I got up this morning with new-found confidence that I'd be able to explore the city on my own. I immediately hopped a bus to the Haight Ashbury. I found a little restaurant and went in for breakfast. I wanted something light, but when I saw biscuits and gravy I couldn't resist. I got a half-order, and some scrambled eggs. The eggs were as nasty as the morning before, but the biscuits were quite good. As I ate I looked at the map. There was a bus that went right from here up through the Presidio, and over towards Fisherman's Wharf. I'd already been to Fisherman's Wharf, but it looked like a nice ride. After breakfast I went to the proper corner, and after just a minute or two the bus came by. I hopped on, using the transfer pass I'd gotten on the bus to the Haight Ashbury, and I was on my way. I traced our progress on the map, and the trip went much more quickly than I'd anticipated. I got off the bus with intentions to transfer to one that would take me right to the wharf, but I decided to find a store that sold film. Once I'd scored that, I realized how close I was to Lombard St. I hoofed it up a steep hill. The biscuits and gravy were sitting in my stomach like a brick at this point. I got to the top of Lombard St just as a cable car was coming to a stop. This big, tall black guy got out. He was apparently the tour guide, and he had a herd of tiny Asian kids running around his ankles. They took some pictures while the cable car stayed parked right in the middle of the street. After several minutes they all got back on and were on their way. I hung out for a while and took some pictures of my own. The first thing that I realized was that all the post card pictures I'd seen had been taken from above, because the floral embankments that line the street are too high to even be able to see the street surface from this level. But I took some pictures nonetheless and was on my way.
The crookedest street in San Francisco From there it was a short walk to Fisherman's Wharf. I walked through some parts of it that I hadn't seen on Sunday. It was all very touristy. There were shops with cedar model cable cars and snow globes with the bridge in them. I was tempted to buy one just for the bad-taste factor, but I eventually rejected the idea. Soon I got back up into the section I'd been in the other day. I stopped briefly to check out some of the street performers. I gave a dollar to one guy who was doing a robot-style mime routine, and he performed briefly as I took video and a couple still pictures.
A typical Fisherman's Wharf street performer I got up in the main open area, and from a distance I saw a couple guys wearing cow costumes. It reminded me of some punk rockers who used to do a public access show back in Ithaca. The guitar player wore a cow costume that was very similar. I was going to go check them out, but one of them grabbed a couple bucks from their till and headed away. He walked right past me, and in the wink of an eye I caught a glimpse of part of his profile hidden inside the hood that made up his cow costume. He looked a little like the tall, slender ringleader of the punk band. The guy had a really obnoxious attitude, but he also had a huge, spiked green Mohawk haircut, and was someone I wanted to capture on video tape. As soon as I was ready to start a new project and made inquiries about him, however, I discovered that he had left town to head "out west" somewhere. I only caught the most cursory glance of this fellow, but he looked similar enough that I decided to follow him. I kept a discrete distance at first. He went into a Subway sandwich shop, and I waited outside. In a minute he was back out again and walking up the street. I followed more closely now. When we got under a protective construction zone walkway he turned around and started heading back. I got a good look at his face, and I was sure it was him. I stood in the middle of the enclosed walkway and blocked his path. "Excuse me," I said demurely. "Are you Raf?" "Yeah," he said hesitantly. "My name's Toaph," I said. "I used to see you around the Ithaca Public Access station." He got a big smile on his face. "Oh, yeah?," he said. I turned and walked with him back to his buddy as we chatted about Ithaca and San Francisco. He claimed to have been to London and Amsterdam since he'd left New York. I wondered how he could travel like that on a street performer's salary, but I didn't question him. We got back to his buddy, who I then recognized as the technical director of their TV show. The kid has the strangest voice I've ever heard. It sounds like he's broadcasting on a radio station that isn't properly tuned in.
Unusual Ithaca acquaintances in an unlikely place We chatted for a while as I took some video and still pictures. They did their performance, which was the most absurd thing I'd ever seen. They just screamed "Moooo" over and over again, and pretended to hit and kick each other, occasionally putting one or the other in a head lock. Occasionally tourists would wander by. "What will you do if I give you money?" one woman asked. "Anything you want us to," they replied. She put some change in their bucket. They started screaming "Mooooo!!!!" and fake hitting each other. The woman hurried off rather frightened.
The nefarious duo was naturally juxtaposed with Alcatraz I stayed around for a little while. Despite the amazing, astronomical coincidence of me bumping into these two on a Wednesday morning in the most populated tourist trap in all of San Francisco, I'd had about enough. I pulled out a $10 bill, folded it up tightly, and slipped it into Raf's hand. As I turned my back and walked away, I heard Raf scream, "Mooooooooooooooo!" Moments later I heard his friend yell, "Moo! Moo! Moo! Moo! Moo!" I had to laugh to myself. Despite what these guys were or weren't making out of their lives, they were enjoying themselves tremendously. And when I heard them revel in the windfall they'd just received, I pondered how they'd developed their own form of communication comprised only of the word "moo."
Rough life! From here I wandered onto Pier 39. This was apparently one of the largest of the old piers, and it had been done up with shops and restaurants in a "salty dog" motif. It was half-way between a theme park and a strip mall. Off to one side was an area where sea lions just naturally hung out. The slips on which they lay were originally designed for boats, but when they decided to start sunning themselves there the California Aquatic Wildlife Act gave them priority over humans. I darted into a restaurant, had an exorbitantly expensive glass of white wine, and looked at my transit map. I saw that there was a bus right around the corner that would take me all the way down Van Ness to my hotel. It was still early, but I decided to wrap things up for now. I got back to my hotel room and took a nap. When I awoke, I figured it was time to call Andrew to make plans to meet for the gay men's drawing group. He picked up the phone and was happy to hear from me. He said that he'd almost given up on me because it was so late. I'm not sure what he meant, since there were still a couple hours before the group met, unless he thought I was going to call earlier in the week. At any rate, we set up a rendez-vous at the Different Light Bookstore in the Castro. I grabbed a bite to eat and when it was time I hoofed it back to the Castro. Within minutes of entering the store a curly-haired guy walked up to me and introduced himself as Andrew. We made the quick walk to the house where the group met. Once inside, Andrew pointed to the front room. "This is where we disrobe," he said, "and we draw back there in the living room." "Cool," I said. I started to walk back into the living room, confident that I knew where to remove my clothes when it was time for me to model. "This is where we disrobe," Andrew said again, as if I hadn't understood. I realized he was taking his clothes off, and indeed another individual in the room was getting naked. Andrew seemed to perceive my confusion, and explained, "We all get undressed at the beginning of the session and draw while we're nude." When he mentioned that it started coming back to me that he had explained that some time ago, but I had completely forgotten. Not that it made any difference to me. Within a few seconds I was stark naked. I went into the living room and sat on the sofa with Andrew as more people arrived. The more I thought about it the more I liked the idea of a group of men who get nude and draw the nude male figure. I wished I had something like that back home. After about a dozen guys were present they decided to begin. The host called the group to order and asked if anyone was willing to model. I waited for just a moment, not wanting to be presumptuous, and not seeing any other volunteers I said, "I'd be happy to model." A gray-haired older fellow said, "I was hoping you would." They had a light source set up at one end of the room. I stepped over and got into position. "We'll start with 2 minutes," the host said as he set a timer. I struck a pose and they all started sketching away. Before I knew it the timer went off. I'm accustomed to posing for art classes, which require significantly longer posing times. "How about another 2 minute pose?" the host asked. "Fine with me," I replied. I struck another pose and they all started sketching away. Again, it was over before I knew it. "You've done this before, haven't you?" the host asked. "I've posed for art classes at Cornell a couple times," I said. I got the impression that it could be somewhat of a hassle for these guys to get whoever is modeling to achieve an interesting pose, and perhaps even difficult for that person to hold it properly for the duration. "How about a 5 minute pose this time?" the host asked. "Sure," I said. I struck another pose and their pencils started scratching away. Although this one went on for some time longer, five minutes is still nothing for me. The timer started beeping very quickly by my perception. "Why don't we go right into a 10 minute pose," the host said. I struck another pose and they started drawing again. Ten minutes was approaching a significant amount of time for me to hold one pose, but I was enjoying it. There is an ephemeral meditative quality associated with holding a pose, at least for me, and although it can be a bit taxing I greatly value the experience. I let my mind wander as they drew until time was up again. I was prepared to pose for the entire session, but I was still self-conscious that I was hogging the position. I was under the impression that some arm-twisting is usually involved in coercing someone into posing, but I was the new kid that night and I still didn't want to be presumptuous. "I'm willing to keep on posing," I said, "but I don't want to deny anyone else the opportunity." I was met with utter silence. That worked for me. I went right on posing. After another couple poses, I found myself in a seated position. I had one let up under the chair and the other leg outstretched. I put one hand on the seat of the chair by my hip, and the other resting on my stomach. I positioned my head so that I was glancing down at myself. After they had been drawing for just a minute or so, I felt a little tingle down in my loins. The reality of the situation suddenly dawned on me, that I was bare naked in front of a whole room of people who were studying my nakedness. It is this realization that I have to avoid at all costs when I model for art classes. It is an incredibly arousing notion to me. Usually when it happens in class I just think about something else, and any stirring between my legs quickly subsides. But on this occasion it was not subsiding at all. As a matter of fact my dick was definitely starting to grow. However, for the first time in my life I was modeling in a situation other than a formal academic setting. While I didn't have much control over the matter, I decided to let things go their own course. I fully expected that my dick would achieve some level of erection, and then settle right back down again. Sure enough my dick kept growing and growing. I never once flexed my pubic muscle, and yet I found myself with a full raging boner. If anyone was put off by this, no one was saying so. Once it had been up for a while I expected it to start deflating, but it remained fully erect. Indeed, it was utterly hard for the duration of the pose. When the ten minutes was over I stood up with my fat dick still pointing to the sky. I wanted to squeeze it and stroke it, but I kept my hands off. I still had not even flexed my pubic muscle. I struck another pose where I leaned against the doorway with my hands behind my back. My dick remained rock hard, and stayed that way for the full pose. When it was over I'd been fully erect for twenty minutes without any tactile stimulation of any kind. It was a stark contrast to posing for Biron on Monday when I couldn't sustain an erection to save my life. While I was pondering my next pose, Andrew asked if I'd mind if he posed with me. I said it was okay. He got down on the floor, put his cheek against my thigh and put his hands around my leg. I wasn't expecting quite that intimate of a pose, but after the initial surprise it was okay. After a few minutes my dick finally started to lose its full firmness. Andrew stroked my balls ever so slightly and it went right back to being stiff again. This cycle was repeated a few times until the time was up. From here Andrew did another pose with me. I sat in the chair while he stood beside me and sort of cradled my head. I leaned my head back against his body and closed my eyes. It had a very Pietá kind of a feel to it. As a matter of fact I heard someone in the group say that it seemed a very Biblical pose. By this time my dick was starting to go down. I could feel the early signs of blue balls. I wasn't really surprised, since I'd been hard for over a half an hour without any kind of stimulation or relief. After this Andre and I did another pose together. I don't even remember what positions we were in. When it was over Andrew asked if a third person would like to join us. There was a bit of a revolt from the group. I heard someone say, "Drawing just one person is hard enough." Someone asked me if I would like to take a break and try my hand at drawing for a while. I was actually getting a bit fatigued, so I decided I would. Andrew had brought an extra pad for me, and he let me choose from his pencils. I sat on the floor in front of another guy in a chair, and got ready to draw. Two other guys got up and struggled to come up with a pose. My suspicions were supported that my natural posing style was something missing from the group. The guys tried a few things and finally wound up with something that looked like a couple of dead bodies tossed off in a corner. I started making some vain attempts at capturing them on paper. I hadn't drawn seriously in years and years, and it showed. I found myself utterly unable to capture even the most simple contours. I wanted to just set down my pencil and sit there until the session was over. But instead I persevered. I know that drawing is like playing the piano or doing sports. The more you practice the better you'll get. No matter how badly a drawing is coming out it's important to keep going with it. When time had expired I had mustered up some semblance of a drawing, but it was really, really bad. The two guys did one more pose and I put forth another miserable effort to capture it. Finally time was up for the pose and for the group. It was now time for everyone to share his work with the group. Each took turns showing his various drawings while others made comments. This was very interesting for me because I finally got to see what people had been doing with my poses. I got the distinct impression that the guys really liked this activity as well. Not only did it giv e them the opportunity to show their own work to an audience, they were able to get feedback as well. One thing that struck me that I hadn't noticed earlier on was that every individual was using a different medium. When this was done the host suggested that anyone who was willing should let me take home a drawing in thanks for posing practically the whole time. I wasn't expecting this, but I thought it was fantastic. I went through every one's stuff and picked out one or even two drawings. I was really surprised that they were so generous to let me walk away with their original drawings, but I wasn't going to question it! Click on images to see full-sized files (average 130K)
I liked many of the drawings very much. Bill in particular had a simple but visually appealing style. His work looked particularly good for graphics to accompany magazine articles. I also liked the way he graciously exaggerated my endowment. But Roger's drawing was far and away my favorite. His drawings were kind of hit and miss, but he nailed it on this particular one. I also liked it because of the story it told. He drew this while I was sitting in front of him drawing the other models. He decided that he was more interested in drawing me than in drawing the other guys. Beyond the fact that I thought he captured a nice, simple pose, it portrayed me not as a posing body, but as a man in the process of creating. It was a drawing of a man drawing. Finally I liked it because it showed that I'm left-handed, with my right hand holding the pad and my left hand extended and working the pencil. I intend to frame this and display it proudly. After the session I suggested we go out for drinks. I wasn't really ready to go back to my room yet, and I thought it would be nice to sit around and chat about art. About a five or six guys expressed interest. We went to the copy center first because Bill, the gray-haired older guy, wanted to keep his originals of the drawings that I had selected. His medium was simple ink on xerox paper anyway, so it leant itself perfectly to photocopy reproduction. We got there just before the copy center closed. The girl behind the counter was initially shocked that so many people walked in just as she was getting ready to close up, until she realized we were all together. Bill copied his drawings. He gave me my choice of which to keep, defying me to tell which was the original and which was the xerox copy. We walked up the street to the bar. They had selected Detour. It was some dimly lit club with loud, throbbing dance music. Andrew declined to go in, saying he didn't like bars. I couldn't blame him. I was envisioning some quiet little cafe where we could sip drinks and talk. I went inside with the others and really wanted to just walk right back out again. One of the guys bought me a pint of something. He mentioned to me how this bar had the second-best music in all of San Francisco. I didn't want to know what the best music was. As a gay man I know I'm in the minority on this one, but I hate that techno dance stuff. I tried to carry on a conversation with him, but I couldn't hear a goddam word he was saying. There was also nowhere to sit down. To top it off, these sketchy guys were wandering around staring at everyone. I basically chugged my beer and left. When I got back to my room I spread out my drawings and had another look at them again. I was so unbelievably appreciative to come away with them. Just that morning I was contemplating buying a snow globe to take home as a souvenir. But now I had a number of one-of-a-kind momentos to remind me of my experiences on my trip. Everything was going so incredibly well I wondered if there was any way it could get any better.
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