Months later I was again visiting in Maine and went out into the chilly night to find a bar, a beer, and a bear. (Another great book title!) Of course, I headed right to my old go-to, Cycles. But inside, I discovered since my last visit the place had been renovated into what now looked like some sort of punk-lesbian hangout: women in severe haircuts and clothing, a few of them glaring what-are-you-doing-here at me.
I asked a small group of not-so-glaring women, What happened to Cycles, and they suggested that I try a different bar, Blackstone, if I was looking for the old Cycles crowd. They told me where Blackstone was, so I made the short drive uptown to Pine Street, parked, and went in.
Blackstone was a small bar, compact and lit with a warm glow, cozy on a cool night. It extended a little way back from the door, with the bar on the right and a large, well-lit pool table area on the left. Men were in the typical bearish uniform of jeans and flannel, and to my but-this-is-a-small-town surprise, there was a small group of guys in leather shirts, each with a “Harbor Masters” pin on his chest.
After all the times I had been to the DC Eagle, I was accustomed to, if not expecting bars with men in leather clothing. I liked it and over time, let myself become increasingly attracted to the look. But it still seemed like a big-city thing, not something found in areas without big crowds or leather-themed events.
Getting over this pleasant surprise, I noticed and started chatting up a good-looking bear who called himself Anchor, which I took as some kind of maritime nickname. Sure enough, Anchor explained that he was a "pledge" in Harbor Masters, the local leather club. (I made a mental note. And I thought Harbor Masters was a great name for a leather club in a town where the harbor is the dominant feature. And maybe an anchor lies on the bottom? Clever.)
Well, whatever it was about, Anchor had a lean body, a trim but full beard, and looked pretty hot in his tight, white T-shirt, chest hair peeking out, and a black leather vest. As we chatted about leather clubs and bears in Maine, I started looking for an opening to invite myself back to his place.
But before I had a chance, Anchor shifted the conversation to suggest we go someplace else, the Underground, a nearby dance club for straights or gays or whatever-you-ares. I’d heard once long ago it was the best dance club in the area, but I wasn’t a club guy and had never gone. But if Anchor wanted to dance, maybe I could play along and get another chance to invite myself home.
The Underground turned out to be rather small (about one-twentieth the size of DC's Tracks, if you remember that), but there was a good crowd dancing it up and clearly having fun.
Anchor however didn’t want to dance after all (wtf?) and after hanging around for a while trying to be sociable, I started to lose interest in finding out what he did want to do. Shades of Teacher! He suggested we come here why? He didn’t seem to want to talk about what he wanted, or to do much of anything at all. I made my best guess and with what I thought was undue patience, started to make out with him as we sat on the stairs in the corner. (Yes, you’re right; maybe I should have gotten the message that he wasn’t interested. I can even hear the voice of Stan from South Park scolding me with, Jesus Christ, dude!)
Anchor didn’t push me away, but he didn’t exactly seem enthusiastic either. I began to suspect the evening really wasn’t going to go according to any plan I had in mind. I said I was getting tired and would catch him some other time (actually, I was tired of being horny and wanted to go jerk off). But then he said he lived in the next town over, um… which I was supposed to take? as an invitation? to go home with him?
I didn’t bother figure it out. I knew how far away the next town over was, and I just didn’t feel like another road trip with this guy, all that way and back, only to risk more Unenthusiasm.
So, I got up and told Anchor thanks, maybe another time, and left. I didn’t feel like going back to Blackstone either, so I just went home to my motel (and jerked off).
I was curious enough to look for Anchor in Blackstone on my next couple of visits to Maine, but I never saw him again or for that matter, any member of Harbor Masters. Maybe I dreamed it.
Aside: Yes, OK, there’s another encounter without sex (and again in Maine; what was it about Maine guys?) but it was such an annoying letdown, I hated to leave it out.
And because “Harbor Masters.”