President's day weekend was International Bear Rendezvous in San Francisco, which is a little like fleet week in this city. One year my mother visited me during IBR and was amazed that all the men she saw, to use her words, “looked like lumberjacks!” Guys were giving each other the universal sign of mutual bear appreciation, the woof, and my mother was intrigued. I explained it all to her. So as we were crossing the street at Castro and 18th, my mother stepped ahead and looked straight into a big group of approaching bears. “Woof!” she exclaimed. None of them knew quite what to say.

IBR is full of hilarious moments, like that beauty pageant thing we always end up doing as a community. So adorable to see these big rough and tumble guys doing lip synchs and strip teases. I live for that shit. And last weekend there was apparently a gaming contest. And when I say gaming, I mean the Super Mario Brothers variety, people!
It’s sort of tricky to figure out your place in the bear world when you’re not even close to being a bear, when even cub would be a stretch. I was at the Lone Star once during an IBR weekend and on my way to the bathroom, the hallway got so crowded that I got wedged between the bellies of three guys and actually got lifted off the floor. They saw what was happening and laughed. I put my arms around their shoulders and begged them to do it again. They did. Bears are like that.

The bears have always been there for me. The week I moved to San Francisco, I made a pilgrimage to the Lone Star for what I thought would be a proper initiation. It was a slow night and there weren’t a lot of guys out on the patio. There was one guy leaning against the wall smoking a cigar and a few others here and there. Sometimes my gumption overpowers my pride, and I went right up to this man with the cigar. I told him I’d just moved to San Francisco from Virginia and that I needed a proper welcome. He asked what I had in mind and I said “Oh, you know, like when it’s your birthday and all the waiters at a restaurant come and sing to you. I want the bear version of that!” He didn’t crack a smile, just grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled my face into his armpit, which hadn’t been exposed to soapy water for quite some time. I took some deep sniffs, then started licking out his pits.

He pushed me down to his boots, which I nuzzled and eventually licked, running my tongue across the tops of the black leather. The patio was covered in peanut shells. It was a little like having sex in the bottom of a hamster cage. He brought the end of his cigar down toward my face. I smelled the cherry tip and breathed in the pungent smell. I’ve always loved cigars since I was a little kid smelling the cigars my dad’s army buddies smoked in the house. The guy, who would later reveal his name to be Archie (which seemed like a mismatch, but whatever), dropped an ash on top of his boot. I waited for it to cool, then licked up the ashes. It didn’t have as much taste as I thought it would. Mostly it dried out my mouth, which Archie must have known, because he handed me the rest of his draft beer and said “Go ahead, you earned it.”

We walked home to his apartment in Chinatown that night. I’d bought a pair of used boots from Worn Out West, employing the wisdom a leatherman had given me: there boots are for walking and there are boots for standing and there are boots for fucking. Figure out which one you’re going to do most and get the appropriate boots. I’m a walker. Always have been. So thank God those are the boots I got. Archie’s feet were on fire by the time we got home. It’s all fun and games until your mean leather top is limping from blisters.

We feverishly sucked each other off once we got home. It was late and we were trying to pack a lot of “getting to know you” into that brief time two people have between closing time and bedtime. That night, we slept in just our chaps. He snored. It’s unpopular to say this, but snoring is a potential side effect of loving bear men. I carry earplugs with me. They’re as crucial as gum, condoms and lube. After counting sheep for a while, I woke Archie up and got him to play with my butt while he sucked me off again, which helped me finally get to sleep.  In the morning, Archie poured me a bowl of Cinnamon Life cereal and said (again) “Welcome to San Francisco.”