(IN SPAIN ON A 2 1/2 WEEK HIATUS FROM PARTIES)
How does one go about cruising for sex?
Sometimes it seems to be generational: the young men are cruising on the internet and perhaps not even meeting anyone in person. And then there are those old school people who cruise public toilets.
I mention that because today I was walking in a public park in Toledo, Spain and noticed some men in their late fifties or early sixties exchanging glances outside a public restroom. To see older men so blatantly cruising in a small conservative town was kind of shocking to me. Yes, Spain is progressive with its legal gay marriage, graphic porn on free television airwaves during evenings and an age-of-consent set at 13, but it's also very Catholic and in small towns, you don't see anything remotely gay, except perhaps the young man we observed on roller skates in another section of the park teaching a group of 50 young girls how to move with the grace of an Olympic figure skater. Watch out Johnny Weir! He smiled at us as we walked by.
When I did a search for "Gay in Toledo Spain" on the internet, no such cruise area was mentioned and none of the links were to anything that would work in real time. Although there was the profile of a 22 year old who lives here along with a provocative image and description!
So who are these older men that might not even have a computer? And how did they discover the public restroom? Have they been cruising there for years? Perhaps they are married. I didn't want to dig further because honestly I wasn't turned on.
It did remind me though of my first gay experience when I met a guy as a freshman at the University of Michigan in a cruisy bathroom at Angel Hall, which I believe is still active 25 years later. Public sex never goes out of style. But for myself, public restrooms pretty much served their purpose once I came out of the closet. And the (oral) sex that I ended up having with that guy was at his home, not the bathroom, which proved more to be the place to make a connection via eye contact, with the sexual activity occurring elsewhere.
My preference is for sex clubs and bath houses where everyone's there for one thing: sex. Where looking at someone's cock at the urinal won't get you potentially beat up. You're not going to get a ticket or arrested at a sex club (unless you manage the space and get handcuffed and brought to a local police precinct for selling beer without a liquor license, more on that in a later entry)! I like to watch and be watched and not have the possible threat of "getting caught." I'm sure that's a turn on for some people (and I've had to deal with that in my gym's steam room) but it's not my preference. I want to relax and enjoy the experience with the knowledge I'm gonna have fun. And I can take a hot shower when all is said and done.
That's why I host sex parties: they are my preferred way to get off when I'm in the mood for doing something publicly.
Now if I may, I'd like to mention five non-sexual observations about Spain before I end this entry (sex addicts can skip to the next posting):
1) All the guys here have big deep soul searching brown eyes, thick black eyebrows and fully ripened red lips -- think Antonio Banderas. Every guy here looks like Antonio Banderas. Just the way every guy in America looks like Brad Pitt.
2) I've never seen so many people pick their noses in public. I think it's a European thing, because I saw it in France, too. And Arnold Schwarzenegger is known for doing it. And I saw a paparazzi photo of Roseanne Barr picking her nose -- who knew she was European? And now I'm even starting to become European. Yikes.
3) What's with not-having-a-dryer and instead hanging your clothes to dry? This is absurd. Yeah, it's great to reduce one's carbon footprint, but the shitty washer in our apartment leaves the clothes so wet that it took five days for my hooded sweat shirt to dry. And it's the only one I brought and it's freezing outside!
4) Turning dinner conversation into hours-long therapy sessions is great. (Thank god I don't understand 99.5% of it.) But when it comes time to leave it is neither simple nor fast. It literally takes 70 minutes to say goodbye when leaving someone's home: "Okay, gotta go." And then there is talk for another ten minutes. "Time to go (again)." Talk for 15 more minutes. Get up from the table and stand in the same spot. Kiss goodbye on both cheeks. Talk ten more minutes. "Where are our coats?" Ten minutes. Putting on coats at the door. Five minutes. "Okay, we're going." 15 minutes. "Bye (again)" while standing outside the door in the hallway: five minutes. "Adios!" Second kiss good bye. And the then you're gone -- if you're lucky. And pray you didn't leave something behind.
5) Did I mention I love Spain? Seriously, I do.
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