It’s Beach Bear Weekend here in Fort Lauderdale, the brain child of Chad, the cupidish bartender at the Ramrod, our town’s leather hang-out. The weekend’s activities have piggybacked on a lot of bar and club happenings us townies have at our disposal all the time. But no matter. I don’t think Chad was bullshitting me about a couple of thousand guys from across the US and around the world coming here to see old friends and make new ones, judging by the crowds on the beach and in our bars. (Or maybe was actually 375 guys – they just looked like three thousand.)
But that’s the problem. When theme weekends like this happen – the Gay Rodeo in April, Gay Pride in June, Leather Weekend around Thanksgiving – we local boys figure, rightly so, since we live in a gay vacation mecca, that there will be plenty of new meat in town to liven things up. Ah, but bears, they’re pack animals, traveling in herds, cliquish herds, more inclined to seek out their buddies – not fuck partners – and what I’ve seen before so far at other bear events has been true this weekend too.
On Friday, at Sebastian Beach, our gay sandbox, there was the usual share of Jenny Craig failures who looked like they were eight months pregnant and were having triplets (I was tempted to ask one of them, “Who’s the father?”). Yet I was pleasantly surprised to also gaze on a lot of simply beautiful, well built, often furry men, showing off their hot, hirsute bodies beneath the Florida sun. Hell, even humble me, lying there in my lounge chair was stared at – maybe somebody recognized me from my 15 minutes of fame on hotoldermale.com – who knows, whatever works.
But so many of the guys spent the afternoon not lying on a blanket but standing like some erect phallic symbol to be noticed, as they made self-love to their chest and abs and crotch or bull shit with friends, both guys they came down with from New York, Chicago, Palm Springs or Berlin, or guys they knew or fucked with at some previous Bearfest. Hell, if you look at some guys’ profiles on bear 411 or Daddyhunt, you’d think all they did for a living was attend one bear party after the next – where does the money come from, or all that time off, huh?
At our local sex club, Slammers, on Friday night, it was brisk business but not many bearish guys – particularly the hot ones I had seen that afternoon on the beach – were there to dangle their hairy dicks or bare their furry butts unless they hit the place real late. (Sorry, guys, by 2 am I want Mr. Peter to have had his fun and me snuggling my doggies in bed.)
Bills, our local bear bar, pretty big as bars go, was like a cattle yard in Kansas City by 11, but again it was all Chatty Cathys or bearhugging for that long lost buddy they fucked three bear cruises ago. (Why do they always have to have these family reunions when I’m trying to get through?) When I wasn’t zigzagging my way through the crowd or dodging some big, beefy hand holding couple, little 5 foot six me was surrounded by the tallest guys in the bar. There was a five dollar cover (for charity), but judging by the size of some of the men, they should have been charged double.
Saturday, I went to our local Club bath house whose free afternoon buffet was billed as another bear weekend event, but few bears were in attendance unless you counted all the old, fat, misshapened guys I saw passing my room door. Look, I’m OK in the looks department and certainly qualify for the classic definition of a bear – hairy, muscular – but for me to say I was the best looking guy in the place says a lot of what was not going on but should have been. I hate to say it but I never so such a conglomeration of truly ugly people – gay or str8 -in my life in one place.
There’s more to cover, including Saturday night’s Meat Dance at the Ramrod and Sunday afternoon’s bear pool party at one of the gay hotels, but the impression I’ve gotten so far is that many of the guys in town are here to socialize, not fuck, leaving us townies in the end with the usual suspects to choose from for our next bedmates.