It's not the bears in the woods you need to worry about...

Settle in, kids. I've got lots of stuff in my head I need to flush out. This will require multiple postings. Let us begin at the Big Gay BBQ, which took place in another mid-Atlantic town's PRIDE weekend.

Got to town mid-afternoon, and pondered my wardrobe options. I swear to god I actually thought to myself, "What would Rob Lowe wear to a big party during PRIDE weekend?" I ended up in very short jungle print shorts and high heeled sandals and some innocuous top. In spite of showing enough leg to get work in most towns, I was some woman's girlfriend all night. I finally just stopped correcting people. Heck, when at PRIDE weekend, right?

T and I got to the party about 4, which was already in high gear. Truly excellent local beers in kegs, extraordinary amounts of liquor and food, and at least 150 gay men. There were maybe 4 women, both lesbian couples, and then me and T (we make a lovely couple, it seems). After walking around and chatting for a bit, I stopped and turned and faced the room. I had been pawed and canoodled by friendly strangers from the second I walked in (not scary at all -- just really really affectionate). As I looked around to take stock of just what I'd gotten myself into, I realized that every man in the room looked alike -- tall, big build, short military hair cut, and furry furry bodies.

I was in the middle of a bear party.

This was the first such gathering I'd ever attended. All my gay friends and acquaintances over the years have been the elaborately attired and exceedingly well-groomed theater types. Better skin than mine, better smelling than me, the works. This was "gay" as I knew it. But this room...this was something different. These were bears. As I propped myself against the wall to prevent more ass-grabbing (again, it was like being a football player -- everyone was introduced via their rear ends. That sounded dirtier than I intended), I looked over a sea of a bunch of ex-military guys, former cops, former and current firefighters, all having the times of their lives. This was their weekend and their party and DAMN they were having a fine time.

T and I circulated in and out of this house all afternoon until early evening (parade experience to follow). A few moments in miniature: I'm trying to convince this exceedingly wealthy fellow to rent me a floor in his townhouse, but I can't concentrate because right over his shoulder one fellow has pulled up the arm of another and started licking his armpit with great enthusiasm. Outside there was a Sean Connery lookalike who was wearing tiny shorts and a jock strap. He had two bear paws tattooed on his (fuzzy but excellent) rear end. I had half a dozen men see me and scream "I love boobies!" and bury their faces in my cleavage. Men greeted each other with what I heard called "The Baltimore Handshake": grabbing each other fiercely by the balls and a quick kiss on the mouth. Cargo kilts are in and everyone was commando and flashing each other as a mating call. I started feeling really blase about seeing everyone's undercarriage. I saw more back hair than I can ever forget. Hairy backs, hairy necks, hairy asses, hairy everything. These are the bears.

The bears throw a hell of a party, and we had a blast, but T and I decided to take our stained and bruised bodies up to the parade after a number of hours. There isn't enough Trappist ale in the world to make us bears, so we needed to leave the den. There was sex to be had in the kitchen, according to the lead bear. He announced this as we were seated outside together, then he grabbed my right breast and passed out. I immediately announced that I had a rack that could knock men unconscious, and then I thought it was time to leave on a high note. T agreed. Off to the parade, children!

A George Michael lip-syncher was performing first on the main stage (I'm skipping the parade itself, as it was underwhelming, except for the majorettes, who twirled like I've never seen. Glorious performances.). This was fine. We chatted, scoped the leather guys coming out of a nearby bar, contemplated why so many lesbians look similar, etc. Then...came Wonder Woman.

I think I might have said "Yay! Wonder Woman!" and was bouncing toward the stage to cheer on this (rather excellent) Linda Carter lookalike. But before I got close, "Linda" dropped her top and showed us her red sequined pasties. She did things with her pasties that gave me a complex. There were whispered "wow's" throughout the crowd from every gender, every sexual preference, every age. She was good. (As T said, "That can't be a man. No fake boobs could do that!") Wonder Woman (this turned out to be a burlesque competition) was followed by a Salome, a feather dancer, and more. So much more. The amount of flesh became soporific to us rather than at all titillating after a while. After the bears, we were weakened, dehydrated, still a little tipsy, and standing in the hot sun.

So we fled. We had a quiet dinner at a neighborhood cafe and we were in bed at a decent hour with visions of furry men's armpits dancing in our heads.

I'll get us to the woods next time. But I have to say, nothing in the woods compared to my den of bears. I worry that nothing ever will!