After all of my usual procrastinating, I sent off my registration form and check for BriarBash. I am excited about going, and about getting my hands on some new Boswell Pipes. And about getting my hands on some other pipe smoking bears as well.
It’s a bit of a funny scene, BriarBash is, where the sexuality is for the most part diffuse and a little hard to locate. Yet it is also unmistakably a gathering of gay men, one that seems to alternately amuse and mystify those that encounter it. I think my hunger for going has a much to do with the desire to have that “gay turf” feeling as with anything else. It’s the thing that I miss most about not being in San Francisco. There is no other place where I’ve been that gives me the feeling that I am not occupying a space at the sufferance of the heterosexual world. BriarBash gives me back a little of that. But this feeling exists for me very distinctly from a sexual feeling. Usually people seem to imagine the event as a non-stop, huffing and puffing orgy. And some times I wish it were. But the reality seems to lie closer to tender flirtation and buffet grazing with a burst of ruthless shopping frenzy when we get to the pipe store.
All of that being said – I do have a reservation for a smoking room with two double beds in it for two nights.