Whenever I read a gay autobiography of someone my age—a child of the 60s and their subsequent trip through the disco 70s and the AIDS slaughterhouse of the 80s and 90s, I think that I really should record at least some of my own adventures posterity. I fear that those adventures—as salacious, funny, and heartbreaking as many of them were—won't ever measure up to the accounts that inspired me to do it in the first place.
I started thinking about all the people who have touched my life—family, friends, friends with benefits, brief and/or anonymous sexual encounters, lovers, partners, coworkers—people who each in their own way contributed to shaping me into the man I am today, I soon realized they numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands.
I mean, if you're in your 20 or 30s (I know no one reading this is, based on previous surveys), listing everyone who has passed through and influenced your life—would be a much more manageable task, but for me, someone who is just a few years short of retirement, the task is near impossible.
Hell, I tried listing all the audio equipment I've bought over the years and that task became so horrific I gave up.
What do you think? Should I write at length of my adventures in the Whispering Bushes at the end of Golden Gate Park? the nights spent looking for love and dancing the night away at HisCo Disco, Moons Truck, and Bullwinkle? how I met my first long-term partner and some of the other men who were to become lifelong friends?
As the YouTubers say, "Let me know in the comments below."
Yes please. Start writing and sharing!