Category: After Dark

Sex spots South of Market

Sex Clubs (1996)

San Francisco does this very well, although the scene seems to be experiencing one of its periodic downswings. It almost seems as if the “goldem age” of early 1990’s sex clubs has ended, and that the scene is just itching for something new to come along. It’s a shame that right now the SF sex club scene has come to resemble the bathhouse scene in other cities so much. Afew too many muscle-bound attitude queens strutting about with their shirts off. But better times are a-comin’. I can feel it.

Standup sex with strangers is not for everyone, but I highly recommend it if you’re adventurous and comfortable with the concept. There’s also the voyeuristic aspect, if you don’t feel like participating. Etiquette requires that you be assertive but not pushy, and that you respect the desire of others if they do not wish for you to join in the festivities. Basically this means when someone pushes your hand away, don’t keep sticking it back in! Safer sex is encourgaged in all clubs and monitored in most. (I won’t say which ones don’t monitor because you should be safe and shouldn’t care.)

The Power Exchange
(Otis Street between South Van Ness and McCoppin)

I have to admit I still haven’t visited this newest incarnation. The Playground is no more. Closed…history…gone. In its place is the Power Exchange, apparently relocated and re-formatted. The flyers show something resembling a leatherman (so much for the “transgender twist” of the former Power Exchange, I guess.) The tents are gone and the Upper Level is closed, as is the newly installed maze on the first floor. The wide open space makes the place seem even less intimate than before, not a good attribute for a sex club. Crowd is very hit or miss. Of course, most of my info is second hand, as I haven’t felt inspired to visit yet. Look for a more personalized and opinionated review soon…hopefully this weekend.

Blow Buddies
(933 Harrison near Sixth)

Speaking of muscle-bound attitude queens and strutting… Not as big as the above, but still pretty dang spacious, with a smoking patio. Booths, mazes, a “cell”, video lounge, “restrooms”, and an oral sex/gloryhole area with the most convenient architecture I’ve ever seen. There is an occasionally open watersports area. Membership $2, and cover usually in the $7 range. There seems to be an early and a late rush: 2-4AM on weekend nights, earlier (10-12) on Sundays, although Sunday may go late too. Crowd is mostly of the “see how butch I am…really” variety, sort of pseudo-leather, musclebound, and shirtless. Weeknights suffer greatly from the “no one admitted after 2:30” rule. Bring your body. No fucking or rimming.

Mack’s
(317 Tenth near Folsom)

Leather-oriented with occasional handballing (a/k/a fisting) parties. I’ve only been there for some Michael Blue parties a year or so back, so I can’t give much of a review. Layout didn’t do much for me, although there is a cool loft space downstairs. Pretty small, and no “outside”. This just in: two of my ex-es just met there last week and had a very nice little affair. There’s hope…

Dark Alleys (1996)

Remember that street cruising has its risks. I live here. I know the terrain. You should too. Do not attempt this when your consciousness is lacking due to too much drinking or chemical stimulation. It could be more painful than you bargained for.

Ringold Alley (between Folsom and Harrison, Eighth and Ninth)

A San Francisco tradition, this interesting spot acn be experienced on foot or by car; there is even the occasional cab. Tour buses are discouraged. Ringold is by and large a late space, filling up around 2AM when the nearby bars empty out. Prime time runs until 3 or 4 especially on weekend nights, and the cruising is of a dark and severe nature. Tendencies toward leather and an older crowd, but this is not an absolute. Hustlers on occasion. SOMABoy has often made out right there on the alley. Cool, but be careful.

Rogers/Heron/Berwick (across Eighth Street)

A convenient and less public place to retire after the above, especially when trucks are parked there. Had a right nice time here with two boys recently, one of them a lost Castro queen and the other a friend from the ‘hood.

Folsom Street proper (from Fifth to Eleventh)

It’s not an alley but there’s several adjacent ones. Cruise late at night, with clusters around the bookstores near Fifth, again between Seventh and Ninth, and — so I’m told — near Dore Alley. Sometimes works in the daytime too. If you wait long enough after last call, 90% of the suburban heterosexuals are gone. This makes cruising easier and more convenient. Sometimes workable in the daytime too, especially on the eastern fringe, but you gotta have an eye for it.

Outside the ‘hood (1996)…

I can’t really personally recommend places, as I deny the existence of the Castro, and like places within walking distance. However, there is a sex club on Castro north of Ninteenth (the “Black House”) , which is allegedly undergoing a transformation of sorts. In addition, there are Eros (Market near Church, across from Safeway) and 1808 (1808 Market near the underpass). I can give absolutely no details about either place, as they are not in my current repertoire.

There is also a cruising park where little seems to happen behind Cala Foods at Eighteenth and Collingwood .

Buena Vista Park in the Upper Haight is interesting around midnight, they say, and the views are good. There are also rumors of youngsters in the after school hours if that’s your thing, but if you’re over 18, make sure they are too.

The Windmills at Golden Gate Park (older crowd with a tendency toward closets) and Land’s End (younger and prettier and sunbathing nude in the summer) offer sex in a beach setting. Watch those cliffs.

Lafayette Park in the lower Pacific Heights area (Gough at Sacramento) has also been recommended. No personal reference here. Never done it; Pacific Heights (a/k/a “Specific Whites”) gives me the willies.

As to the tearoom scene, should you be so inclined, I can personally recommend Rincon Center and 4 Embarcadero Center in the Financial District, and Keith at Steam Magazine recommends the fourth floor of the library at San Francisco State University.

[Recreated from my earliest surviving site archive.]

Here’s the story

The short version:

Basically I’m just like thousands of other queers who grew up in the hinterland and made the move to the big city for a more interesting life. I’m 31 years old, employed as an operations manager at Kinko’s, and live in San Francisco’s schizophrenic South of Market Area. I am currently single, and don’t necessarily want that to change. Interested parties are welcome to try, but be forewarned: I smoke, I eat meat, and I drink the occasional beer(s), but I avoid other drugs and have a low tolerance for heavy stoners and speed freaks. I tend toward cynicism and irony, but I’m not really mean-spirited. And I can cook if I have to, but I will not wash dishes. Ask my roommate.

The longer version:

My life story starts in the scenic vista known as Greensboro, North Carolina . I was a cute kid. I’m not sure what happened. My parents are incredibly sane, still married to each other, and I’m still on friendly terms with them.

I was an only child, and I remain a spoiled brat. I traveled a fair amount as a child, but lived at the same house until I moved out. My parents still live there. I’m pure middle-class WASP; there’s just no way around it.

I spent most of my elementary years in a frightening Southern Baptist school. My parents weren’t particularly religious; they just weren’t too fond of the Greensboro public schools. Ever since I finally saw “the light” and got the hell out at 12, I’ve had a major thing about Bible-thumping Fundamentalists who preach hate in the name of “Christian love”.

I spent my unpleasant and unpopular junior high years at Allen Jr. High, where the biggest discovery I made was the beauty of naked boys in the locker room. Alas, it was “look but don’t touch”.

High school was a little better. I had regular classes at Smith High School and TV and Graphics classes at Weaver Education Center. I went through my drug/booze phase in the 10th grade, my generic high school kid who works at McDonald’s in my junior year, and my pretentious intellectual philosopher phase in my senior year. Plus the boys were cuter in high school; see for yourself .

My senior year (1982) was also the year I “came out” and boy was I obnoxious about it. I told everyone, had a major chip on my shoulder, and may have single-handedly invented political correctness and newspeak (sorry…). This was also the year that I came to know my three best and oldest friends, Jeff, Duncan, and Stan.

That summer I began my three years at WUAG-FM, the radio station at UNC-Greensboro , and began greatly expanding my interest in music which was outside the mainstream. This was the period where I was an occasional club DJ, and was also the time when Danny Elfman rode in the front seat of my car. I also did the campus politics thing, Gay Students Association, and learned how to drink (again).

After a little more than two years at UNCG, three things combined to make my life really wierd: I fell in love with the wrong boy, realized I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up, and started doing the club scene too much. End result: I stopped going to classes and flunked out of school with a 3.3 average. (I didn’t get the boy either.)

So began five bad years. I worked for a crappy retail company for three of them, moved first to Myrtle Beach, S.C . and then to Charlotte, N.C. (my adopted hometown), drank a lot, experienced genteel poverty, and learned how to manage a skate/surf shop. This, I guess was where my fascination/fetish for skaters began…it continues to this day. If he’s scruffy and wearing Airwalks , I’m there.

By 1989, I’d had enough, moved back to my parents’ house in Greensboro and went back to school full time. I did better this time, graduating with a double major in Geography and Sociology (concentrated in Urban Studies), and working part-time at Kinko’s . I’m still working there, only now it’s full-time and I’m management.

In 1991, I visited San Francisco for the first time. The next year I moved here (a lot of people have this reaction). It is a good and wonderful place, where the scenery is good, the weather is perfect, and the boys are sleazy. It’s the first city in which I’ve ever felt truly at home. I even have a cool roommate, Dan , whom I haven’t killed even after almost four years.

In San Francisco, I have experienced many things and many boys and have somehow managed to develop at least a hint of an identity in the process. I’ve done the slut thing and the romance thing (and have decided I like something in between…for example a boyfriend who will venture to Blow Buddies with me and then come home and curl up next to me where he belongs…)

I’ve made lots of friends at work, at play, and lately, on line as well. My good friend Troy fulfills the roles of Duncan and Jeff in their absence, and he’s been doing a particularly good job given my recent set of job-related (and other) neuroses. My North Carolina connections Steve, Todd, Tim, Lori (a recent migrant), and Kevin (who I also work with) bring me liver pudding and barbecue when they can. James, who’s the chef at Bruno’s, would feed me if I’d return his videos. All in all, life is good. Join the crowd. Send me a note.

[Recreated from my earliest surviving site archive.]