I was speaking to Richard online yesterday and he reminded me of the trip we took to San Fran back in ’93. Set the Wayback machine, Mr Peabody…! (Oh, and the following isn’t all that great for nervous heterosexuals at the office or immediate family members – somewhat TMI content.)

I got to San Francisco two days before Richard and spend the first morning wandering the beautiful streets. Well some of them. The Tenderloin was to be avoided back then, according to the front desk. But I did manage to walk through during the day without any trouble. One guy stopped me and asked for a dollar and I said I only had a twenty (like the STUPID dumb tourista I am) and he insisted that I go get a package of gum or a donut to make change. I got out of there fast.

While walking around with bags of shopping I stopped in at The Gauntlet. I don’t know how I knew that this was San Fran’s premier body modification shop at the time, I just did. I had dated a guy who had a nipple ring and I was impressed how he would writhe whenever I touched it so I was intrigued. I entered The Gauntlet and asked the bejeweled woman behind the counter for a big ol’ nipple ring. She took one look at me and my tourist shopping and said “Come back tomorrow”. I relented. She said “Really think about it and come back in an hour.” I walked around the block and was back in the shop in 20 minutes. Ka-CHUNK. Painless, really. Small at 12g (the smallest) but I vowed to “grow” into something larger.

I showed it off to Richard the next day in our hotel room much to his disgust. In the morning, I had to spin the ring to clean in behind it and after sleeping the night, it got kind of… stuck. So I twisted it without thought (or lubricating soap). I fell to my knees in pain. Richard just shook his head and laughed.

We did all the touristy things. It was fun. Then came the night and we wandered in and out of clubs on Castro like good homos making homage to homomecca. After the posing, we decide to do something naughty. We chose to go to a safe sex club. “The 101” boasted its “jack off only” policy and that seemed interesting and yet tame for a firsts timer. Don’t get me wrong, I had been to bath houses before, just not a full on “sex club”. We get into a cab and go.

At the door we were ordered to get naked and were given the house rules: no towels like a bath house, no underwear allowed. Shoes only. No heads below the bellybutton. No penetration. Pure masturbation. We enter the club and it’s pretty open and full of guys milling about. At this point, I realize that my snazzy black dress shoes and black socks make me stick out like a shaved cat in a beaver convention. Guys are wearing construction boots, sports runners, sandals, even a cowboy or two. I’m the only dressy nerd. Richard pees himself laughing. I barely get noticed and blame my shoes completely, not my chubby body.

One guy did notice me though. He was good looking and smiled as he worked his junk, walking towards me. He didn’t notice my footwear! I was gonna get some! I smile and we face each other. He cocks his head (ha!) to one side and then grabs my less-than-24hr-old nipple ring and gives it a manly tug.

Extreme long shot of the exterior of The 101. A shriek blares from the club and echoes into the cool San Francisco night.