August 29, 2007



Of course I'm delighted to see another conservative politician dragged through the mud as their homosexual escapades hit the fan. Of course, the very republicans who espouse rewriting the Constitution to redefine marriage as between a man and a woman so that gays can never marry keep on getting busted for homo-sex in tearooms--like the one last month who offered a cop $20. To have talking heads reveal the age-old shoe-tapping signal on national TV makes me sing HALLELUJAH! While on my knees, of course!

A "cottaging" veteran, I wasn't quite as mystified as Soledad O'Brien by this time-honored code. Basically, you sit in the stall next to your intended paramour--when you are sticking it through a hole or waiting for one you ain't that picky so sometimes a male shoe is all you need to see. If the shoe you see isn't male and you're in NYC, please introduce yourselves, fellers! The deliberate tapping of your show indicates that you're ready for action. It's subtle enough so that someone unititiated in the code would not necessarily notice it, or be offended if they did. Of course, to be really sure that your victim is of the same persuasion, you might wait long enough to ensure that the person in the next stall wasn't relieving themselves, keenly keeping an ear wide open and nostril flared for the sounds and smells of defecation. If they take over 10 or 15 minutes, they're probably after the same thing you are. Or they eat a diet low in fiber. Or both!

What strikes me as odd about this case is tearoom action in the airport! Even prior to 9/11, security in an airport was much higher than the average cottage. The high traffic also scotches the likelihood of intimate moments and increased detection by appalled straights who might complain. Maybe the increased reports of booze-guzzling pilots are easier targets. And since you're en route somewhere at an airport, there's no hope of finding a compatible mate and dragging them somewhere safer. Unless you're on the same flight, perhaps? (I've never joined the Mile-High club.)

I also loved hearing the talking heads of CNN discuss what possible mentality could explain the erratic behavior: persistent cruising, brandishing his US Senate business card, pleading guilty to disorderly conduct, and then trying to claim that he'd perjured himself when he plead guilty. One pundit/psychologist claimed that Craig may have wanted to be caught on some level because of past abuse, another described a state of entitlement which people who are surrounded by yes men may develop and think themselves above the law. To take the other side of a therapist's couch for once, I imagine that he's a sex addict on the DL--to take such heavy risks? But if you're on the DL, you often desire other guys whose sexuality is way beneath the surface. That way, after you flush away (or swallow) the evidence, you're no longer gay and you can go back to attempting to strip our rights away in the legislature.

I primarily frequented tearooms as an adolescent who I had no other sexual outlets in Chattanooga--any one remember the Reade House upstairs? A kiki, honey! I was too young to get into bars, and there weren't that many anyway. If you live in a smaller town, there may not have been any gay bar, and the smaller the town, the less anonymity. (That's why this whore moved to NY!) Tearooms and truckstops may have been your only outlets to have sex in. I'm sure that's where some of gay men's pee fetishes come from. Don't forget, we are animals and scent figures heavily into arousal. Also, the type of sex engaged in is hurried, manly and far from lovey-dovey--I never noticed any making out. So you can walk away feeling that you've just fulfilled a physical need with no pouffy stuff. Sometimes all you are dealing with is what comes through the hole--you never even exchange a word or see a face! Soledad, I know that may seem queer to you, but so does the huge percentage of married gals who never achieve an orgasm. At least we bust a nut through that grimy gloryhole!

I'm rambling, but another thing that strikes me is that cottaging is a generational thing. Gay bars were probably not common in Idaho during Craig's sexual development--if they are now!--and especially as a conservative in politics, he was forced to bury his sexuality. And like many man from his generation, he isn't sufficiently in touch with his emotions to divorce his actions from creating the policies which will demonize homosexuality and force more gays underground...and into tearooms! Or do you think he just wanted to have his cock and eat it too, with no regard for the laws we pay his ass to make?


Blogger Tommy said... much as I want to feel sorry for this cocksucker, I can't; though thank fuckin' god I didn't have to live the life he has and is living now. Growing up a fag in Idaho, or wherever, and being as fuckin' old as he is, makes all the goddamn sense in the world that he would be working strange dick in a men's toilet. He's pitiful, but I still don't feel sorry for the bastard...cocksucker...

9:24 AM  
Blogger Lady Bunny said...

Tommy, then why did you lick my shit off of his cock in Minneapolis? --B

10:38 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

It's mostly married men and rent boys that frequent those places, most of the cottages in the UK have been demolished and have been replaced with those French style pissoires, very considerate of the council if you ask me, you put 20p in the slot and you get about 10 minutes of shagging time, some even play music, so we get to hear Nana Mouskouri singing "Only Love" when having a knee trembler.(very romantic) However, if you go past the 10 minutes the doors automatically open and you end up putting on a show for the public, not that it bothers me.

It's "Dogging" that all de rigueur here in the UK outdoor exhibitionism at it's finest.

6:14 PM  
Blogger Brandon Olson said...

Hey Buns!

Always love your blog! And Happy Belated 21st!
I am, like Larry Craig, an Idaho native and imagine my surprise to see that the woman on the far right of the photo with Miss Craig in her feather boa was none other than my High School Guidance Counseler! I cant remember her last name but her first name (as her name tag says if you look closely) was Joy.

I spent many tearful hours in her office because I was being tortured by both students and teachers alike. She told me I was "different" and there wasnt much she could do for me.

Seeing the photo, I wonder if she ever offered the same advice to Larry.

Thanks again for your fab blog!
xoxo Brandon

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