Page 571 - Gay San Francisco_Eyewitness Drummer
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Gay San Francisco: Eyewitness Drummer                 551
             john and within three minutes, tanned bare feet padded in, turned, and
             curled all ten toes in the age-old signal for “lewd conduct” in a toilet stall.
             I pivoted my own foot slightly. Immediately, blue shorts and white jock
             dropped down over the tanned feet. His knees knelt to the floor and he
             slipped his thighs, knees first, tanned with mats of golden hair, under the
             partition. His cock followed, standing erect from a blond bush, hard, wet,
             and ready, with the foreskin stripped half-back. I stared in disbelief like
             some fucking tourist fisherman who catches a marlin in the first three
             minutes of his charter. Jocks, I knew, did IT but didn’t talk about it. Was
             this the Berkeley custom? When in Rome, do. I did. After all, Zorba the
             Greek said: “There is one mortal sin in life: when a woman calls a man
             to her bed and he will not come.” This athlete called me to the vaulting
             pole of his cock and I’m no mortal sinner. He was the first of many good
             sports that summer.
                If gay men are anything, they are often insecure. Los Angeles psy-
             chologist Ralph Greerson believes that men generally deal with anxiety
             by compulsively facing it. “If they are afraid of violence, they may become
             addicted to football, play it, see it again and again.” When a man fears
             something, he counters the phobia by doing exactly what scares him. So
             years ago you got a “D” in Phys Ed, or got beaten up on the playground.
             So what! Fuck explanations of behavior.
                On any playing field or any white-water raft, the reasons for being
             present are as many as the men involved. Fear. Fun. Fucking. Walk into a
             gym and shout, “What insecurity brings you here?” (You can also shout it in
             offices, busses, and churches.) Do jocks buff up with tremendous muscle
             motivated by the cliche of a four-inch cock? Then let’s hear it for four-inch
             cocks. As a coach told an embarrassed bareassed boy at Chicago’s Lawson
             Y: “Big cock, small cock. Yours gets hard, doesn’t it?” The kid nodded yes.
             “Then that settles that.”
                Gays once were afraid to be anything but closeted or queenly. The hot
             David Sparrow, Drummer’s favorite freelance photographer, says about
             coming out: “When I was sixteen, I thought I was the only one like me in
             my home town. When I was nineteen, I discovered others. They were hard
             not to discover because they were so nelly and outrageous. I thought to be
             queer I had to affect a limp lifestyle. Then I moved to New York, found
             out I wasn’t queer but that I was gay, and that the Limp Style was only
             one of many ways to be gay. I turned in my ruby slippers for something
             I’d wanted all my life: boots, cleats, and Adidas.”
                Now that gays are a political issue we are forced into community
             relations and we gladly play softball tournaments with the local San Fran-
             cisco cops. Just as Blacks have gained greater acceptance through fronting
             Black athletes who were first of all heroes to their sport, so ordinary gays

           ©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved—posted 05-05-2017
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