So at “Potluck” the other night, Jack Radcliffe introduced me to his lover, “Chris, this is my lover Chris, errr… Todd.” I told him that I would carry that Freudian slip to sleep with me later…
So the furry folk have descended upon our fair town for International Bear Rendezvous. Last night I had dinner with Les Wright, looking completely stunning and happy, and several leathermen and artist dudes, at Mark Chester’s place. On to the basket report: this one guy had what looked like a denim gourd below the belt; Following dinner, and for purposes still mysterious to me, his shirt came off, his furry chest beckoned urgently… Following my petting, he said, “It’s okay, you can touch them.” I, of course, thought he was referring to the gourd, so was prepared to continue on down the furry trail, when he said, “The nipples…” which I honestly hadn’t noticed–these mamoth protrusions the size of baby bottles. (The other guests I guess had already had their go at them while I was in the Gents.) Mark took pictures of all of us, as a group, and individually, and with our clothes on. I do not like being on that side of the camera, and was awkward and turned beet red at his attempts to loosen me up.
Happy Valentine’s Day, all you cuties.