepped back from him, taking in both his fluid and his visage (which had its own fluidity). I watched as his eyes, which had been closed through the entire liplock, slowly opened to show him the man who would be his soulmate. In his left eye, I saw complete satisfaction, pride, and the dissolution of years of pain, deceit and heartache. In his right, I saw the vacations, the introduction to his mother, the arguments, the co-habitation, the presentation of the simple-but-inherently-elegant single platinum band, the crying, the triumphs, the morning kisses on the back of the neck, the mind-blowing sex, and the future.

All of that I saw on that Brooklyn sidewalk. As we walked hand-in-hand to the subway. As we held each other on the A train toward Harlem. PURE. Yeah, things would never be the same. And thank God for that...