RFD 173 Spring 2018

Number 173 Spring 2018 $11.95

First TiME

RFD 173 Spring 2018 1

Issue 174 / Summer 2018

AMUSE US—A MUSE US Submission Deadline: April 21, 2018 www.rfdmag.org/upload

We’re asking our readers to tell us about their muses, what amuses you, speak to the things musing in your heads. Tell us a story.

We’re looking for things which will amuse but also make us muse on our lives together.

We’ve spent a great deal of the last year resisting things often greater than ourselves but here we’re asking to 2

RFD 173 Spring 2018

look inward, see where there is room to laugh, think more deeply, find the spirit in music, and let us learn about ourselves rather than things outside of ourselves.

Please send us your essays, poems, songs, ruminations, artworks, photos, dance steps, recipes, reviews, fashions, hair styles, animals, nature spots, toys, subject-subjects...amuse us.

Risqué First Dates Vol 44 No 3 #173 Spring 2018

Between the Lines In this issue we’re celebrating first times, instances of remembrance and reflections of emotions both joyous and difficult. We’re thrilled with our readers response to this issue and we hope you enjoy reading about those transitions in our lives which help define us.

The magazine has been moving along nicely and we’re noticing our own shifts and realignments, our long time stalwart Sister Mish has resigned from our Board of Directors, much of RFD’s history can be reflected in its many helping hands but a few names stand out as exemplars of devotion. Sister Mish is certainly one of those and we’d like to thank him for his constant support and wish him all the best and know he’ll always be at hand if need be for support.

Many of our readers will be aware that we are a small magazine but we thrive on our readers input and support. Consider ways you can support us – renew your subscription, tell us when you move, share RFD with friends, and as always send in your ideas for upcoming themes. We exist to publish your ideas, reflect your experiences and glory in the art and magic you create.

Also enclosed is our annual gathering guide – we worked hard to include as much as we can find and share about Radical Faerie gatherings but also gatherings and events which also reflect RFD’s values of inclusion, discovery and spiritual growth. If you know of events we should be including in future issues, do drop us a line. We’re especially interested in hearing from rural queers and others whom might not always make it into our pages not my omission but lack of awareness on our humble parts.

One of our sister organizations, Zuni Mountain Sanctuary in New Mexico suffered a fire to one of it’s buildings. If you support queer space please consider supporting Zuni in whatever way you can from cash, to helping hands, to nurturing them in their time of recovery and renewal.

This issue was produced in a glorious slush storm in a whirlwind weekend sans margaritas this round.

With warmest queer love from the wilds of the slushy streets of Rio Blanco.

—The RFD Collective

RFD 173 Spring 2018 1

Submission Deadlines Summer–April 21, 2018 Fall–July 21, 2018 See inside covers for themes and specifics.

For advertising, subscriptions, back issues and other information visit www.rfdmag.org RFD is a reader-written journal for gay people which focuses on country living and encourages alternative lifestyles. We foster community building and networking, explore the diverse expressions of our sexuality, care for the environment, Radical Faerie consciousness, and nature-centered spirituality, and share experiences of our lives. RFD is produced by volunteers. We welcome your participation.

The business and general production are coordinated by a collective.

Features and entire issues are prepared by different groups in various places.

RFD (ISSN# 0149-709X) is published quarterly for $25 a year by RFD Press, P.O. Box 302, Hadley MA 01035-0302.

Postmaster: Send address changes to RFD, P.O. Box 302, Hadley MA

2

01035-0302. Non-profit tax exempt #62-1723644, a function of RFD Press with office of registration at 231 Ten Penny Rd., Woodbury, TN 37190.

RFD Cover Price: $9.95. A regular subscription is the least expensive way to receive it four times a year. First class mailed issues will be forwarded.

Others will not. Send address changes to submissions@rfdmag.org or to our Hadley, MA address. Copyright © RFD Press. The records required by Title 18 U.S.D. Section 2257 and associated with respect to this magazine (and all graphic material associated therewith on which this label appears) are kept by the custodian of records at the following location: RFD Press, 85 N Main St, Ste 200, White River Junction, VT 05001.

On the Covers

Front: Painting by Richard Vyse Back: :”Wide Awake” by Paul Richmond

Production

Managing Editor: Bambi Gauthier Art Director: Matt Bucy

Visual Contributors Don Perryman Doug Sandelin Fabrizio Bottasso Mike Kear Paul Richmond Raphaël Frigon Richard Vyse Will Pounds

24 13 4, 8, 17 40 28, 32, 45, 46, 50, 57 7 2, 14, 18, 20, 23, 34 48

RFD 173 Spring 2018 Painting by Richard Vyse

CONTENTS Announcements. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Pervers/cité Montreal Underground and Political Pride . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jamie Ross. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Gathering Guide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Beatus recipit Sorore nostra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Sea of Flames . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Qweaver. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 The Good, the Bad and the Beautiful First Times . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . e.c. patrick. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Dared, a First Time. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Arno Bohlmeijer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 The Kachina Dance. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Don Perryman. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 I’m Traveling in Some Vehicle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . James Ru . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Still Love You. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kelly Connell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 The First Time I Met Purli Sudds. . . . . . . . . . . Randy Krahn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 written in the vernacular of lovers. . . . . . . . . . nicholas fiorellini. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 First Time All the Time. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . James McColley Eilers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Catalog of Firsts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Andrew Sweetfern. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Ode to the Divine Fool. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jay Sunlight Moonshadow. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Puppy Love. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Perry McCrackin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 “Come!”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Prince Frivolous. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 My First Piercing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tim Evans. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 Radical Faerie Glitter Ball 8th December 2001. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Will Pounds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Hobbit Home!

Adamama Israeli Fairy Sanctuary. . . . . . . . Eve From Albion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Where I Left My Wings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Spriggan Radfae . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 Adventure in the Sin Trade. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fadrian Bartley. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52 An Open Letter to Ocean Vuong. . . . . . . . . . . Woody Woodger. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 Three Faces of God. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Story Stag . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54

RFD 173 Spring 2018 3

4

RFD 173 Spring 2018

“My First Gay Dance” by Fabrizio Bottasso

ANNOUNCEMENTS Gay History Serial Podcast Debuts Mattachine, a ten-episode serialized show available free on iTunes January 4, 2018, follows the true story of the secret Mattachine organization that catalyzed the American LGBTQ rights movement in 1950. From a spark of inspiration

released every Thursday.

Political and social history have been intertwined with queer history, though our stories are overlooked by all history classes in public schools.

With the assistance of voice actors and interviews with Mattachine founder Harry Hay courtesy of the ONE Archives at the University of Southern California Library, Mattachine brings the stories of these activists back to life in order to uncover nuanced issues the LGBTQ community still struggles with today: internalized homophobia, misogyny, political pressure, anonymity, and assimilation.

Listeners may find that the study of history is preparation for the work ahead.

Follow the show on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @mattachinefiles, and explore resources and other details at mattachinepod.com.

in 1920s Chicago, through secret speakeasystyle meetings that brought together anonymous homosexuals, the program will open FBI case files to journey through McCarthy-era paranoia and the witch hunt that pulled the communist queer activists apart, scattering the seeds of the movement. Produced and hosted by Devlyn Camp with editorial advising from Paul Di Ciccio and Chicago theatre critic Albert Williams, Mattachine aims to entertain and educate an audience about our vast history and the strength of our community during a time of new political resistance. Listeners may hear the fďťżirst episode and subscribe now on iTunes or other podcast-playing apps. New episodes are

RFD 173 Spring 2018 5

Pervers/cité Montreal Underground and Political Pride

by Jamie Ross

A

s corporate Pride festivals around the world prove themselves less accountable each year to the history they claim to represent, there is a need to repoliticize Pride.

A wide range of queer and trans individuals and

groups comes together every summer to present a series of events, workshops, panel discussions, and actions to coincide with mainstream Pride. Lots of Montreal Radical Faeries frolic in the streets at the height of summer—join us for Pervers/cité.

Call for proposals

Appel de dossiers

Montreal’s queer summer festival Pervers/cité is in its second decade!

Pervers/Cité is a collaboratively organized radical queer summer festival taking place August 9-19 août 2018. Since 2007 Pervers/Cité has been organizing a blend of hot dance parties, critical political interventions and alternative art practices to build links across social justice movements and queer communities. In a climate of corporate gay agendas and whitewashed homogeneity, Pervers/Cité strives to provide a schedule of activities to reanimate the radical underpinnings to the pride movement. We acknowledge that Montreal (Tiohtià:ke in Mohawk) is located on unceded Mohawk (Kanien’keháka) territory.

Past events have included panel discussions, workshops, performances, film nights, direct action interventions, picnics, sex parties, rituals, art shows, bonfires, concerts, community suppers, and games.

If you want to organize something please fill out and submit the following online application: http://www.perverscite.org/proposals/.

(We’re working on our website at the moment.

We ask for a short event description of maximum 100 words, a list of needs from the Pervers/cité collective and whether you have a fixed date and a confirmed space for the event.) perverscite@ gmail.com Facebook: Pervers/cite Deadline is in early June annually. Send us an email!

Le festival queer d’été de Montréal est dans sa deuxième décennie!

Ayant lieu du 9 au 19 août 2017, Pervers/Cité est un festival d’été radical queer organisé de façon collective. Depuis 2007, Pervers/Cité a organisé un mélange de partys de danse, d’ateliers, d’interventions politiques et de pratiques artistiques alternatives pour tisser des liens entre les mouvements pour la justice sociale et les communautés queers. Dans un climat où prévalent l’agenda corporatif gai et l’aseptisation homogénéisée des queers, Pervers/ Cité tâche de fournir des activités destinées à réanimer les fondements radicaux du mouvement de la Fierté LGBT. On reconnaît que la ville de Montréal (Tiohtià:ke) se situe en territoire non-cédé Mohawk (Kanien’keháka).

Les éditions passées ont inclus discussions, ateliers, performances, soirées de films, actions directes, pique-niques, rituels, concerts, expos d’art, feux de camp, soupers communautaires et jeux.

Si vous désirez organiser un événement, veuillez remplir et soumettre le formulaire suivant en ligne: http://www.perverscite.org/fr/proposals/. (On travaille actuellement sur notre site web: pour les soumissions on demande une courte description de l’événement 100 mots max., une liste des besoins du collectif Pervers/cité, si vous avez une date fixe et un endroit déjà confirmé pour l’événement). perverscite@gmail.com Facebook: Pervers/cite La date limite est normalement vers le début juin. Envoyez-nous un courriel!

6

RFD 173 Spring 2018

Photos by RaphaĂŤl Frigon

RFD 173 Spring 2018 7

8

RFD 173 Spring 2018

“My First Gay Dance” by Fabrizio Bottasso

GATHERING GUIDE Forestry Camp

4 - 17 Feb

Nomenus, Wolf Creek OR

www.nomenus.org

Asian Gathering

14 - 24 Feb

Koh Yao Yai, Thailand

www.asianfaeries.com

Winter Gathering

15 - 19 Feb

Breitenbush OR

www.cascadiafaeries.org

MidWinter: Only Connect!

1 - 4 Mar

Saratoga Springs CA

thebillys.org

Sacred Geometry Weekend

8 - 10 Mar

Adamama, Nir Moshe, Israel

canaanfaes.org

Faerie Magic Gathering: Power of Roots, Roots of Power

14 - 18 Mar

Malvern Hills, near Gloucester UK www.albionfaeries.org.uk

Great Circle

16 -18 Mar

Nomenus, Wolf Creek OR

An Introduction to Shamanism

16 - 18 Mar

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Coach Training Program for Gay Men 18 - 23 Mar

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Sodomighty Spring Gathering

Adamama, Nir Moshe, Israel

21 - 26 Mar

www.nomenus.org

canaanfaes.org

Passion/Play - Uniting Body and Spirit in a Holy Season

22 - 25 Mar

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

The Erotic Intensive

23 - 25 Mar

Pasadena CA

www.calcommen.com

Spring Gatherette

23 - 26 Mar

DeKalb Junction NY

www.radfae.org

Ostara Faerie Gathering

27 Mar - 5 Apr Featherstone Castle, UK

www.albionfaeries.org.uk

Fools n Faeries : Easter Radical Faerie Gathering

29 Mar - 3 Apr Ruapuke Beach, New Zealand

Hearts on Fire: An Easter Retreat

29 Mar - 1 Apr Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

www.radfanz.org.nz

Tennessee Dance for All People

4 - 8 Apr

LaVergne TN

danceforallpeople.com

Work Gathering

11 - 18 Apr

Short Mt Sanctuary, Liberty TN

www.radfae.org

Great Circle

12 - 15 Apr

Adamama, Nir Moshe, Israel

canaanfaes.org

Gay Spirit Visions Spring Retreat

13 - 15 Apr

Highlands NC

www.gayspiritvisions.org www.calcommen.com

Reclaiming the Magic of Your Gay Power

13 - 15 Apr

Pasadena CA

Gay Men of Color

13 - 15 Apr

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Celebrating the Body Erotic

20 - 22 Apr

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Spring Community Week

21 - 28 Apr

Folleterre, Ternuay, France

www.folleterre.org

May Day Gathering

25 - 29 Apr

Saratoga Springs CA

thebillys.org

Beltane

26 Apr - 2 May Nomenus, Wolf Creek OR

Live Life Fully

26 - 29 Apr

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Touch Me!

26 - 29 Apr

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Beltaine Gathering

29 Apr - 6 May Folleterre, Ternuay, France

www.folleterre.org

Beltane

May 2018

Short Mt Sanctuary, Liberty TN

www.radfae.org

ECC Scotland Walking Week

4 - 11 May

Cherry Tree Lodge, Fife, UK

www.edwardcarpentercommunity.org.uk

Sex Magick

5 - 12 May

Asheville NC

www.faeriesexmagick.org

Beltaine Gathering

7 - 14 May

Paddington Farm, Glastonbury UK www.albionfaeries.org.uk

Gender Blender Gathering

10 - 12 May

Adamama, Nir Moshe, Israel

www.nomenus.org

canaanfaes.org

7th International Gay Coaches Conference

10 - 13 May

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Enter Stillness—Silent Meditation Retreat

17 - 21 May

Forest Meditation Centre, Australia www.ozfaeries.com

BC Radical Faerie Camp

18 - 21 May

Evan’s Lake, Squamish BC, Canada bcradfae.ca

Victoria Day Gathering

18 - 21 May

Amber Fox, ON Canada

www.akaamberfox.ca

Utah Dance for All People

18 - 20 May

Spring City UT

danceforallpeople.com

ECC Kent Gathering

25 - 28 May

Kench Hill, Tenterden, Kent UK

www.edwardcarpentercommunity.org.uk RFD 173 Spring 2018 9

GATHERING GUIDE Memorial Day Weekend

25 - 28 May

Mountain Center CA

thecmg.org

Transmission Gathering (for trans men and trans masculine people)

25 - 28 May

Foresthill CA

Welcome Home Gathering

25 - 28 May

Faerie Camp Destiny, Grafton VT www.faeriecampdestiny.org

Easton Turns Eighteen

25 - 28 May

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Rheingold Gathering

27 May - 2 Jun Folleterre, Ternuay, France

www.folleterre.org

Gavdos Gathering

29 May - 6 Jun Agios Ioannis, Gavdos, Greece

www.facebook.com/groups/1409750252484141

Spirituality Community Camp

31 May - 4 Jun Pasadena CA

www.calcommen.com

Moving Into Intimacy

1 - 3 Jun

www.calcommen.com

Pasadena CA

thebillys.org

We Here Now—Zuni Mt Sanctuary Renewal Convergence

1 - 11 Jun

Zuni Mt Sanctuary, Ramah NM

Tantra4GayMen

2 - 8 Jun

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

zunimountainsanctuary.org

Wolf Creek Dance for All People

6 - 10 Jun

Wolf Creek OR

danceforallpeople.com

Faerie Sex Magick Workshop

9 - 16 Jun

Folleterre, Ternuay, France

www.folleterre.org

Kink Odyssey

14 - 17 Jun

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Sex Magick

16 - 23 Jun

Wolf Creek OR

www.faeriesexmagick.org

Summer Solstice Gathering

18 - 24 Jun

Folleterre, Ternuay, France

www.folleterre.org

Summer Gathering

19 - 24 Jun

Adamama, Nir Moshe, Israel

canaanfaes.org

The Erotic Intensive

22 -24 Jun

Pasadena CA

www.calcommen.com

Gay Freedom Camp

30 Jun - 4 Jul

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Faerie Spirit Gathering

1 - 7 Jul

Kawashaway Sanctuary, MN

www.kawashaway.org

New Sanctuary Gathering

1 - 8 Jul

Folleterre, Ternuay, France

www.folleterre.org

Spiritual Gathering for Radical Faeries 1 - 8 Jul*

Nomenus, Wolf Creek OR

www.nomenus.org

July 4th

2 - 8 Jul

Saratoga Springs CA

thebillys.org

American Ridge Gathering

5 - 12 Jul

Near Mt. Rainier Nat. Park, WA

www.americanridgegathering.org

Faerie Politics Gathering

10 - 18 Jul

Folleterre, Ternuay, France

www.folleterre.org

ECC Lancashire Gathering

6 - 9 Jul

Coldwell near Burnley, Lancashire, UK www.edwardcarpentercommunity.org.uk

3rd “Sound of Faeries” Gathering

7 - 14 Jul

Mühlbach, Hochkönig, Austria

radicalfaeries.at

Feed Me! Nourish Me!

14 - 21 Jul

Caledonian Forest UK

www.edwardcarpentercommunity.org.uk

37th Midwest Men’s Festival

17 - 26 Jul

Northeast KS

www.midwestmensfestival.com

Summer Community Weeks

21 Jul - 3 Aug

Folleterre, Ternuay, France

www.folleterre.org

Summer Camp

27 - 29 Jul

Palm Springs CA

www.calcommen.com

Lammas Gathering

27 Jul - 5 Aug

Faerie Camp Destiny, Grafton VT www.faeriecampdestiny.org

Great Circle

28 - 29 Jul

Folleterre, Ternuay, France

Summer Gay Spirit Camp

30 Jul - 5 Aug

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

High Summer Gathering

1 - 6 Aug

Amber Fox, ON, Canada

www.akaamberfox.ca

Summer Gathering

4 - 12 Aug

Folleterre, Ternuay, France

www.folleterre.org

Tantra Love East Festival

7 - 12 Aug

Easton Mt, Greenwich NY

www.tantralovefestivaleast.com

Can You Really Be YOU?

10 - 12 Aug

Pasadena CA

www.calcommen.com

Sanctuary Renewal Week

10 - 16 Aug

Zuni Mt Sanctuary, Ramah NM

zunimountainsanctuary.org

Summer Gathering

15 - 19 Aug

Breitenbush OR

www.cascadiafaeries.org

Bear Your Soul: Summer Camp

15 - 19 Aug

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Queer Spirit Mystery School

17 - 27 Aug

www.folleterre.org

Zuni Mt Sanctuary, Ramah NM

zunimountainsanctuary.org

High Close, Lake District Gathering 20 - 27 Aug

High Close, Lake District, UK

www.edwardcarpentercommunity.org.uk

Camp Nehirim

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

10 RFD 173 Spring 2018

22 - 26 Aug

GATHERING GUIDE Transmission Gathering (for trans men and trans masculine people)

24 - 26 Aug

Saratoga Springs, Upper Lake CA thebillys.org

Montanta Dance for All People

24 - 26 Aug

Victor MT

Comfort & Joy at Burning Man

26 Aug - 3 Sep Black Rock Desert NV

www.playajoy.org

Summer Blue Heron Gathering

27 Aug - 3 Sep DeKalb Junction NY

www.radfae.org

Labor Day Gathering

30 Aug - 3 Sep Saratoga Springs, Upper Lake CA thebillys.org

Labor Day Community Camp

31 Aug - 3 Sep Idyllwild CA

danceforallpeople.com

www.calcommen.com

Spiritual Sexual Shamanic Experience 31 Aug - 6 Sep Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org Labor Day Weekend

1 - 4 Sep

Santa Rosa CA

North American Tribal Gathering

6 - 9 Sep

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

thecmg.org

Tantra Love West Festival

18 - 23 Sep

Saratoga Springs CA

www.tantralovefestivalwest.com

Austin Radical Faerie Camp

20 - 23 Sep

Lotus Ranch, Wimberley TX

austinradfae.org

Gay Spirit Visions Fall Conference

20 - 23 Sep

Highlands NC

www.gayspiritvisions.org

New England Dance for All People

21 - 23 Sep

Eaton Center NH

danceforallpeople.com

TantraCon 2018

28 - 30 Sep

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Cherry Tree Lodge Gathering

5 - 7 Oct

Cherry Tree Lodge, Fife, UK

Fall Foliage Gathering

5 - 8 Oct

Faerie Camp Destiny, Grafton VT www.faeriecampdestiny.org

Thanksgiving Gathering

5 - 8 Oct

Amber Fox, ON, Canada

Singles Retreat

5 - 8 Oct

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Ozfaerie Glitter Ball/Cabaret

6 Oct

Jiggi Hall, Australia

Live Life Fully

11 - 14 Oct

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

Samhain Faerie gathering

16 - 25 Oct

Featherstone Castle, UK

www.albionfaeries.org.uk

Sex Magick Workshop Australia

20 - 27 Oct

Faerieland Sanctuary, Australia

www.ozfaeries.com

Lumbers Gathering

20 - 31 Oct

Folleterre, Ternuay, France

www.folleterre.org

Halloween Gathering

24 - 28 Oct

Saratoga Springs CA

thebillys.org

Samhain Gathering

27 Oct - 3 Nov* Nomenus, Wolf Creek OR

www.nomenus.org

Shadow Gathering

9 - 11 Nov

Vancouver BC, Canada

bcradfae.ca

Thanksgiving Celebration

22 - 25 Nov

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

www.edwardcarpentercommunity.org.uk www.akaamberfox.ca www.ozfaeries.com

Ozfaeries Summer Solstice Gathering Dec 2018

Faerieland Sanctuary, Australia

www.ozfaeries.com

New York Dance for All People

6 - 10 Dec

Oliverbridge NY

danceforallpeople.com

Watching for the Light

7 - 9 Dec

Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

New Year’s Gathering

27 Dec - 1 Jan Camp Meeker CA

Hail the New

28 Dec - 1 Jan Easton Mountain, Greenwich NY www.eastonmountain.org

New Year’s Gathering

29 Dec - 1 Jan DeKalb Junction NY

www.radfae.org

Faerie Gathering

29 Dec - 3 Jan Yucca Valley CA

www.starlandcommunity.org

Winter Gathering

14 - 18 Feb

www.cascadiafaeries.org

Breitenbush OR

thebillys.org

*Dates Tentative

Please verify dates and particulars of each gathering you might attend as they do change and may require registration.

Thanks to www.radfae.org for their useful work which provides most of the information in our Annual Guide, merci beacoup and kisses to them and everyone else who submitted for our annual listing.

RFD 173 Spring 2018 11

Beatus recipit Sorore nostra Our blessed Sister retires

Recently, our own Sister Mish / Sister Soami resigned from RFD’s Board of Directors after decades of direct service to RFD and its readers. We wanted to take this opportunity on behalf of the entire RFD Board of Directors and Collective to sincerely thank her for the years of dedication and service she has given to this magazine and the community it serves. Her active engagement in the publication, promotion and promulgation of RFD has helped insure its very existence.

Her long service, from hearing of its inception through shepherding its publication at Short Mountain to sitting on the Board of Directors, has given her a keen eye to the magazine’s various transitions. The ongoing dedication she continues to bring to promoting RFD, especially during gatherings at SMS, has allowed a whole new generation of readers to enjoy our Collective’s efforts in compiling and telling the stories that build our community.

Thank you again dear Sister and long may your frocks be splendiferous as your wimple sits joyously on the crown of your head! From all the members of the Board of Directors, we sincerely thank you!

12 RFD 173 Spring 2018

“Sister Soami deLux” by Doug Sandelin

RFD 173 Spring 2018 13

14 RFD 173 Spring 2018

Painting by Richard Vyse

Sea of Flames I was instantly 15 again, home after the first time my best friend Simon and I “did it” in his bedroom with his parents out.

Body ablaze, body full of song, body bursting higgledypiggledy into flowers shaking with an urge like throwing up to let my Mum know I loved Simon and I loved her and I loved everything. But I couldn’t shape a word.

And somehow in that impossibly-long moment love cooled to clay, cracked.

There was Mum, pain leaning on her like a land slide against a lone tree. I saw my Mum and I saw through her eyes every hour without Dad. Saw her cry to fill the bed’s emptiness, to silence the silence.

Saw the photo of her and Dad, heads thrust high, crowning the polka at the Midlands Dance Championship.

Saw her settle it back like the religious ikon it had become in the envelope in the blanket box drawer each morning before counting the 13 steps down to another day of 3 kids and no answers, except hymns on Sunday, childhood friends she clung to with the same hands that had tended his body as it thinned to paper, paper she could see through.

How could I sing new love where old love cut so deep?

I gave her the joy flaming in my blood, tried to picture Dad smiling.

—Qweaver

RFD 173 Spring 2018 15

The Good, the Bad and the Beautiful First Times by e.c. patrick

I

can’t say that my first time at most things has been appreciate good (sometimes great) carnal interacthe most enlightening and ecstatic experience. I tion. I had to push my own axe-wielding limits to lost my virginity to a man I met in a park who later understand that it is sometimes better to ask for told me he had just gotten out of jail. I forget what help and stick with my strengths. What I know now he was in for if he had even mentioned that part. it that the key is recognizing that something good His purpose in telling me was more immediately will eventually come even if I can’t see it in those practical in that he hadn’t had sex in months, which first few scary steps.

I would in later years come to realize was code for When my first real relationship became toxic, I’m either going to cum much faster than you want I didn’t in any way know what to do or where to me to or not at all for having jacked it all out in go. We spent six months in separate bedrooms of the hours leading up to this. He took me back to the same house sometimes passively, sometimes his mother’s trailer actively trying to hurt (another first, I’d never each other in retribution seen the inside of one. for the pain we each felt The yellow curtains the other had caused. gave a nice filter to the Eventually the situation I had to learn what bad sex bright sunlight outside became intolerable, and if I recall correctly), I was forced to remove was in order to appreciate where he was submyself from the house. I good (sometimes great) sequently unable to was, thankfully, able to carnal interaction. I had to perform because of the collect enough courage push my own axe-wielding latter of these two sce(and enough cash) to narios. It is a wonder I move out on my own and limits to understand that it wasn’t arrested, raped, to buy my first piece of is sometimes better to ask and killed all in one fell real estate, going it alone. for help and stick with my swoop, the inspiration strengths. for a compelling epihe first year in that sode of Law & Order: house wasn’t always SVU. easy. I went without The first time I hot water for a week tried to chop wood, I at one point because nearly lost a limb. I had had the occasion as a young I didn’t know how to re-light a pilot light. I went college student to stay on a farm in rural western on more bad dates than good and nearly gave up Kentucky for several months in exchange for basic on any inkling of real love. Despite my dwindling upkeep, including the stocking of fire wood for the hopes for happiness, I did not shut myself off as I winter. My farm companions were well seasoned in so easily could have done, wallowing in fear and this sort of work and possessed a strength and unanxiety. Somehow, I allowed myself to keep saying derstanding of the path of an axe swing well beyond yes, even when that shifted more to simply allowing what my own mind was able to comprehend. Need- new people into my life, to starting new friendships. less to say, it was only in my hands for a few seconds When fall came, I had the guts to throw a party at before it was taken right back out of them, never to the suggestion of one of those new friends. It was return. I was reassigned to stacking the wood and a “friends-giving” years before that was actually a to stay at the house for kitchen duty the next time it thing and was meant to celebrate those that had was necessary to go out for more. helped me get through the break-up and through Not to say that it has all been bad. There are the year. I cooked a turkey (that was one thing I did always lessons behind first missteps and embarrassget right on the first try thanks to that kitchen duty ments. I had to learn what bad sex was in order to experience), and added most everything I could

T

16 RFD 173 Spring 2018

think of that goes with it, filling the counters with enough food for fifty, even though there were only half that many in attendance.

At some point before dinner, I called everyone together and gave my humble, little prepared speech of thanks for all the help that had been afforded me, barely holding back emotion-filled tears. Just as I finished, one of them spoke up and reciprocated the sentiment, thanking me for things I hadn’t even considered helpful or meaningful. Yet, somehow, we had all helped each other, had become important to each other in one way or another even if it was just listening to life complaints over drinks at Monday night karaoke. The proverbial microphone was passed one by one around the room that night,

“My First Queer Pagan Camp” by Fabrizio Bottasso

everyone with a little bit of a story, a little bit of a magical first inkling of forged bonds between us.

It was the stuff of sappy sitcoms, only it was right there in my kitchen. In the process of a tumultuous year of first steps, I had somehow collected a core group of friends that are now and will always be nothing less than family.

I am stronger for my firsts, in all their incantations, good and bad. My only worry as I grow older is that I will run out of firsts to look forward to.

Well, I guess there is always Karaoke. I may have had drinks on many a Monday night in the audience, but I still haven’t had the courage to step up to my first solo. I’ll keep that one in my back pocket for a rainy day.

RFD 173 Spring 2018 17

18 RFD 173 Spring 2018

Painting by Richard Vyse

Dared, a First Time

by Arno Bohlmeijer

W

hen Regis mumbled “See you soon,” it could mean anything regular or special. Barry is aching for a tangible response to his wishes and suspicions. But when it hits him that ‘tangible’ could be actually physical soon, he sways, bangs into a curb and goes down.

Another cyclist can just swerve past him. His wrist and hip hurt badly, but it’s the shame that dominates. Unable to stand up quickly, he shifts onto the sidewalk, where someone gives him a hand and says: “Perhaps you need to stay down a bit, in case of a whiplash.”

He moans and sighs. Let me die, I don’t want an audience, taking photos and posting films on YouTube. Regis would have a good laugh before seeing that it’s me. Careful: don’t end up in a wheelchair!

The thought of such dependency makes him think in a flash, with his eyes closed. For how long would Regis persevere and stay with an invalid? And the other way around: to what extent would I look after him?

A whiplash is a plausible danger, not uncommon after a bike fall, and he shudders, but then he growls inside: don’t be pathetic!

The man by him says: “I can call the paramedics, to be on the safe side.”

Hell, sure, with sirens.

When Barry shakes his head, he sees blotches.

He’s boiling from annoyance, feeling the cold ground. But the anger gives him new strength, he turns onto his ‘good side’ and scrambles up. The man supports him and Barry pretends they’re Regis’s arms: caring and strong.

That helps and he stands. He doesn’t mind the man holding him and asking: “Are you dizzy or sick?”

“Only from being so thick.”

A woman has picked up his bike and lifted it onto the sidewalk. She’s waiting beside it.

“Thanks, I’m alright now,” Barry says.

He gets the bike and leans on it.

“Are you sure?” The gentleman is still concerned.

“Yes, really.”

“Better go on foot first and see?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

In order to show that he’s not badly injured and taking the advice to heart, he walks fairly straight

and firmly, his good hand on the bike, slowly among the pedestrians. He can feel that the kind man follows him with his eyes – not walking along, is he?

– and he sets his teeth against the pain.

In a side street he rides and tries not to think of Regis, keeping his self-respect by blocking out shame. The pedaling goes well, as long as he’s not straining. Relieved, he thinks: I’ve got the wind behind!

W

hen the bruises or particular thoughts take their tolls, homework fails, and hanging in front of the TV is no good either. His phone does take his mind off the Regis matters, but only for twenty minutes.

He takes a bath, with his mom’s healing oil. Mm, this balm is a narcotic. His drowsy head is resting on the edge. The water caresses his aching body, up to the shoulders and neck. He doesn’t even want any music; he’d like to melt, if no meltdown, please – don’t fall asleep…

D

reams have been warm and sweet, but he stayed awake. In his loose bathrobe he walks to his room, where his heart skips a beat, or something like that, because there’s a person lying on the bed.

The one lamp he left on, doesn’t light the bed.

It’s Regis, muttering, “Sorry! Your mom sent me up and said ‘Make yourself at home’. So I have. My legs were tired, after the hours at the market, stocking a hundred low and high shelves and all…”

Just shy, not mighty embarrassed, Barry is trying to close and tie his robe.

Regis gets up and asks: “Do you always go to bed at nine?”

Barry smiles. “Who says I’m going to bed? You’d call me, remember, and when you didn’t...”

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t know when.”

“I’m not cross, just explaining why I’m surprised.”

“With a little joy?”

“I’m staggering from joy.”

“Oh, I’ll catch you.”

But Barry flinches when Regis hurries up to him.

“What’s wrong, Bare, are you scared of me?”

“No, no, I’ve got a couple of sore spots – after a hick-up on my wheels. Don’t laugh!”

“Cross my huge heart. How come you crashed?”

RFD 173 Spring 2018 19

20 RFD 173 Spring 2018

Painting by Richard Vyse

“My head was in the clouds.”

“Ah, not cloud nine then?”

Barry is stroking his own wrist, and Regis pouts his lips, asking: “Can I kiss it away?”

Carefully he takes the hand and gives it a series of little kisses. Barry gets truly dizzy and he drops more or less against the shoulder of Regis, who stands firm and asks: “Does it hurt that bad? Where else, everywhere?”

Breathing hard, Barry can’t speak and elaborate.

Regis is afraid to hold him tight. They’re leaning on each other lightly, at length, with probing hands.

Glowing, each can feel the other’s heart and soul.

Barry sighs. “I’ve lost sense of standing or lying.”

“If only you’re still in your body!”

“Dunno. Are we sharing mine or yours?”

“But we won’t go to school this way.”

Barry has a swallow-laugh, “Ouch,” and he thinks: I won’t sleep all night.

Then, as if no time has passed for a while, he says: “You are a crazy surprise. It’s like ‘meant to be’, but also too good to be true.”

They lie down on the rug and Regis says: “Since when has it been ‘meant to be’ to you?”

“Hmm, that’s weird too. Since this afternoon or Friday, and years back, but that was unconscious.”

“What’s it called: latent?”

“Yeah, like waiting. What about you?” Barry asks.

“I’m still unconscious, it seems, in a bunker with chinks and holes of waking up. Like earlier tonight, working the shelves of biscuits, I suddenly hoped you’d come by, and for a minute I didn’t care what the others would say or do – if we’d kiss!”

Sprawled on his back, Barry is gazing at the ceiling, but his eyes fall shut. Kissing seems far away again, and this is even better for the time being, this touches him from top to toe. Anything else might break the spell or the miracle. Is it no curse or pie in the sky then?

Regis is on his stomach, leaning on his elbows and lying against him. Barry can feel his energy as if they have the same frequencies: an equal number of vibrations per second.

All of a sudden he realizes that his robe is still open here and there, which makes him feel more naked than he’d wish for, although… He wants to curl up, but his hurting hip is on Regis’s side. In a reflex he turns onto the other side, his knees pulled up, his back toward the friend who could be lifechanging.

Regis wavers and rolls over too. Then he moves to Barry and cuddles up, lower belly against lower back, knees in the knee hollows, an arm spread

long. His hand on Barry’s arm slowly goes up and down the toweling sleeve, from the hem all the way to the collar and across. Next it explores his hair, cheek and jaw. In the end it slips into his bared neck, staying careful.

After good moments, Regis moves back. “Sorry, you’re injured.”

“Or,” Barry says, “I’m in slumbers of delight, or sedated by disbelief. Can that be?”

“Not me, I’m burning and bursting, but it happens all the time, and I never know what to do.”

“Maybe I do.”

“But not now, eh? You’re way too sweet.”

“If so,” Barry whispers with an arm over his eyes, “you can only tell when you are the same. Plus you’re big and strong. That’s the best blend.”

And if it’s this good for real, there must be interaction.

“Sshh,” Regis says, “you’re making me shy too.”

That doesn’t rhyme with you, Barry muses. It’s the free and easy, direct manner that appeals to him the most. But in his mind a line is wrenched open and the words from the football player come back to stab him: Regis penis!

What the hell was that about? And why did I quickly forget—or pretend to? I can’t even remember if there was any reaction, from whoever. Has Regis been involved with other boys? That could explain his earlier holding back, if that’s what it was.

No, can’t have been, considering how he is now.

And it makes no difference, he’s here with me by choice! Not owned by me.

He turns and faces him to wipe out certain thoughts from the past minute, but that side of his body really hurts. He groans and sinks back. On his good side he sits up, crawls to Regis and kisses him with his lips and hands. This is answered cautiously, with all the astonished time of the world.

“I

can’t come over every day,” Regis whispers in the end.

“Well, come the nights, and I’ll get a double bed.”

“Ha, paid for by Mom and Dad?” They laugh and caress on the thick and soft rug.

A lot of movement still hurts, but Barry can mostly ignore that, or they’re lying still and close again.

“Am I your first?” Barry suddenly asks.

“Yes, what do you think, the fright of my life!”

“I thought… A footballer?”

“No way, man.”

Regis jumps to his feet. “Are we doing homework or what? So I can report at home that we’re perfect RFD 173 Spring 2018 21

co-workers.”

Barry sits up less fast, and he asks in earnest: “Are you still scared of your dad?”

“No, I mean…” Regis shrugs. “I’m more scared of a club mate, or two.”

“Homophobic or jealous? Would they laugh at you or bash you?”

Regis drops on his knees and shrinks. “Either, both.”

Barry moves up and sits behind him, back to back, first only the lower parts, as Regis is bent forward.

After minutes of Barry’s waiting, he opens up again and leans more backwards, up to the shoulders. They feel and mould. Their warmth is going both ways, and they keep each other balanced.

“Last week at the club,” Regis begins, “after some gritty training, I had a hard-on in the showers, would you believe, and I was late to notice. First the cold and fatigue, then the relaxing hot water… It was nothing sexual, just sheer well-being or something.

Nothing I’m proud of either, and it’s never been a problem.”

With a sour sigh he continues reluctantly. “There was a bit of horsing around, I mean the normal fun after a win, and I wasn’t even part of it. I was away in my own little world and for all I know, that is what caught their attention. I do like the buddy mood, and of course there’s plenty of beauty and nudity in sight, but that’s never been an issue, I didn’t even give it a thought. I was just by myself in a corner of heaven.”

He’s rocking back and forth, and Barry is cradling along.

“But somebody yelled: “Hey, check out his rod!”

And it didn’t dawn on me right away. As I said, I get boners pretty quick, not always caused by people around me. It can be anything comfy… Is that abnormal?”

“Of course not. Not to me.”

“They made me think it is. It was a rude awakening.”

“Or it’s the hidden green-eyed monster – about the comfy part. Was it menacing?”

“No. More like making fun of me. Or not even that, looking back, at least not deliberately. To most of them it was all play, a party, and they let their hair down, taking the stage in turns. “Poor Regis, that giant won’t fit anywhere! Don’t try it on me! Is it contagious? Keep your distance, please. That’s to say…”’

He’s breathing so heavily that Barry is moved along even more, but keeping quiet.

“If they were downright hostile,” Regis grumbles, 22 RFD 173 Spring 2018

“I could’ve been mad and struck back. But I decided they were being sportsmen mucking around, only because I was passive. And the point is, the hardon lasted. So then came the stroke of lightning…

It flashed into me that I wouldn’t mind hugging or kissing a boy. I was like Adam seeing the snake or something, and paradise collapsed. In a tiny corner it was the other way round: paradise began. But my first thoughts were: has anyone filmed it? They’ll never keep this to themselves. I’ll be in trouble after PE too. It only takes one loser or nasty bastard to tear this out of context and send it virile as something vile.”

“No,” Barry says, “you know them, don’t you?”

“Yes, as far as possible, but it could also happen by accident, in a drunken or gloomy mood.”

“No, you see, we all know about this guy thing, the size or the bad-time wood, and we don’t go bragging about it, well, not usually in the wide world.

I’ve heard about a model at art school. He needed money and became a nude model. Obviously the students were used to naked bodies, businesslike, but he was always terrified of an erection, he wet his pants!”

“That weren’t there!” Relieved, Regis bursts into laughter. “Too bad we can’t re-tell this joke.”

Barry himself gets the pants clue in the second instance. “I wasn’t making a joke, it got pretty tragic.”

“Oh, at any rate, thanks. Maybe my trauma is cured in one go now.”

“If only you’d told me before. I kept thinking that something was wrong, and to do with me.”

“Well, Bare, your timing had something to do with it… You showed up at the match right after, and I thought there was a link because you’d heard.

There can’t be such coincidence, can there?”

“I suppose, not here. It was something else.”

“What did I know. My head was in a hurricane.”

“So you had to wait and see if I could be trusted.”

“No,” Regis says, “there was no need, only to be sure what I’m made of myself, after the panic.”

“Well, you found out fast enough.”

“Thanks to you, for a start.”

Barry swallows and lies down, his head on Regis’s upper leg, asking: “There was no special player, that you wanted to kiss and hug?”

“Nah, all of them.”

Barry bites the hand that rummaged through his hair and now pinches his cheek. Then each inch of him clings to Regis. “I could eat you.”

“Help, I need a self-defense course!”

“Me too. Will we dare go together?”

Painting by Richard Vyse

RFD 173 Spring 2018 23

24 RFD 173 Spring 2018

“Kachina Dancer” by Don Perryman

The Kachina Dance

by Don Perryman

M

y friend Ryan and I managed to have this forward in perfect unison, steadily, slowly from foot once-in-a-lifetime experience June 2, 2001, to foot, chanting rhythmically in a low murmur, gesonly because a young Hopi woman in Flagstaff turing slightly with the ceremonial bows and rattles, whom I’ll call Flora had car trouble and needed bells jingling, to a tempo beaten out by a “chief a ride to the event. If Ryan hadn’t befriended her clown,” a corpulent Hopi man in a black-and-white father in a college anthropology class at Northern horned mask, seated in the center and pounding Arizona University, we’d a stuffed pad with his never even have heard baton. about it; I in particular I’d have taken pictures, was lucky to be included. but Ryan said that was Flora was interested in a strictly forbidden. I did The whole place buzzed young Hopi man, one of draw a dancer afterwards, with the sound, and I was the dancers, and wanted the lithe, youthful one I overwhelmed—speechless— to see the ceremony and couldn’t take my eyes off wiping tears from under visit with his family. Her of, to aid my memory. offering to them was a Ryan, who’d witnessed my sunglasses without cherry cake; ours was a several such events, quite knowing why. When case of soft drinks, which helped me with details, each dance ended, they she said they would apmentioning that even a moaned in a haunting tone preciate. drawing – or a descripDriving northeast tion like this – is discourfrom under their masks, from Flagstaff, we araged by the tribe. broke ranks, and went rived at the First Hopi Then after the long about distributing eggs, Mesa, above the Painted monotony of the stepvegetables, and other food Desert and in the midst ping-dance, and on some of the vast Navajo lands. subtle cue, they’d give at random to the crowd We parked the car and their rattles a fierce, susbefore disappearing into a climbed toward the tained shake and turn in kiva together until time for muffled sound of drums, place a full 360 degrees. the next dance. to the top of the dusty The whole place buzzed slope where a collection with the sound, and I was of adobe houses, some overwhelmed—speechobviously ancient, surless—wiping tears from rounded a rectangular under my sunglasses courtyard, just as dusty. We climbed a wooden ladwithout quite knowing why. When each dance der up to a rooftop from which we could gaze down ended, they moaned in a haunting tone from under on the scene. their masks, broke ranks, and went about distributNinety or so Hopi males, preteen to elderly, were ing eggs, vegetables, and other food at random to arrayed in a huge looping circle. Except for body the crowd before disappearing into a kiva together paint, arm-bands with sprigs of cedar, and masks, until time for the next dance. they were bare above the waist. They carried sprigs At noon we were invited into the home of the of cedar and small bows in one hand and more Kachina dancer Flora liked (though he was in the sprigs with rattles in the other. Waist-down their character of a spirit the whole day, never showloins were girded in several animal skins and a strip ing a human face, going to and from the kiva with of fabric, their bare calves braceleted with bells, the whole group in full persona). We were served their feet shod in soft-leather boots. like family and ate mutton stew with hominy, well The dancers shifted from side to side and edged seasoned and delicious. A sweet cornmeal cake had

RFD 173 Spring 2018 25

been baked underground overnight, also delicious.

Everyone tolerated and generally ignored us, the only non-Hopi guests there, but the lady of the house was quite gracious and attentive. I noticed too that it seemed appropriate to nod deferentially to the older male relatives at the table without making too much eye contact.

In the courtyard there was much sprinkling of cornmeal, on the dancers and on a tiny, fragile bush, the only green and growing thing in sight.

During one afternoon dance, there was an “alien” invasion from a rooftop by six or eight adolescents dressed in tawny animal skins, cut-off jeans, and

sneakers without socks, with onions, carrots, and other vegetables strung around their necks, in glaring contrast to the noble and divine aspect of the Kachinas. The invaders lowered themselves from rooftops into the courtyard on ropes tied around old tires, and their purpose seemed to be to create mischief and disorder, disrupting the precision of the ceremony. Much was believed to hang on whether the order of the ancient dance could be maintained despite the mock challenge of the invaders: tribal fortunes for the coming year such as sufficient water, successful crops, health – and this in a culture that regularly suffers the absence of all those basics. The perfect order symmetry of the ceremony went on 26 RFD 173 Spring 2018

uncompromised to completion.

One possible, minor exception occurred when the dancers returned for their final round: The youngest Kachina, a boy of around twelve, was a few seconds late and was gently ushered back into line behind the others as the dance resumed. It was a humorous moment in an otherwise solemn occasion, as I imagined a frantic boy needing to relieve himself at the last minute and having trouble getting the animal skin back around his young body properly. I trust no bad luck was ever blamed on him.

I never saw a dancer miss a step, in spite of the good-natured tomfoolery during the afternoon even to the point of the invaders swinging their hands between the drummer’s baton and the pad he was striking and sticking carrots in the mouths of the two revered medicine men (dressed simply in jeans and dungaree shirts) who were supervising the whole thing. The spectacle reminded me of something I read once - by Robert Lewis Stevenson, I believe - that we should maintain our composure at all costs, “like the reliable ticking of a clock in the eye of a hurricane.” Ryan and I made our way silently back to our car toward dusk, Flora having remained to stay with the dancer’s family.

Though little is questioned or revealed about such rites, discussion apparently discouraged even among the Hopi themselves – and so unlike the habits of religions that verbalize and proselytize ad nauseam - this unique ceremony may well have been the most beautiful and moving event I have ever been lucky enough to witness. Like any numinous and ineffable experience, it can never be conveyed in words or illustrations – and in this particular case it even seems a sacrilege to try, but, curious observer that I am, I couldn’t resist the temptation to capture a glimpse.

One could wish for a much wider awareness of the need for beauty, order, and reverence in a larger world that so often seems to lack it.

Hopi Katchina drawn by native artist (1904)

I’m Traveling in Some Vehicle

By James Ru

I

could not move without hurting. I no longer slept, I squirmed. It felt like each cell in my body was being torn apart. It happened overnight. One day I was athletic, the next I was crippled with pain. The dreaded “non-specific” autoimmune disease had found it’s way into my body. The doctors said I had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, then Fibromyalgia, then Lupus, then back to Fibromyalgia, then back to Lupus, and back again.

People around me said I was being lazy. Get some exercise. Some said, oh that, that’s depression. Get some exercise. My partner at the time said I had a spiritual malfunction and insisted I not spread it and tossed me out.

Some people said I fucked too many strangers. See what you get! I was given no less that seven HIV tests, just to be sure. All negative, so when I was asked to do eight, I declined.

But what I knew, for the first time in my life, was that my body was no longer mine. Something inside of me was rebelling. I was face to face with my personal ecology, and it was just not having anymore of it. Further, life now meant doing all the things life demands, only now with this endless pain and fatigue. After all the drama of ending a relationship, losing my job, going on welfare, ($400 a month! woo hoo party!), and being told that I would probably never get better, I ended up in a tent sleeping in the national parks.

I ate raw carrots and spent a lot of time alone in the wilderness. This was also a first. It was very uncomforatble, but options were limited. I certainly was not going to retire to my condo in Palm Springs, nor take time off vacationing in Europe. So, the national park system kindly provided discounts for camping and carrots were cheap enough. (Does anyone else remember the first time they realized that the “gay community” has a class system?) To tell you the truth, I prefer the national parks to Palm Springs, but being alone and dirty all the time and sleeping in a tent does get old. (I did learn how to bath in a cold mountain stream. But I had to whistle and make noise so that I didn’t surprise a grizzly bear! That was a first!)

Spending some time at faeries sanctuaries also provided space to breath. Sometimes this could be amazing and loving. However, as with most things in life, not all faerie experiences were amazing, and sometimes you just want to go home for real. I had

the first time someone at a faerie sanctuary got drunk and threw a liquor bottle at me. I also had the first time a fellow strangled me after a mental breakdown.

I had the first time I got in the middle of the politics of faerie sanctuaries. After a few experiences like that, back to the national parks I went.

What was Harry Hay trying to tell us about all of this? I still wonder. Perhaps it was, whatever does not kill us makes us stronger. Or was it this? As a gay man I do not have to be defensive about who I am.

I get to ask questions too and take up space, even if someone else insists that I just be nice and not rock any worlds. Harry asked that of the heteronormative world. I learned that sometimes gay men have to do the same with each other. Also, just because someone hates me, or does not understand what I am going through, does not mean I have to self destruct. No, thanks, I do not have to be high or drunk all the time as a spiritual journey.

A

lot of gay men carry that damage. If you’re reading this, you probably know what it is. We just do not feel worthy of taking up space. So we walk around injured and feeling out of place. We have the claws of retaliation for the slightest hurt, regardless of damage, packed away with all the drag. All the hurt society inflicts on us can easily be used between us. I remember the first time I realized faerie sanctuaries and Radical Faeries were not always safe. Ideals meet reality in the strangest places.

My first time realizing that we don’t have to treat each other that way was also with the Radical Faeries.

Go figure.

The long story short is this. What started out as an unplanned adventure, became my life. I found an art community to take me in, then a middle class life for a while, lost it, set sail on my own again, and just kept saying, oh no not I. Throughout, doctors tested, prescribed, hoped for the best, and throughout the pain never went away. People around me said it was depression, I needed more exercise. It was a spiritual malfuntion, I needed to get right. It was me being lazy. Get more exercise. After decades of this, I just can not even.

I kept some of the more dear faerie connections with me in my heart. We remember the good times.

I remember seeing gay men of diverse appearance and somewhat, kind of, diverse cultures being kind to RFD 173 Spring 2018 27

each other and laughing, a lot. I remember laughing, a lot, at some gatherings.

Laughing gay men is a sight for sore eyes. But also, that memory can be powerful. I did community work, cultural interaction and maintained some sense of pride with that memory kept near. Thanks guys.

I read more of Harry Hay’s commentary and took that to heart, always reminding myself that just because I have an immune problem does not mean I have to justify my existence. In fact, I turned it around and decided that I probably got this problem due to the incredibly short sighted investments of heteronormative society, which pollutes and breeds without care. (But don’t tell anyone. You might upset them.)

Recently I had another first. I started doing yoga

28 RFD 173 Spring 2018

and meditation on a daily basis. (Yeah, me. I just do not do the New Age stuff, but that’s another story. ) Realizations often arrive at old age, and one thinks, well duh, why didn’t I see that before? After a year of yoga a couple of realizations persist.

The ecology of the world moves through me, and I am just witnessing the vast majority of the dance.

Chicken scratching for my own immortality. Being with that, as an aging gay man, causes quite a bit of personal claustrophobia, but equal parts levity as well.

And this. I am an individual but I am not autonomous. We are quorum sensing microbes looking to meet as the costumes change. There is no time; first, middle nor last. There is no place to measure it. The dance is all there is.

“Deep Down” by Paul Richmond

Still Love You

by Kelly Connell

T

welve years ago I saw you for the first time. You liked my hands; I liked your kind eyes and smile.

Ten years ago we kissed for the first time. My heart felt like bursting and melting at the same time. Your lips were like velvet and your eyes filled with aching.

Ten years ago we made love every night. I could not get enough of your body and laying next to you at night it was torture trying not to put my hands on you so we could sleep. The more we learned about each other the more I loved you. We made apple crisp and walked in the snow holding hands. You made me want to be a better person.

We went shopping and I watched you shyly trying on leather jackets, trying on looking butch. When we parted that night it felt as if a thin cord linked our hearts together. As I drove away I could feel that cord being pulled thinner and thinner the farther I went, but not breaking. You said you felt it too.

We moved in together and you cut your hair and freaked out your mother. You were beautiful.

Eight years ago you wanted to drive a truck and quit your job and we made that happen. Your leaving was heart breaking. You were terrified and alone and I was worried about you constantly. Your first night was nothing but tears and we were so far from each other and I wanted to hold you in my arms and comfort you. It took all my strength to stay and work each day when all I wanted was to hop in my car and drive to you. It got better and worse by degrees, like waves we rode.

You were gone for months and every second you were on my mind. I got to hear your voice once a night and it was the highlight of every day.

Every year you managed to make your situation slightly better moving from job to job. You said, so you could be home with me more often. I supported every decision; we were trying to build a life. It was so hard! Me home alone all week, you on the road.

I lived for the weekends when we could be together.

Every Sunday our hearts would break again as you left.

You cut your hair and struggled to figure out who you were. Your Mom freaked out again. I bought you a fake dick. And you were beautiful.

Two years ago we got married. It was your idea. I was happy and proud to stand in front of our friends and hold your hands and say I do.

One year ago we bought a new house together.

You hated the old one; it was too small. I packed and moved us as you were still on the road every week.

We started to transform our space into what we wanted. We worked on projects and threw ideas back and forth and built memories and laughed together.

Every weekend we would make love and you would tell me that it was so good. We laughed a lot while we fucked, something unheard of in both our past loves. I loved you the best I could with all my heart. The goodness you felt every time was the love I felt for you. We never had time to be spontaneous, or romantic. We had two days to reconnect every week, sometimes less. But it was still wonderful every time.

Four weeks ago we were in the car laughing about something and you took my hand and said that you couldn’t imagine your life without me. What would you do without me? I was the best thing in your life.

And I agreed that you were the best thing in my life.

I’ve loved you more than everything.

Three weeks ago you got home early and bought me a chainsaw just to show me that I was important to you, that you were thinking about me. It was wonderful. I bought you tickets to see Carmen Esposito and you were so fucking happy and excited. You planned out our trip how it would all work, meeting in Portland, sleeping together in your truck. I love making you smile.

Three weeks ago we made love and you were soft and warm in my hands. Your cries made me love you better. And again you told me how freaking great it was, you were floating, and you felt as if your head would explode.

Two weeks ago we talked about cutting brush in the yard. We walked in the woods with the dogs. We talked and laughed together making normal plans.

Two days ago you told me you didn’t love me anymore.

T

he blood in my veins felt like ice. My heart didn’t just break it fucking exploded. I could hear a pounding in my ears like pressure and it was my heart beating. I felt like I was actually dying. I felt like I was going to vomit. I couldn’t breathe. You were scared, terrified to tell me this you said. Your life was going in a different direction you told me. Though you never told me what that direction was, or why I couldn’t go RFD 173 Spring 2018 29

too. But I guess because you’re not in love with me it doesn’t matter.

I still love you; I am still in love with you. My heart has no defenses against you. You are my wife, my lover, my partner, best friend! We are a team. Except now we are nothing.

Our future together, which used to seem like it was just in reach, is now just black. It does not exist.

All these memories of us together, loving and growing, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle, now they are shards of broken glass that cut me to my depths a million times a day. At night as I lie in our bed alone, they rain down on me stabbing and cutting and my blood runs like ice. I can’t think.

I want you to hold me and let me feel your love.

I want to bottle these feelings and force them down your throat! I want you to drink them down and own them.

And then I want you to take me back. To hold me in your arms and kiss my face and tell me you love me.

I have cried a million tears and there are so many more to come. I hate it. I have screamed until my throat was sore and howled in pain!

A million times a day I think of something we were going to do, or something we have done, and I feel the floor fall out from under me. That is no longer reality.

We no longer exist.

It is just you.

It is just me.

And I am still in love with you.

Y

ou said your job has changed your heart. Maybe it has made you harder. Maybe that has made me softer. But I am stronger than you could ever know.

And now you don’t know me at all. And I look back and have to wonder if I ever knew you. Because you built me up every minute for this fall. And it feels like betrayal and deceit now. And the love you professed for me feels like dirt in my mouth.

I phase in and out of this new reality. Because all my hopes and dreams of the future are tied to you, they don’t exist without you. I am so alone and in so much pain. I want to run to my best friend and fall to floor and be reassured, but that is you. I want my family back, my life back. All that you have taken from me and all that you refuse to give me now, I want it all. I want you to fill me up again because I am so empty.

And you say you still have feelings for me, but…

And we can still be friends, but….

And I am still in love with you.

30 RFD 173 Spring 2018

That used to be us I’m walking through the grocery store Buying single serving crap I hear giggling from behind me And I turn to look back And there is a couple laughing Doubled over at some silly private joke And I give a small sad smile and And remember how my heart broke That used to be us.

I’m driving home alone again Sitting at a red light so long I think it’s stuck I glance to the left and see an animated couple Sitting up high in a pickup truck They exchange a brief kiss then they’re laughing and smiling and singing a song And I shake my head sadly And remember how it felt to belong That used to be us.

I remember nights when you fell asleep With your head nestled down on my shoulder I remember nights when I dreamed of how We’d be together as we grew older Now I lie alone in my way too big bed And wonder where in the world you are If I could capture my love and send it to you Would you even bother to open the jar?

I’m sitting alone at the bar with a beer I scan the crowd hoping for someone familiar And there in a booth sits a couple of women They’re not on their phones how peculiar They speak quietly across the table Staring into each other eyes Then they reach across and take each other’s hands and smile I remember how my blood turned to ice when you told me you lied That used to be us.

I remember nights when I fell asleep With my head nestled down on your shoulder And I remember nights when although we were touching I wished somehow that we could be closer Now you have moved on to you next conquest And I’m left here alone with my heart It’s hard to believe that someone you love Would purposely tear you apart.

The First Time I Met Purli Sudds

By Randy Krahn

I

t was the fall of 1976. I was 26 at the time, living in Oregon, and traveling in Mexico on a great adventure. It was by chance that I had followed a random fellow explorer down to the Caribbean, arriving at the ancient Mayan ruins of Tulum.

My traveler friend and I camped there overnight, on the warm sandy beach at the edge of the water.

He left for home the next day, leaving me to explore on my own.

A carload of travelers arrived about noon that next day. The group of young guys piling out of an old Chevy grabbed my attention. One fellow got the focus of that attention: a slim, blonde guy carrying a guitar case. I watched him haul his stuff up the beach looking for a camping spot.

At this time of my life I was sure that I was gay, though not out to anyone but myself. Here I was now thousands of miles from home, all by myself, with extreme and immediate attraction to a very cute guy within my reach. There was nothing or no one to keep me from this unfolding adventure!

That night there was a friendly campfire on the beach. I made my way down, picking up a few pieces of driftwood along the way. As I set the wood on the fire, I looked across the flames to see that kid from the old Chevy. He looked up from playing his guitar and smiled at me smiling at him.

We went our separate ways that night as the fire died down. I hadn’t taken the chance to meet him then during our beachside songfest, but I certainly wanted to check him out the next morning.

The sun had barely risen over the palm trees by the time I was positioning my blanket on the sand.

I was pumped with anticipation as I surveyed up and down the beach, hoping for the chance that “he” may be within sight. And then, I spotted him.

Up there, by the line of coconut palms, was the fellow from the campfire! He lay facing the water, showing great interest in the book he was holding. My own book was put down in a hurry. I stood up and started in his direction. As I approached, he looked up with a huge grin, shutting his book.

(I noticed that in closing the book, he didn’t use a bookmarker.)

Right away we acknowledge seeing each other at the campfire. He said his name was Paul, a librarian from a small town in Colorado. (In letters from him

in the next few months, he would say that he was now called Purli.) I told him I was from Oregon, and currently carrying on this solo adventure in Mexico.

“Let’s go for a walk.” He offered.

By the water’s edge, we told each other stories of our lives. In the first few minutes, Paul told me he was discharged from the Navy for being gay.

My heart fluttered (as did my dick) and I answered quickly that I too was gay. There it was, my official coming out!

Told of this great revelation, Paul stopped and turned to me to say: “Ah, a late bloomer. Welcome to the family!” When I mentioned that he had closed his book without using a bookmarker, he laughed and said that he wasn’t reading the book, but actually was looking over at me! With all that out of the way, we were both ready for some real recreation and made a hurried move towards the woody thicket in the distance.

As a “newbie” I was all gung-ho to drop my cutoffs, as my new buddy cautioned us to watch out for the “federales” who would not look favorably on two naked guys in the bushes. That didn’t slow me down a bit, as we locked lips and sucked dicks until even the very experienced small town librarian was worn out.

The shadows had moved across the sands, as we made our way back to camp, holding hands, rubbing ass, and feeling really fine! That evening Paul moved his tent over next to where I was staying in the palm frond palapa. My hut days were over, as I moved my stuff to join him in his little shelter.

A

fter a fish and beer dinner with the other campers, we both couldn’t wait to get naked in the cozy privacy of Paul’s tent. What a great memory I have of those first few moments, when we were laying face-to-face and boner-to-boner. My new mentor, arms hugging his new student, whispered, “What do you like to do?” My naïve answer spoke the truth: “What IS there to do!” His delighted response: “Oooooooo……” as he proceeded to show me all the “to do” available to two horny young men on a warm Caribbean night.

We were inseparable best friends for a few more days before each of us had to go our separate ways.

Paul was headed off to finish up in Colorado before RFD 173 Spring 2018 31

boarding a freighter sailing to distant ports. I was headed back to the family farm in Oregon.

By the time we would meet again, in the spring of 1981, I had proudly and with great confidence come out to anyone who would listen. I had met my life partner through the spring 1979 issue of RFD and had moved onto Dave’s place in Northern California. By then we called him Purli, and he came and visited me and Dave on our homestead. Purli was on his way out to Short Mountain Sanctuary in Tennessee, then home to RFD: A Country Journal for Gay Men Everywhere.

Dave and I are still together today (69 years old and married!) on our little country place. It was the

32 RFD 173 Spring 2018

winter 1981 issue (#29) that inspired me to write down this amazing memory of my first encounter with this beautiful man, Purli Sudds. That issue (I have them ALL, from #1 to #172) popped up at random when I recently opened a dusty attic box.

There on the front cover of that “Humor” issue was a little picture of Purli and his goats. I saw my “First Time” article right there.

Purli passed on several years ago, among his loving Farie friends at Short Mountain. But, as you have witnessed here, his memory and spiritual influences carry on and on within the rest of us that were so fortunate and honored to have known him.

I am so grateful!

“The Dream Spinner” by Paul Richmond

written in the vernacular of lovers the two boys met while living in a dorm in which oleander invasively grew on the periphery in august, the pair beamed with infatuation; by september, the two acknowledged the mutual attraction;

& in october, the boys were attached to each other by the hips

november is never a prepossessing sight— it’s when winter’s first storm hits

the lovers laid together in bed caught ruminating in their reflections an effluence of light hit the mirror & sunrise looked like a butterfly set aflame beauty exists in one of two ways: (1) In perfect symmetry; perfect structure;

& perfect organization or (2) In complete disarray; utter spontaneity;

& partial chaos —nicholas fiorellini

RFD 173 Spring 2018 33

34 RFD 173 Spring 2018

Painting by Richard Vyse

First Time All the Time I cried when we made love the first time.

(Crying was yet another way of coming out.)

I couldn’t hold it back. I came in a rush, all of me, in a rush of tears and cum.

We nestled in the river rushes then – A rush of white feathers bottomed me in cloud, bathed me in white milk, and turned the hot pole of my central loneliness (hugged and climbed alone for so long) into the holy chrysanthemum that lifted us high, so high, flashing moons at the happy stars.

When dawn slid into the city streets, swan-down softly polished everything.

Tenderness had come at last.

— James McColley Eilers

RFD 173 Spring 2018 35

Catalog of Firsts

by Andrew Sweetfern

Two thousand seventeen was a year of many firsts for me:

The first time I didn’t worry about whether “someone might think I was gay.”

The first time I told someone I was gay with the idea that it would no longer be a secret.

The first time I participated in an LGBTQ+ pride event.

The first time I kissed a man.

The first time I joined the steering committee of a pride event.

The first time I loved a man.

(And the last time I saw men purely as objects of physical desire and sexual fantasy.)

The first time I had sex with a man.

The first time I had sex with anyone and thought of their body and their pleasure as much as my own.

Thus, the first time I had sex and didn’t feel like a selfish bastard.

The first time I walked down the street holding hands with another man.

And the first time I did so with no self-consciousness.

The first time I could envision introducing another man to my friends as my boyfriend, though that hasn’t quite happened yet.

The first time I could envision sharing my life with another man, though that hasn’t happened yet either.

The first time I dumped another man.

And the first time I was dumped by another man.

The first time I no longer saw my attraction to men as a “purely private matter.”

The first time I no longer felt ashamed of my attraction to men.

And the first time I feld proud of it.

36 RFD 173 Spring 2018

The first time I took on a leadership role in a pride event.

The first time I walked into a gay bar.

The first time I went to a bath house.

The first time I felt comfortable asking anyone of any gender out on a date.

The first time I wore a pink hat in public.

The first time I went to Provincetown.

The first time I both started and ended a year without my mother.

The first time I got divorced from the woman I love.

The first time in a very long time I felt at ease in my own skin.

I am 46 years old. I make this list not for myself, but for everyone who has ever had such a year of firsts, and everyone who ever will have one. You are not alone!

Ode to the Divine Fool Follow your own path Follow your calling Follow the mystery Toward a new day that’s dawning March to your own drumbeat Drift far from the course Make a journey of left turns In search of the Source Just keep moving onward Keep your head held high Your thoughts light and lofty Far up into the sky Some days will be cloudy Some days will bring rain But if you don’t take action Then nothing will change Stray far from the norm Move on from the pack Be determined and willing For there’s no turning back Now, that doesn’t mean to believe We should live our lives naïve Nor to stick our heads in the ground Every time trouble comes around Our childhood may have faded But we can’t spend our lives jaded Oh, stay forever young Stay forever diligent Stay forever curious And stay forever innocent Yet we cannot deny All the time that passes by No, we must endeavor to embrace Each and every wrinkle on our face From smiling and clowning To weeping and frowning All of it an experience Whether from pain or whether bliss It’s part of a grander plan And what it means to be human

The cycles of life and all they bring And within our hearts an eternal Spring Where we keep warm our inner child A sweet youth both mild and wild Let our babes thrive in that special place The paradise of our inner space For when our thoughts are mired We need a spark to lift us higher Above the weight of life that drags us down In a sea of woe which we would drown Oh, life can be cruel or life can be kind Life is what we leave behind For future generations All across the nations So let us plant more flowers To bloom beauty when it showers Colorful gifts to freshen the air From the stench of our derrieres Be foot loose and fancy free With spirits lighter than the breeze And when opportunities arrive Usually taking us quite by surprise Then take a bold step A quantum leap of faith, my friend That this is not the end But a new rebeginning Even though we may risk it all We must believe we will not fall For if we care to dare We may find we’ll be walking on air So…fly fly fly fly fly fly fly fly Oh such Divine Fools -­‐ Each and every one of us!

— Jay Sunlight Moonshadow

We have all the more reason To celebrate the seasons

RFD 173 Spring 2018 37

Puppy Love

by Perry McCrackin

D

ean first met Tyler in first grade sitting across the aisle from him at Clarke’s Point Elementary in Mrs. Miller’s class. Each time the teacher gave a test Tyler would score a hundred, and each time he would sneer and say he got a hundred and poke out his tongue. Tyler was a bully.

Then one day the gods smiled on Dean. He wasn’t one to boast, and he didn’t throw his success of a high score in Tyler’s face, but Tyler did ask, “What’d you get?”

“A hundred,” Dean said.

Amazingly, Tyler broke out in tears.

Dean thought it was strange that someone who bullied him about grades would burst into tears the first time Dean got a hundred. After that day, though, Tyler stopped bragging about his test scores.

In the seventh grade it was serendipitous that Tyler’s parents moved to the mill village where Dean lived. Tyler and Dean were neighbors now.

They became close friends: riding bikes, camping, swimming, and being boys. But the game they loved to play the most was I’ll show you mine if you show me yours from the end of May when the school year ended, to August just before the new school year started—just in case their cocks grew over the summer.

During the school year they rode the same bus, and started calling each other brother. By their junior year they played the same sports, and senior year they both lost their virginities dating the bouncing, buxom cheerleaders of Clarke’s Point High School.

When Dean turned eighteen in May, he signed the papers to join the Marine Corps after graduation. He would miss his family, but the only thing he regretted more was telling Tyler he was leaving that night at the senior party.

They ran along the beach of Lake Russell, stopping at the nearest point to the floating dock in the middle the lake. In the twilight the surface of the lake was as smooth as black glass reflecting the fire built out of the pine scrub near the beach.

Dean picked up a stone and skipped it across the still waters; he counted...five...six...seven... eight skips, till it hit the dock and sank, and the 38 RFD 173 Spring 2018

radiating ripples caught the light of the rising moon. They looked at each other, reading each other’s thoughts, and grinned.

Tyler toed off his shoes and unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, letting them puddle around his ankles. Almost predictably but with the right touch of anticipation, Dean’s arousal grew.

Tyler didn’t let the bulge in Dean’s trousers go unnoticed. He unbuttoned his white shirt slowly, taking it off seductively, and folded his clothes and thick-framed glasses neatly into a pile. Teasingly, Tyler asked “Did I mention I’m number one on the swim team?” Of course, Dean knew this without question—he had gone to all of Tyler’s swim meets. By now it was unmistakable: he adored Tyler.

Tyler knew it. He teased Dean with a wink: “And I suppose you will chicken-out when I say that I especially like it ...” Tyler brushed his fingers across Dean’s belt “... in public places.” Tyler drew himself up with a daring, debonair smile that lit up his face. Then Tyler clapped his hands getting Dean’s attention (which he had never lost) and placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. This sent sparks through Dean’s body, and then Tyler whispered, “There is joy in self-abandonment.” He smiled and dove into the water, swimming toward the floating dock.

Dean quickly took his clothes off leaving his inhibitions in a disheveled heap and dived into the cool waters after Tyler—softening his lengthening desire. Tyler beat him to the floating platform and climbed on. He offered Dean his hand, and pulled him aboard.

A warm breeze blew through the trees and across the lake, drying their bodies as they lay looking at the blanket of beautiful stars. For Dean, the stars were outclassed by the sight of moonlight spilling onto Tyler’s muscles, and Tyler mindlessly splashing his feet in the water.

There was a long moment when the two of them knew for certain what the future would bring. The breeze that rippled the surface blew Tyler’s long bangs from his eyes and brought Dean a smile.

Tyler closed his eyes and sighed, and Dean

leaned into Tyler’s warm body. They kissed on the dock in the middle of Lake Russell, each of them pining—hoping—for more. Their lips and hands explored each other slowly, deliberately, for the first time, as the waves splashed against the dock during their private rite of passage.

ing bonfire as remnants of burnt wood flickered and popped. Tyler watched Dean through the residual smoke that hung in the air. Their gazes locked.

Then a small flame sparked, and Dean recalled all the times he had seen Tyler after school in the locker room; they paled in comhe lake lay silver beneath the canopy of the parison to this moment. Now something had night sky as they rested on the platform. changed between them, something good, and “Dean?” Tyler placed his hand over his lover’s Dean saw Tyler in a different way. He was beauheart. tiful and he was angry, but he had the grace to “Hmmm?” forgive.

“Are you still planning on going into the Ma“I’ll miss you when you leave for the Marines,” rines after graduation?”

Tyler murmured, almost pouting.

Tyler knew. Dean’s Tendrils of smoke heart raced beneath Tyswirled up into Dean’s ler’s hand on his chest. lungs, taking in the He had avoided telling scents of wood and Tyler he leaving for musk, with a hint of the Marines time and sweat. And just like Then a small flame sparked, time again. He wanted that, there it was, Tyand Dean recalled all to protect Tyler from ler’s smile was etched the times he had seen heartache, not cause it, across his face. but somehow he knew.

Dean dragged his feet Tyler after school in the But under the night sky as he walked through locker room; they paled he wanted to profess his the shifting wisps of in comparison to this love for Tyler then and silver-gray smoke from moment. Now something there. the now-dead campfire Dean turned to Tyler, and embraced Tyler. His had changed between them, meeting his curious warm body and strong something good, and Dean eyes. “You do know that arms were comforting saw Tyler in a different I love you?” in the pre-dawn light. way. He was beautiful and Tyler inhaled and Their magic time was raised himself up on one ending. he was angry, but he had arm in one swift motion, “I love you,” Tyler the grace to forgive. releasing his hand. “Yes, whispered.

I do.” He looked back “I love you, too.” over his shoulder to the Dean’s heart ached for shore. The classmates him. “I’ll be back for were leaving—their long weekends and car tail lights faded around the bend with their holidays.” drunken cargo. Dean knew Tyler was feeling “Maybe we can play I’ll show you mine if left behind—becoming stranded in a small town you show me yours when you get back?” Tygoing nowhere, just as Dean was preparing to ler laughed, making light of his heartache. His leave. laughter was contagious and when their laughter “I love you,” he confessed and leaned back on ceased their eyes dared the other to move closer. his elbows, casting his eyes to the stars above, Tyler wanted nothing more than to kiss Dean. and realized that he too—like the stars—must Reluctant to make the first move Tyler lowered fall to make someone’s wish come true. his gaze, and leaned in slightly. This gesture prompted Dean to meet Tyler halfway. When yler dove into the water and swam toward Tyler looked again Dean was so close...he kissed the shore shouting for Dean to follow. When him goodbye. they reached the shore, they warmed by the dy-

T

T

RFD 173 Spring 2018 39

40 RFD 173 Spring 2018

Author at Adamama Winter Global Gathering. Photo by Mike Kear

“Come!”

by Prince Frivolous

It is hot sun shining the sea cools down sweaty bodies at this unofficial beach in North Croatia.

We are on holiday mom and dad already divorced and my sister insignificant.

Sex is in the air I hear my divorced parents fucking in the car I wish them pleasure.

I sunbathe in my speedos my slender body getting tanned.

There are nudists just a few hundred metres up the beach.

I wonder, can I go and watch them?

It excites me when I imagine naked people, I get hard.

Laying on my belly hiding the boner it feels good.

There is a cliff above me and there he stands free of clothes with a perfect tan as if he never wore anything.

He looks at me I look away shyly but then back up he is still standing is it a wink?

I go for a walk.

He walks down the beach I follow but keep safe distance nobody knows that I am following him.

I lose him it’s a release but I also wish to see him again.

RFD 173 Spring 2018 41

I sit on a low concrete wall looking at the sea feeling like a swimwear model in the Quelle magazine, confident, displaying my tight speedos.

Tight string makes it difficult to take them off but I help and he puts my dick in his mouth.

He liked me?!

I like it.

It is the first time.

Damn, I love it!

In the bushes something moves It’s him! my heart races.

He is looking my way for a while indicating with his index finger: “come.”

I feel fear and curiosity the latter one wins it’s my strongest drive.

I choose to follow, he leads me into the bushes we look in each other’s eyes he approaches and touches my crotch within seconds I get hard.

42 RFD 173 Spring 2018

“Psssst!”

I am too loud I must be quiet!

There are people passing behind the green bushes.

It’s hot he’s completely naked, sweaty he smiles showing his crooked teeth I know I shouldn’t but it’s so exciting!

He comes closer turns around and bends down exposing his anus wide open and clean.

He spits lubes and I come closer and slip my dick in with ease.

I go back mother makes lunch in the camper.

All is normal.

Just inside me and invisible storm.

What a divine feeling!

And what thoughts of wrongdoing trying to spoil this holy moment Is he a pervert?

And am I?

In the evening I see him, I hide, he is searching.

“Let’s go away from this place,” I suggest.

I am out he jerks me and I come shooting loads of my youthful sperm far on the dry grass.

I put on the swimming trunks, feeling amazing also, feeling so dirty.

I run into the sea hurting my knees on sharp rocks.

He’s up there smiling and waving at me!

I swim away, wanting to hide.

NOBODY can know!

We are nomads, we go, we are free.

But I am not free.

I know it.

I love sex!

I’ve fucked a man.

In Croatia.

In the bushes.

And I’ve just turned fourteen.

This is a true story. I see it as if it was yesterday and now I am twice the age. After this exciting summer, I came home. In school, I was told that unprotected sex leads to HIV which means that I might never have sex again and die. I had no information about this beforehand. Just from the church I knew that sex is sinful, and I might go to hell. I did not believe that, but I was afraid of HIV. A year later, I got information about anonymous tests in the capital. I had my first HIV test at the age of fifteen. During the seven days of waiting, I was petrified. The test was negative. Same as all the tests since. I still love sex. My name is Frivolous.

RFD 173 Spring 2018 43

My First Piercing

by Tim Evans

T

o keep with this RFD issue theme I would like I got my ear pierced. When the young lady asked to share my first experience of getting my ear which ear, the questions flooded my mind. What is pierced back in the early 1990s. In this day and age the gay rule? I hadn’t read the book yet! My friend a pierced ear lobe may seem inconsequential but and the young lady told me that it really didn’t matat that particular time in my life it was extremely ter anymore. I never did find a definitive answer. cathartic. I was in my late 30s and going through a No matter, I walked out of the mall with a very cool couple of major life events, sobriety and coming out little silver starter post in my right ear lobe. as a gay man. After many years of steady alcohol use What happened next is my cathartic experience. and living a closeted life I decided it was time for a Maybe it was adrenaline, I don’t know, but I sudbreak from the booze, especially after a DUI scared denly felt higher than any drug had made me feel. the crap out of me. As my mind and body began to Even though it was a barely visible piercing I felt as clear and get healthy the idea of living openly as a though a huge barrier had been broken, I had taken gay man, something I the mask off. I was out never thought possible in public feeling rebegan to climb to surleased from the closet. face. I used the alcohol Free from hiding. It was and occasional drug a moment of damn it, use as a shield as a way look at me! I’m gay, and When the young lady asked to suppress and hide I don’t care what you the real me. With that think. Piercing, tattoos, which ear, the questions medication gone I realbody modification can flooded my mind. What is the ized that many things I be powerful means of gay rule? I hadn’t read the thought could never be expression and this little book yet! My friend and the were in fact very possilver ball in my ear sent sible and necessary. me off into a new life young lady told me that it So yes, I did start of believing in myself really didn’t matter anymore. process of coming out and finding courage to to a few close people, express myself. taking baby steps.

Now of course, a And…I always wanted pierced ear does not an earring, but that mean a person is gay or would show everyone anything else for that I was a gay man, right? That was my belief. So I matter. Many people across the spectrum of life shoved that idea way back. With a close male friend have all kinds of piercings now for many reasons. and my “first time” I kept mentioning how I would But for me, at that time in my blossoming gay life, like to get a discreet silver post piercing in my lobe. getting my ear pierced was momentous. It was a But which side? What would my employer think? symbolic gesture on my part to say I am not afraid What would my family say? Oh, so many thoughts anymore. That afternoon in Burlington will always and questions weighed on my mind. At the same be one of my favorite memories. I still have my ears time, I was getting bolder; the world was becoming pierced, in fact three holes in one ear and a large more vivid and colorful in my sobriety. On a cool gauge hole in the other. I love my earrings. My husspring afternoon he and I were walking around the band and I like to play earrings every once in a while Church Street Marketplace in Burlington, VT and and switch out our jewelry. I never looked back after I brought up the piercing subject again. “That’s it” that wonderful day and my journey has brought me my friend said in exasperation, “we are getting your to many places I never thought possible. I will keep ear pierced!” Wait, what, really? “I’ll even pay for it” my big gay earrings into old age! he said. So we went to the mall (how romantic!) and 44 RFD 173 Spring 2018

“Cultural Androgyny” by Paul Richmond

RFD 173 Spring 2018 45

46 RFD 173 Spring 2018

“Where There’s Light” by Paul Richmond

Radical Faerie Glitter Ball 8th December 2001

by Will Pounds

Jiggi,New South Wales, Australia.

I

t was a dark bleak night, tropical rain falling in relentless curtains, the country road awash, the headlights catching enormous raindrops like chain-mail….the red earth forming huge brown puddles. It was the sort of rain you have to peer through, shoulders arched and arms tense, the windscreen wipers barely clearing it, such was its intensity.

H

ardly a night to venture deep into the Australian countryside from the coast with its perfect white sand leaving the comforting regular beam of the lighthouse on Cape Byron far behind us.

My Texan friend Damon and I had decided to venture inland to attend the ‘Faerie Glitter Ball’, being held in the village hall at Jiggi—a dot on the map somewhere behind Lismore off the road to Nimbin (the funky town better known for hippies, communes and weed, in the hinterland of cattle-farms, with the last tracts of virgin rain-forest saved from the loggers,home to Radical Faeries and communes).

We were on an adventure, both exploring an unknown world far from our own.

S

o, on this dark wet night, we got there.

Not that there was much to see.

The typical planked Australian village Hall could be church, could be school, could be community centre, probably all and more.

Cars, vans, trucks parked alongside, not a soul. A single light twinkling in the driving-rain, swinging in the wind, marking the entrance porch. The faint beat of music, a mad dash from the car, and we burst in.

Photos courtesy author.

The invitation requested: ‘When you enter the sacred space of the Fairy glitter ball, we ask you to help us foster emotional security with others by surrendering to the true power of insights, recognise the significance of others and bring out their importance .

Uplift others enthusiastically, take risks and be selflessly committed to exposing your spontaneous perceptions and be led past your greatest fears to self mastery.

Relieve yourself of what perfect behaviour ought to look like, rid yourself of making judgements that cause separation, create and confirm your own goodness for the sake of promoting the closeness that we each desire within the larger sister/brotherhood’ And so, for two not-so-Radical Faeries, who stumbled upon this haven of enlightenment, these words came true.

First sight, a fabulous vision in sequins, pink, radiant, beehive towering over us—only in Australia, home of Priscilla Queen of the desert, here, in person,taking our donation, welcoming us in, warm, open armed, false eyelash blinking, all inclusiveness.

And through a beaded curtain into the Hall.

Oh joy, oh fabulousness!

Into another Universe, a place of fantasy and delight !

Bathed in pink and purple light, probably-Christmas tree lights festooned, sparkles and shimmering.

A host of folk we had never encountered before.

RFD 173 Spring 2018 47

A spectacular costume, green body paint, and multiple green breasts (balloons) matching the real ones belonging to the artist. As she walked amongst us, she squeezed a breast (I assume a balloon !) showering us with milk!

The effect most convincing.

Her description on the advertisement for the Ball reads:

D

ancing (on the sprung gym floor), an older, twinkly-eyed type, long whitehair, long beard— you might cast him as an old miner—except he was blissfully dancing in his splendid nakedness (apart from slightly incongruous trainers).

Alongside him an assortment of forest folk—many with wings—some small and fluttery, several huge, butterfly-like, transparent and floating on the shoulders of great physique and beauty. But body fascism played no part in this host of free spirits….large, some even larger, rejoicing in their ample flesh, and age seemingly immaterial, young imps, a few very senior with faces lined with wisdom and long-lives, everyone rejoicing, everyone free, everyone seemingly full of joy !

“On the 8th December 2001, Artemis the Goddess of abundance, Virginity, Home, Hunting, and the Moon, daughter of Zeus and sister of Apollo, will be descending down from the heavens to pay homage to the Radical Faeries. Make the pilgrimage to Jiggi Hall and share in the energy of the invocation.”

Which we did, indeed, with a lasting, sparkling, awe-inspiring, heart-warming memory of such an extraordinary evening .

At a certain stage the music hushed, most sat, reclined, leaned on the floor. a sacred ceremony took place. an incantation. ‘circle of pleasure, protect and guard, from contagion keep and ward, that every act of love and lust. may be enjoyed in total trust’ Interestingly this was a little sharp at the time.

We had both lived through the worst of the HIV epidemic and seventeen years after (2018). With combination therapy and the medical progress which has been made since then the words take on a gentler kinder meaning.

Then the Goddess Artemis made her appearance.

In my mind she descended from the heavens, but I think she came through the beaded curtain.

48 RFD 173 Spring 2018

The music resumed.

The Dancing picked up.

We cavorted with faeries into the early hours.

There was a feast to be had, the community kitchen well-attended with less Radical Faeries, the earth-mothers, the slightly old-schoolers, the shy ones, the cup-of-tea ones—a place for everyone, truly all inclusive.

And here I am, nearly twenty years later, sharing an evening which remains one of the most memorable and marvellous I have ever experienced—and send love and greetings to all you Radical Faeries, with special memories of Jiggi, Tuntable Falls and the forest near Nimbin.

Images courtesy author.

Hobbit Home!

Adamama Israeli Fairy Sanctuary

by Eve From Albion

T

ha Cannanite tribe made me feel like I was at home, I didn’t want to leave!

I visited for my first time here for the quiet gathering (not that quiet but fab) then the Global Gathering – 135 faeries, 12 Dec – 2 Jan. They are a tantric bunch, it was the first time I have actually stayed and got involved with a love temple opening! I was also impressed with the work we did around consent and touch, great workshops. Then there was the many handed massage – yummy! Five rhythms – naked in nature!

Photos courtesy author.

OMG the food! To die for! Lashings of delicious tahini with everything, and eggplant, all vegan.

I have never eaten so well!

Mulled wine Christmas Eve, dancing in the big tent New Years Eve, so many fantastic memories!

They have a huge art studio – The Amy (Winehouse) it inspired me to do my yoniheart and mandala along with many signs for the gathering (pictured right).

Apparently pot means vagina in Hebrew! Yay! Deep deep gratitude for the welcome, the love, the healing! I will return.

RFD 173 Spring 2018 49

50 RFD 173 Spring 2018

“A Space of Your Own” by Paul Richmond

Where I Left My Wings A few weeks into spring I learn that retreat to nature does not preclude relationships.

Human voices may be absent, but the wren bickers as I approach her nest, mice in hobo shanties must be evicted from my shed, and my midday meal is arrested when a colony of termites expels a swarm of winged imago.

Make way for the procession!

As they disperse in ragged lines through the air I imagine how it feels to fly, and maybe mate, in just one day.

One day in a short life--one chance to soar.

Countless numbers crash two feet from start and future kings and queens unhook their wings to stake a claim on my folding chair.

Others aim high and spiral-climb towards the sun.

I watch them ‘til my eyes water and my heart recalls Andrea-I saw him last in New York.

We had vowed a reunion the next summer, but I abandoned him in terror of intimacy.

In an email I wrote, “Please don’t contact me for at least a year.”

After the termite traffic ends, I reclaim the folding chair and find my seat sprinkled in pixie wings.

I shake them off like maple seeds then remember: four years ago, I faltered near the start and left my wings in a cabin on Piano Mountain.

— Spriggan Radfae

RFD 173 Spring 2018 51

Adventure in the Sin Trade

by Fadrian Bartley

The stories of events took place Beyond the veil of hidden agenda Are making throbbing sounds Slapping the moisten flesh of sweet harmony These walls have things to tell There are two accompanied nature Thriving with deep feelings to care for When indulge in playful act of lawless things Anxiously engraved my eyes upon desire With all my members Stands at attention Waiting to be discipline by its principal Then I kept my tool safely into a zip locker And when remove I hold it carefully with a plastic wrap The law says Protect yourself from germs It’s beautiful on top of the hills When looking down on the city with many lights While our cigarettes puffs climbs the air leaving us with four eyes Fastened unto each other stained with lust Faith celebrate and critic The journey that was denied For two of a kind who personalized Their presence with a kiss and don’t tell

52 RFD 173 Spring 2018

But the amazing story Is when its rain And the night relax with strange bedfellows Sharing something unable to publicized only some will speculate Lifting eye brows and spill wasteful Things from their lips with slippery Lies that cannot be swallow But spit out for unpleasant taste Welcome to a place where one can Open their understanding And receive all the knowledge at an Enormous sized of ten inches in speed If the truth hurts then change Position to whatever one can take But don’t fake And don’t despised the things in which two souls relate Come let us debate on strange love And learn to understand Behavioural tendencies Those others will not hug and kiss with a cheer but react defensively

An Open Letter to Ocean Vuong

by Woody Woodger

…holy water smeared between your thighs

where no man ever drowned from too much thirst

the cumshot…1 is something I’ve only seen replicated in a Tumblr porn thread as I jerk-off in a dorm bathroom.

A muffled convolution, the crimped headphone cord hasty and knotted. The lights are always off not out of shame, but something close—quivering between me and the temperatureless blue in my screen. Speaking of close to shame, my parents!

They (somehow) don’t know (or care, or want to care) that I molted into bi-hood somewhere in the corner of middle school. I expect you—you mouthy Twitter bot disguised as a human—to keep it them as big-dumb-grin as they want.

Whenever I am in my thigh-jelly afterglow after a good cum, I YouTube some ambient music, sink myself in the aquatic sounds of the douche motif I’ve so elegantly with cardigans and septum rings. Some of my girlfriend’s black and white prints (the bad high school ones she was willing to give me) curl at the edges a dorm room away. I wish she was here to seduce me. I’m drunk right now. That mean-slumber drunk. Like how my Uncle used to get. I think I’m coming off funny. I was too drunk to come off at all.

Ocean Vuong always says it better than me.

Romantic even—a jizz into prophesy. A triumph?

But me, I’ve left enough black-lightable DNA in my

dorm toilet to fill a half hour of CSI. Think David Caruso peering through a cloudy test tube where the team is cloning a whole new me. But a new me; one of those pitiful fuk-bois prowling the beer pong table, more testosterone than body. The one that won’t cry into his girlfriend’s jean jacket in the bathroom.

To my surprise though, I always play a noir villain at the bus terminal. But in my room, I just want to swallow a leach, see how far it travels before fizzling from the vomit dried like stucco on my epiglottis. My poet, (quasi) friend Keith Leonard actually met Vuong, said he really believes poetry can change the world. When will the dim day come where I too can believe all the liberal-bubble bullshit?

I mean, Vuong, you should. You should keep making words shiver into a seance. You (and those few, fleshy apparitions like you) really could make the world’s evil have to strap on some boxing gloves, shunt a tampon up its nose to curb the bleeding.

So I ask you: pick a more poignant mission. Try actuarial work, be Bono’s publicist. Actually unleash a plague of iron frogs on the West Bank Wall, mystically gerrymander Missouri into a Planned Parenthood sanctuary. And please—for all our sakes—decaffeinate all my easy outrage. I want you to survive, Ocean. Let poetry go. It’s always too quick isn’t it?

Too wide-eyed and earnest to clean the food from its mouth, every scrap gone but the plate.

1

“Ode to Masturbation”, Ocean Vuong.

RFD 173 Spring 2018 53

Three Faces of God

by Story Stag

‘A

s I see it, you can meet men in three ways: with you head, with your heart, or... with your cock.

I don’t necessarily mean shagging, just how you see them and how they see you. There might be an intellectual connection, or an emotional or romantic one, or just plain physical attraction, good old animal magnetism.’ I picked up my beer, and Geek nodded in appreciation.

I had met Geek with my head earlier that day, when I took my laptop to be fixed. There he was at the counter, a handsome man with dark hair and beard, both slightly unkempt, thin rimmed glasses framing brown eyes. I explained that Windows 10 had started downloading even though I hadn’t ordered it. I had panicked and pulled out the battery, and the laptop had behaved funny ever since.

We were soon chatting away about the evils of Microsoft as he fiddled with my laptop and told me to come back later. He was clever and interesting. I made sure to return shortly before closing time, and asked if he fancied a pint.

Geek replied thoughtfully to my theory. ‘I like the triple aspect – head, heart, cock. You remind me of an idea I’m working on. Do you know about the triple Goddess? Three phases, Maiden, Mother and Crone?’

I nodded, but he explained anyway. ‘The Maiden is the waxing moon, she represents youthful enchantment, new beginnings, purity. The Mother is the full moon, she represents fertility, power, sexuality, and protection. The Crone, or Hag, is the waning moon, she represents wisdom, but also endings and death.’

‘Paganism 101. Go on.’ I said, trying to sound clever.

‘Well, I’ve been considering whether we can have a triple God. Three phases of God, or perhaps, three faces of God. I call them the Geek, the Bastard and the Strong Silent Type.’

I nearly bit into my pint glass, stifling laughter as I drank.

‘Working title,’ he added. ‘The Geek archetype is your intellect and perception, your awareness of spirits and energies. It might be represented by high magic.’

‘Sherlock Holmes, then?’ I asked.

‘A bit extreme. Perhaps Holmes meets Scott 54 RFD 173 Spring 2018

Pilgrim vs the World. Moving on to the Bastard – that’s not really a good name. He’s not all bad. He’s lustful and can be selfish, focused on his own fulfilment. But sometimes we need that energy, an aspect which unashamedly helps ourselves, no apologies necessary. Think Stuart in Queer as Folk. Successful career, shags anything, doesn’t take any shit from homophobes.’

‘The Horny God’ I quipped. ‘I guess Bastard probably meets people with his cock. And the Geek with his head. Maybe our ideas aren’t that different.’

Geek continued, ‘And the Strong Silent Type, well, that’s your Iron John or Green Man archetype.

Powerful masculinity, confident enough that he doesn’t need to show off.’

I interrupted again. ‘He’s the type of man who makes love to you on top of the flannel shirt he took off, to cover the sawdust he generated, while building a bookcase that he’s giving you for your birthday.

Or something like that.’

It was Geek’s turn to laugh.

‘That’s Ethan Green’s Doug, I can’t take the credit.’ I realised Geek was bringing out the geek in me.

‘I suppose you’d meet him with your heart, you’re such a romantic.’ Geek responded.

O

ur conversation moved on, and I thought no more of the three faces of God, but somehow geeks, bastards and strong silent types flitted in and out of my dreams that night. The next morning I had forgotten all about it, until I got on the bus. And there they were. All three of them compelling, each alone on a seat, seemingly beckoning me to choose one and join him. All three were white with fair hair.

‘The Nordic Edition’, I thought to myself.

The Geek was about 19, with shoulder length hair, looking around restlessly. Too young, even if he is a pretty boy, I thought. The Bastard was is in his early 20s, good looking and he knew it. He was wearing an open black leather jacket over a white Tshirt, despite the warm weather, sitting in the aisle seat, unwelcoming. The Strong Silent Type must have been in his late 20s, ginger blond beard, sitting back relaxed with his headphones on. I imagined he was listening to Vivaldi, for some reason. I made my choice and sat down next to the Strong Silent Type.

In seconds, the illusion shattered. The Strong Silent Type was playing some inane game on his phone, his relaxed smile now more of a stupid grin.

I looked around as if to check if I could still change my mind. The Bastard was smiling at a large young woman who had just got on the bus. ‘Hi Jen. Saved you a seat,’ he said, cheerfully sliding over towards the window. I glanced over at the Geek, who was nodding his head in time with unheard music. He suddenly burst out laughing – and the laughter filled the bus as all joined in, the laugh of a trickster God filling my universe. I blushed, humiliated. ‘Three Faces of God, my arse!’ I muttered under my breath.

‘No, but I met him with my cock, so I think my theory still holds.’ I replied.

We were sitting on the pebble beach, the second spliff recently finished, and soon Geek was telling me more mythology.

‘There’s a common theme in many traditional stories,’ he said. ‘At the end of the summer, the new-born god kills his father and becomes god himself. In time he marries the goddess, and gives birth to his own son. It’s a cyclical story. God is the grain, dying at harvest and being reborn when the new crop is sown, the Goddess is the Earth. A bit heteronormative, but nevermind. In some versions, he doesn’t know that it’s his father that he’s killing. needed to clear my head and stop thinking about That’s the origin of the Oedipus story, actually.’ gods and men. Or at least gods as men. There was ‘What about Jesus? Is that the same story?’ I a club night titled ‘Leather and Naked’. I wasn’t sure asked.

I approved of the theme, but it would do. It turned ‘Similar. Only there God kills his son, rather than out to be suitably raunhis father. But they are one chy, mostly full of bears in and the same, so I suppose minimal leather, and soon they just swapped places.’

I found myself in the back ‘That’s fucked up,’ I proroom, on my knees in front tested. ‘Hell, even Abraham of three of them. refused to kill his son.’

‘OK, then I guess all the ‘Goldi-cocks and the ‘No, actually,’ Geek corpatriarchal religions Three Bears’, I thought. rected me. ‘He was ready Papa Bear’s cock was too to do it and God stayed his are fucked up! You can big. My jaw hurt as I tried hand.’ stab your father or son to engulf it, and when he ‘OK, then I guess all the to death, but not stab put his hands encouragpatriarchal religions are another man with your ingly on the back of my fucked up! You can stab head, I pulled away. Baby your father or son to death, penis.’

Bear was just a cub. Legally but not stab another man old enough, but nonethewith your penis.’ less I couldn’t help thinkOur discussion froze as ing, ‘How can I sing him a a muscular man walked by lullaby with his cock in my and we both followed him mouth? It must be past his bed time.’ Mama Bear’s with our eyes. cock was just right. He was a beautiful man, his ‘Is that your type? Your... Strong Silent Type?’ dark skin glistening with sweat against two leather Geek needled me. straps crossing on his chest. I feasted on him, all the I looked at the hunk in appreciation, but before I way to his shiny cockring, and soon in our pleasure, could answer, Strong Silent Type let out an unmanly the room and everyone in it disappeared. We were yelp as something hurt his foot. He was walking between the worlds through the magic of anonygingerly over the pebbles, carefully placing each foot mous sex. down after testing for sharp stones. Geek began to Later Mama Bear bought me a drink at the bar, giggle. Soon Strong Silent Type walked into the waand asked for my number in a posher accent than I ter knee deep, his shoulders noticeably tightening as expected. he cringed with each cold wave. Geek was laughing out loud as the stereotype crumbled, and I couldn’t our number, not your Grindr handle?’ Geek help joining in. asked a few days later.

‘What about your love life?’ I changed the subject ‘He doesn’t do online dating,’ I responded. when we calmed down. ‘Tell me more about this ‘Not much of a Bastard then.’ polyamory thing. Are you practicing, or is it just an

I

‘Y

RFD 173 Spring 2018 55

idea?’ has a bit of a geeky side.’

Geek was in the middle of explaining unposses‘Why do you have to choose?’ Geek asked. sive love to me, when a shadow slid over my face.

I ignored the question and continued. ‘And ‘Hi there.’ It was Strong Silent Type, dripping wet Mama Bear turns out not to be much of a Bastard, and gorgeous, goose-bumps and all. he’s really sweet. The other night he said to me, ‘Hi,’ I tried to sound nonchalant.

“Sometimes you find you have a deeper connection ‘I think we’ve met before,’ he continued. ‘Billy’s with the man who sucked your cock than the man birthday party. You said you’d take me rock-climbing with whom you had a long, deep conversation.”’ sometime. I was with my boyfriend. My ex, I mean.

I mimicked Mama Bear, putting on my poshest Ex now, that is.’ accent.

I felt myself blushing as I remembered. ‘Of ‘He said ‘whom’?’ Geek asked. course. You were wearing more clothes at the ‘I think so. Did I tell you he makes his own jam? party,’ I heard myself say, immediately begging the Anyway, he’s not the Bastard archetype, is what I universe for a free rewind. was trying to say. But—’ But Strong Silent Type laughed. ‘So were you.’

Geek interrupted me impatiently. ‘I never said The thought of this hunk noticing my body men were one of the three types. It was just an made my heart skip a beat. idea about a triple god. I was It took all my courage to say, probably talking bollocks.

‘Would you like to go for And I’m not your Geek God, some fish and chips? There’s a I’m just a man.’

Mama Bear turns nice place down the beach.’

‘Sorry, Tony.’ I thought of out not to be much ‘Sure, but just chips for him as Geek so much that I of a Bastard, he’s me. Vegetarian.’ He said had nearly forWgotten his apologetically. name. really sweet. The Of course he is, I thought, ‘But what you said,’ he other night he said picturing him sitting in the continued, dismissing my to me, “Sometimes woods in Snow White’s dress, apology with a wave of his you find you have a a bluebird on his finger as hand, ‘about meeting somecuddly animals gathered one with your head, your deeper connection round him. heart or your cock – I like with the man who I turned to Geek to apolothat. I think you’re right. You sucked your cock than gise for leaving him, but he certainly met me with your the man with whom seemed to be ignoring us, his head. You hardly noticed the head turned the other way rest of me.’ you had a long, deep as he checked out two young I was taken aback by his conversation.”’ men stripping off for a swim. directness, I’d never known Without turning he said, Geek/Tony to be so assertive.

‘Do you want him to be your ‘Anyway, don’t be a dick. daddy? Do you want to stab Keep going out with both of him?’ them.’ He paused. ‘You never know how long it will He was in stinging mode, so we left. last anyway.’

‘So maybe I need one head, one heart and one couple of weeks later, I was at Geek’s house cock,’ I mused, still missing the point. for the first time. It looked normal, no sci-fi ‘Maybe it’s not about what they represent. You posters on the wall, no visible Star Wars gadgets, saw three men on the bus, and three men in the but there was a huge plasma screen on the wall. We club. Maybe it’s just that you need three lovers.’ had cheap pizza and good wine – opened with a ‘Three?’ I asked.

Dalek corkscrew.

‘Why haven’t we done this yet?’ he responded, ‘I can’t decide,’ I said. I was trying not to look and leaned in to kiss me. too smug after telling Geek about my brilliant That was our first kiss, the sweetest one, me and night with Strong Silent Type, but I was smiling ear my Geek God, the man I met with my head, my to ear. ‘He’s strong, but not so silent,’ I whispered lovely Tony. Much has happened since then, but we loudly as the wine went to my head. ‘Actually, he remain lovers to this day.

A

56 RFD 173 Spring 2018

“Here and Now” by Paul Richmond

RFD 173 Spring 2018 57

58 RFD 173 Spring 2018

A SISTER IN NEED Sr. Soami is a co-founder of the international human rights charity, The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.

In the 38 years of their existence they have raised hundreds of thousands of dollars and dispensed it to local underfunded community groups. Sr. Soami is also a longtime editor of RFD. Having survived brain surgery six years ago, Sister manages with social security on a month to month basis. He has been challenged recently by dental and other expenses. Our goal to support sister at this time of need. —Branch Ezra, Mountaine Jonas, Josh Brown/ Sr Clara, Jocelyn Bezzi, James Carpenter/Topaz, Sr Faegala and all friends of Sister Soami.

www.gofundme.com/sister-soami-retirement-fund

Some provisional dates for 2018 at Folleterre, the Eurofaeries’ Sanctuary on France to get your juices flowing: The provisional Follterre calendar for 2018 is: 21–28 April Spring Community Week 29 April to 6 May Beltane Gathering 9–16 June Faerie Sex Magick Workshop 18–24 June Summer Solstice 1 - 8 July New Sanctuary Gathering 10 - 18 July Faerie Politics Gathering 21 July to 3 August Summer Community Week (including 28–29 July Great Circle) 4–12 August Summer Gathering 20–31 October Lumbers Dates will be confirmed on the website as they get, er, confirmed: http://www.folleterre.org/en/gather/ If you have any questions or want to offer a gathering contact Faedra, our Gathering Princess, at: gather@folleterre.org

RFD 173 Spring 2018 59

Subsidized housing for writers in Maine.

Fore more information: egrwritershouse.blogspot.com.

www.whitecraneinstitute.com Advertise in RFD It really helps keep this magazine in production! We offer affordable rates and a growing subscriber base. If you have questions about advertising, please contact Bambi at submissions@rfdmag.org or visit our website at www.rfdmag.org/advertise.php.

60 RFD 173 Spring 2018

Back Issue Sale!

20% off for Five or More

www.rfdmag.org

Issue 175 / Fall 2018

QUEER PRESS AND YOU Submission Deadline: July 21, 2018 www.rfdmag.org/upload

Back when RFD started there was a burgeoning gay press, everything from feminist journals to gay male porn with poetry by Andre Gide.

The big national gay press - The Advocate, the Washington Blade and Gay Community News filled many of our mailboxes or were things we picked up at cool newsstands or the ubiquitous headshops that filled the 70’s with the remnants of the New Left and the hippy culture.

There were also literary ventures like Sinister Wisdom and Fag Rag. The community was coming out in all sorts of ways and a wide ranging queer press was there delving into the spiritual (White Crane, Green Man), feminism (Heresies, Off Our Backs) and other various topics like art and politics.

The 80s brought even more regional and local gay newspapers and bar rags and the birth of the more radical queer zines began to appear along more traditional fare like Christopher Street. The 80s also brought the AIDS crisis and by the end of the decade more political gay magazines hit the streets like Outweek.

For a short period there was a strong GLBT press of color like BLK but by the late 90s consolidation, the internet and probably to some extent assimilation the gay press shrank.

Given the rise of political activism today like “Gays Against Guns,” “RISE + RESIST,” what can we glean from this earlier period of queer ethos and perspective, and what might we learn from previous attempts seen in past media of creating change that can nurture our current moment.

We’re hoping you will share your stories about the gay media and how it shaped your experience. We welcome submissions on any era of the gay press and are open to hearing about how new media (blogs, web portals, and other online media) has shaped how you understand our queer world.

Please share your stories especially if you wrote for, were interviewed or otherwise took part in gay media.

RFD 173 Spring 2018 61

RFD Vol 44 No 3 #173 $11.95

62 RFD 173 Spring 2018

a reader created gay quarterly celebrating queer diversity