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5:13 p.m. - Sunday, Feb. 15, 2004
The Xmas Party
I was forewarned, so I didn�t have the right to be surprised when I arrived at the Christmas party. I had never met the hosts, but I knew them to be a gay couple of many years who took great delight in throwing a Christmas party every year for all their friends, relatives and co-workers. From their address in an upper middle-class neighborhood in Biloxi, I knew that these men had the means to throw a pretty respectable party, and that they were established enough to have a great many friends.

I underestimated them.

I couldn�t find the house number in the dark, but right where I expected the house to be, I found a home whose entire front yard was draped in bright lights, figurines, a nativity scene, American flags, and a couple of bewildered-looking yard gnomes. The whole scene was, to my mind, fairly disorganized and a bit gaudy, in a good ol� boy, gay bubba kind of way. Fortunately, it was all tied together at the tall flood-lit flagpole with Old Glory waving in the forty-degree breeze. At the base of the flagpole, I found a rather eerie life-sized mannequin of Santo-Claus, waving at me, singing bad Christmas carols and wishing me a merry Christmas, HO HO HO! It all freaked me out a little bit. I realized at that moment that if I was going to edge past Santa to get to the front door, I was going to have to drop my long-held assumption that gay men always have good taste and leave it laying on the cold sidewalk outside.

I still wasn�t a hundred percent sure I was at the right party. But at least I was sure I was at some kind of party. There were cars parked up and down the street on both sides. In front of the house, bathed in the glow of the yard lights a huge RV rocked and blared with the sounds of a satellite party of sorts. It was a party outside the party. I didn�t even think about going in there. One of my prime rules as a party-goer is to always be sure that the party will end more or less where it started. I didn�t care for the front yard, but I still wanted that same yard to be there when I came out, you know?

The front door was open, guarded against the winter chill only by a glass storm door. I peeked inside, hoping to see my one and only friend there, the long-lashed drag queen. I didn�t see her, but I never had any fun when I didn�t take a chance, so I stepped inside to join the crowd of people already present. A lady seated near the door saw me come in and simply told me to put my coat in the bedroom down the hall. Even if it wasn�t the right party, I was officially AT the party.

The house was not unlike the yard. It was a great house with many rooms. And every room was draped and decked and lit and garlanded with every sort of green and red flower, wreath, sticker and toy imaginable.. In the living room, an artificial tree seemed to be standing on tiptoe, just to keep the top of itself above a heap of stuffed animals, mostly white teddy bears that lay piled around it and fully half-way up the branches. Around all that, an oversized toy choo-choo train chugged lazily around and around its track. The carpet was white, the wrap-around sofa was white, and most of the men in the room were white. And young. As the evening progressed, I would see bit of color added to all three as guests both colorful and colored drifted in and out, and as unwatched drinks became inadvertently brushed from the coffee table to the carpet. Someone commented on the wisdom of always scheduling the carpet cleaners AFTER a party rather than before.

LL Queen found me in the kitchen. It was large, with tile floors, white, of course, and a big island in the center. There was food heaped everywhere. The island held most of the meats and casseroles, but all the counters and a couple of tables held bread rolls, more meat, bowls of punch, cookies, pies, chips, dips, vegetables, salami, cheese cubes, and no doubt a number of items I didn�t even notice. There was a huge tray heaped with BBQ ribs, another with a ham. There was a deep-fried turkey, my personal favorite, and an assortment of buffalo wings, both spicy and mild, sweet and sour meatballs and cold cuts. My diet weary mind tried to do a quick estimate of the total caloric content of the room. It had to be in the tens of millions, like the distance from here to the next galaxy or something. AS I stood there reeling in the presence of all that glorious food, LLQueen appeared from behind me, a drink in her hand. By then, I didn�t even feel any special relief at seeing her. I had stopped wondering if this was the right party. I had decided that with a feed like this, ANY party could be the right party.

She hugged me with her non-drink arm and began introducing me around. Our hosts, Ben and Jerry (not their real names) were identified to me, as well as just more people than I can remember, then I was pointed towards the Florida room, where a complete wet bar, complete with a charming young bartender was set up. It was still early and not everyone there was gay or lesbian, but most of them were. They were among friends, and letting themselves enjoy the mood, each in his (or her) own special way. Without exception, I was treated most warmly and with great respect. I was handed a tumbler containing mostly rum with a little Diet Coke added for color which I took for a quick look at the large, multi-level backyard deck, complete with walkway, gazebo, and the obligatory hot-tub. Now I�m sure you won�t believe this, but every square foot of the back yard was lit and decorated just as gaudily as the front yard. It was a bit of a waste however, because it was just too cold to stay out there for long.

I took my drink back inside, and after getting a token plate of calories, I settled into a seat next to a lady about my age. As we got acquainted, I learned that she was the mother of a young man who had died of AIDS just exactly a year ago. Ouch. I hated it that she lost her son to AIDS, and I felt so bad that she was trying to deal with the anniversary of his death. I stayed and talked to her for the best part of an hour, even though it wasn�t the kind of conversation that puts one into a party mood. After a while, when she got up to get another plate, I drifted through several more rooms; Rooms of which I�m not sure of the exact purpose. Sitting rooms, I guess. I think it�s fair to say that the house really had more rooms than were absolutely necessary. I eventually landed back in the living room, on that white sofa I mentioned. LL Queen was there, surrounded by half a dozen pretty young men. They made room for me in their midst, and I passed another hour chatting with them. One of these was dressed from head to toe in leather. Hs leather shirt was buttoned right up to the top, adding a little bit of a geeky look to an outfit that otherwise might have been intimidating. He was obviously into some of the very same things I am into, and we had a lot to discuss. In the end, though, it was nothing more than talk, as I don�t posses the certain bits of anatomy that interested him the most. Still, he had an interesting story and some good advice for me. I also got an insight from him of what the gay leather scene is like. I guessed long ago that the scene is, shall we say�. Free-wheeling? But I don�t think I ever realized how downright promiscuous these guys are.

Another drink or two and I found myself talking to one of the local TV celebrities. I can�t divulge a lot, but it doesn�t matter too much. He�s very local. Not a celebrity at all outside of Biloxi. But he was another pretty man, and he had one of lesser beauty hanging on his arm and nuzzling into him while we talked. After awhile, I noticed a newcomer, a tall, muscular black man who seemed a little bit country and awfully shy. TV Celebrity actually asked his nuzzler to get up and let this other man sit next to him for a bit; a request that was not well-received by the nuzzler. Country Shy sat down and for a few minutes, I had a really fun time flirting with him, talking to TV Celebrity about how cute he was, and making the poor boy just miserable in a happy sort of way. He was blushing and grinning and so tongue-tied, I don�t think he ever did say a thing. Without question, he loved it. It was good for me too. I have very little experience telling men they are pretty and even less experience flirting with them. So flirting with these gay men was good practice and safe. Well� pretty safe. I noticed the nuzzler had come back into the room and was standing, glaring at us. I smiled at him and patted the sofa between myself and TV Celebrity, inviting him to sit down. This he refused to do. I was a little bit confused until Celebrity told me that the nuzzler was angry and jealous.. not because Celebrity was talking to Country Shy, but because he was talking to ME! I thought that was just way too funny. I�m the last person who�ll get between those two.

After a little more chit chat, I excused myself and went for a bathroom break. As I wandered, I realized that the crowd had gradually changed. All of the straight people had gone away.. well, except for me and LL Queen,, who is pretty much omnisexual and a long time fixture in these groups. I decided that by now no one would remember me chowing down in the kitchen the first time, so I was probably safe to go back for seconds. In the past, I was not so sensitive about my gluttony. I would just pile up a plate or two, as the situation called for, and gleefully shovel it nonstop into my mouth. Nowadays, I find myself using the installment method. A single plate with dainty little lady-sized portions seems more decorous. But then I go back for more after a reasonable time has passed. It seems to work out. I gained two pounds overnight.

Two comfy chairs had been placed in the kitchen, near the doorway. I found LL Queen in one of them, and the other one had just come empty. So again, I sat with her for a while. As we chatted, various people would come and stand before us, talking and eventually sharing their life�s story, or whatever drama was going on their current world. It was a fair hoot. We began to feel like royalty, with people practically lining up for an audience. In fact, I spent the remainder of my time there, except for a short time back on the sofa, where host Ben took it upon himself to stand behind me and administer a wonderful and long massage of my face and neck. Yummy.

But back to the chairs in the kitchen: Before I finally left, I met both halves of a lesbian couple, one half at a time. The first one was a delightful and cute Brazilian. She had taken a break from lesbianism several years ago to have a tender affair with LL Queen. Now, however, she was back into her own sexuality with no hard feelings (um� so to speak). In fact they are wonderful friends. Brazil is a new grandmother and it was fun to talk with this dark-haired lady in her cargo pants and men�s top, with half a dozen facial piercings along her eyebrows and lips, about the joys of being a grandparent. She is also a devout Catholic but I�m not sure what relationship that fact has to do with her passion for bingo. In any case, she does have a serious bingo addiction and plays in every hall along the coast. She also lives not far from me and insisted that I go with her for an evening of Bingo. We exchanged telephone numbers so that arrangements can be made. But then, the biggest bombshell for me of the whole evening occurred. As I quizzed her about what kind of people I might meet at bingo, and whether single guys my age were common there, she allowed as how she has a friend who is single, my age, and heterosexual. She told me he is looking to meet someone and she said that she wanted to introduce us. Could anyone but me find a blind date at a gay party?

So about the time Brazil wandered off to find her partner, a petite and wordy woman of Venezuelan heritage, the partner turned up before LL Queen and myself for her audience. She too was an amazingly interesting person. She was blunt, artsy, and totally engaging. As we talked, we discovered that we both wanted very much to take classes in ballroom dancing, but neither of us had done so because we didn�t want to go alone and partner-less. So, in the final act of my attendance at the fifteenth annual deep south gay-la Xmas party and overfeeding event, I made plans with the Blunt Venezuelan to sign up for ballroom dancing classes together. We have already discussed the fact that she will have to be the man at these classes. She told me that it was only natural and that of course she would be the guy. I can hardly wait to see the faces on our classmates. She stands about shoulder high to me, and I outweigh her by at least a hundred pounds. We are going to be the flashiest couple on the floor.

I finally took my leave� and a plate of ribs covered in foil.. at a little after four a.m. By that time, the group had fired up the karaoke machine and was slaughtering one song after another. If music could bleed, those white carpets would have been red for sure. Someone had commandeered the bedroom where the coats were, but had thoughtfully thrown all the coats out into the hallway before locking the bedroom door. The satellite party in the RV had turned sullen and ended with a number of revelers passed out in a heap inside. At some point, someone had turned off the generator, just to be sure they didn�t all succumb to carbon monoxide or something. Nice touch, considering those inside the RV had shown a flair for drama as well as their butts shortly before losing consciousness. It was clear that I had skimmed the very cream from this affair and it was time to make my exit. Besides, I didn�t� know the words to the karaoke songs.

So�.. I guess this kicks off the Xmas season for me. Food, good times, leather, lesbians, and flirting with the gay guys. Can it possibly get any better than this?

Happy Thoughts, Deep Breaths,

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