Fat Sunday

Now, the last time we left the bear meetings I had become if not the toast of the town, at least slightly browned about the edges: I was a regular and faithful attendee, and while it was mostly the creepy guys who were interested in me, at least someone was taking a nibble at the bait as it were. Then I missed a couple of months and events due to scheduling complications (imagine my surprise at having scheduling conflicts in a seemingly empty life). Fortunately, last month, I was able to get back on the horse (ahem) and although my stay was brief I was warmly welcomed back into the fold. I was also invited to attend the Mardi Gras festival parade as part of the group.
Before you go off getting grand visions of me in tight silver shorts and nothing else (the thought makes me shudder, too) let me explain the setup here: the “parade” was a simple march around the inner courtyard sidewalk of the big gay resort here. Not exactly an environment conducive to riding in a float (although that didn’t stop the drag queens, I mean gender illusionists, from riding the route on a big shoe a la Priscilla). The bears won best in show last year and wanted a repeat and needed everyone’s support.
At the time, I had absolutely no intention of going: it just seemed like it was going to be an exercise in lameness, and furthermore the gentle shroud of darkness that envelops some of our, how shall I say, more aesthetically challenged members was going to be peeled back like the proverbial rock revealing the white eyeless wriggling things beneath. Then, I got some cosmological news to the effect that I should get up off my ass, get out of the house, put myself out there, and basically do the kinds of things that I never do. Of course, we all know that I am about as spiritual as a duck and don’t really believe in any of this crap anyway. So I decided to go. Well, what can I say? What harm could be in it?
Fortunately, the narrative arc does not dip into a tale of woe at this point. It was quite, well, quite an experience. I have grudgingly come to accept that I am considered cute by some (usually, however, they are NOT considered cute by me), and I did get hit on a couple of times even though that was not ostensibly my goal. I wasn’t really helping matters though, because I was kind of leaning up against a palm tree in a street hustler-esque, I’m-available-for-rent-CHEAP! kind of way.
The first guy to hit on me was easily 30 years my senior. He ambled up (ambled is the precise word choice here, since he was wearing a leather vest and cowboy hat) and asked me what he had to do to get some of the beads I’d been given to throw to the crowd on our jaunt through the courtyard. My first instinct was to point to the table where the beads were being given out and say “you can pick some up over there”. I didn’t though, because I have already maxed out my asshole points for this lifetime: no further bonuses are available to me for that. But I said “Well, I guess just ask.” And he was quite incredulous, and turned to his friend (also an AARP member of long standing) and said “He says we just have to ask!” with a sort of leer in his voice. So I handed him some beads and gave some to his friend too, and that was the end of that. Days later, I thought I should have said “Can you take out your teeth?” I know: it made me want to throw up a little, too.
Funnily enough, the next guy to hit on me WAS missing teeth, although he wasn’t really old enough to have done so: I think he must be five or six years my junior. I’m not going to be real mean and bitchy about that: I mean, maybe he had a hard upbringing, got kicked out, couldn’t afford dental care, something. I know: I hate being redeemed. But he came up and told me he wanted to give me some beads because I was just standing there looking so cute and I wasn’t wearing any and he wanted to be the first to put some beads on me, which I thought was sweet. I also thought it meant he must be a bottom, a thought confirmed when I saw him getting ground from behind by one of the other bears.
So, on to the parade. It was short. I felt like a dickhead during the march. I managed not to peg anyone (I think) and I only got hit in the head with the banner a couple of times. So, yeah that was about right. After we finished our march, the next group came behind us: it was ANOTHER bear group! It was the most astonishing thing. AND they were throwing, not beads, but little teddy bears! BITCHES! Ha ha, no seriously: bitches. They even had a guy in a bear suit who was being pulled on a wagon. What was nice was when the one bear next to me (who was kind of cute) chatted with me a bit, and kind of gave me a hug. I think he would have kissed me too, except I kind of shied away from it: I am just not a casual kisser (especially not after that cold sore incident, although I will say that Abreva is the shiz-nite!). But he did give me a nice hug.
And that was pretty much all I got, and I realize that I am to blame for that: I create this image of being so distant, aloof, and unattainable that only the ones with nothing to lose will even dare to approach me. Which sort of makes me sad in a way, but I don’t know how to fix that without feeling like I am betraying the things I believe in and hold to be most important to me, like not contracting syphilis or turning into a complete and utter man-whore. Meh, no one said it was going to be easy.