I keep wondering how “sex-positive” became a buzzword at the exact same time everybody started having less sex. When we live in a reality where medication protocols like PrEP and DoxyPEP can prevent a person from acquiring or shedding HIV and STIs, when U=U, why are we having less sex now than when sex was literally deadly?Race Bannon, who writes the Substack Love At The Edges, shared a story in his post, From Passion to Performance, that may explain some of it.“I was attending a large gay men’s kink play weekend. One of my friends there said he had talked to a guy who my friend had noticed was not interacting sexually or erotically with anyone, running counter to the weekend’s intent. My friend said the guy told him “he was afraid to do anything because he might make a mistake.”In the United States, the sexual revolution of the ‘60s and ‘70s made it seem like we were finally abandoning our sexual hangups. Then, pandemics, socializing on screens, and educational efforts, in both academic settings and niche sexual enclaves like the one Race shared, make us all feel more like we’re taking a final exam than experiencing sexual liberation.If the idea of sex fills you with trepidation, like you might make a huge mistake engaging in it, that makes perfect sense. You have been told sex is physically, socially, and intellectually scary for decades.But, with isolation and loneliness now

My heart aches to share the community of men.Not a widespread sentiment among left-leaning queers, I know. Inclusiveness — meaning all people of all kinds should be in all spaces, every time we do anything — is the only acceptable way to socialize nowadays.I get it.But, I miss the fuck out of those all-male spaces.Even before sex became important to me, all-male spaces provided the kind of mentoring a boy can only get from men. Like that feeling I had as a 13-year-old Boy Scout, sitting under the stars around a campfire in the Rocky Mountains, singing songs led by mentors who had taught us earlier that day the skills necessary to earn merit badges in First Aid, Cooking, Camping, Citizenship, and so many others. Grown men singing heartfelt renditions of Kumbaya, verse after verse in a call and response: “someone’s laughing Lord, Kum ba ya”…someone’s singing, someone’s crying, someone’s praying. Grown men teaching young men that all of us have a variety of feelings, and somewhere, right now, you’re connected to someone who feels all the feelings, just like you.That sensation of attending early-morning Mormon Priesthood meetings before the sun came up, resenting the early hour but welcoming the skin-to-skin, firm, friendly handshakes with eye contact they taught us to give. I knew my role in the tribe and had a sense of useful responsibility. All of us suited up, unified, ready to take on the challenge of serving our community.The surge of kinship I felt with three other gays in a small car driving from Cheyenne, WY, to Denver, CO, on my first gay pride parade and bathhouse pilgrimage. I was 18. Feeling protected as the older guys (in their 30s/40s) gave me pointers on cruising. “It’s all about eye contact, look into his eyes, and think about what you’d like to do to him. Then pass him and look back, if he does the same, you’re on!” said the driver. “‘I’m just resting,’ means ‘no,’ in the bathes,” said the guy next to me in the back seat. We were all on a mission, pulling for each other to get as much dick as possible.Falling in love. Later that night, on the dancefloor of a Denver gay bar, I fell in love with a boy named Robert as Irene Cara sang, and we slow danced to the opening 45 seconds of “What a Feeling” from the Flashdance soundtrack. That very niche Denver gay bar ser

Two months ago, I wrote about embracing the yoga practice of sexual restraint, brahmacharya, which is one of the five yamas in the first limb of yoga.Yesterday, I was lying face down on an exam table in my doctor’s office, my cargo shorts pulled down, ass up, and a needle injecting antibiotics into my left ass cheek to treat gonorrhea found in my urine.So, what’s going on?Over the past two months, I’ve spent more of my time doing asana yoga (poses) at a yoga studio than attending my cruisy gym or tapping away on my Grindr app. I’ve done more creative projects: written more, listened to more music, kept up with my singing lessons, cooked more, read more, and planned a group vacation.I’ve spent a lot more time on my own, and that’s been lonely.And… I’ve still had lots of sex.Let’s be honest. Mike Gerle’s sexual restraint is a sexual conservative’s carnal bacchanal. But, relative to my previous hook-up load, I’m guessing I’ve reduced the number of individual encounters by 60%.Has anything really changed?The good little boy inside of me, despite all the deprogramming I’ve invested in, still wants to write a story of immaculate change. Something clinging to my psyche makes me want to tell you how I left a lifetime of kneeling faithfully at the altar of sensual delight to find a more enlightened path free of the demands emanating from my balls.This is at odds with another part of me that wants to tell critics of my sexual behavior to take a nice, long look at my middle finger.The reality of what’s changed is more nuanced than either of those scenarios.My sexual practice is not about pursuing and engaging in sex all day, every day. And it’s not about abstinence, monogamy, or being sex negative. I’m not trying to appease God, an institution, a school, a government, my bio-family, or my chosen-family.I’m a grown ass man now, free to make any choice I want. I even have the support of my husband to explore my sexuality any way I want, even when it makes him jealous. I have the unconditional love of my bio-family who embrace me even when I’m winning gay men’s leather contests and writing a blog called

Categorizing LGBTQ+ people as a single community, rather than a broad coalition of diverse groups, is paralyzing the advancement of services, spaces, and political outcomes most of us want.Recognizing our coalition-ness would allow for a greater diversity of thought and, more importantly, more resources for the goals we all agree on.This gay man would rather defeat MAGA authoritarianism and celebrate gay male culture than land a painful blow to any of the other letters in the rainbow alphabet coalition, but the TQ+ letters of our coalition are making that difficult.So, I’m writing this essay.Little, if anything, is being done within the LGBTQ+ Community to further the development of gay culture. Bringing that up is one of the many things that’s unpopular within the current rainbow alphabet zeitgeist..Differences of thought are simply not allowed. The rainbow alphabet is “all in” on the needs of TQ+. The rest of you need to not only chip in and help, but you also need to accept LGB invisibility. We’re all Queer now. End of story.Only a heretic would share any comment on “gender affirming care” or "puberty blockers” outside of the approved ideological orthodoxy, which is “I agree with anything and everything the TQ+ activists say.”As an LGBTQ+ “Community,” currently dominated by the TQ+s, we are forming circular firing squads, performing purity tests, and then eliminating people, their talent, and their resources rather than building things.We Need To TalkAfter my last Substack post, "On Edge" (a poem about my political angst), a friend who has always been real with me texted to see if I was okay. I told him about sitting on an essay instead of publishing it because I didn’t want to add more heft to our frighteningly polarized, burn-it-all-down community conversation. But I had to say something, so I wrote the poem.He replied, “I am frustrated with the politics of our community as well. Not sure what the answers are, and it is hard to discuss.”It really is hard to discuss.My friend and I saw each other at two parties soon after that. We didn’t discuss it. The gays I tried to bring it up with quickly changed the subject or excused themselves from my presence.The meta‑message: Only one sanctioned script is safe. Say it wrong, and you’re out!

You are not reading the post I had prepared for today.The hot vomit of my pain Attacking the confusion this old gay man feels in the Rainbow tribe of 2025.Written in blind fury.Staggeringly numb. On edge, teetering on the precipice of oblivionUnaware of its grip on my heart.This heart, clenched. These guts, a slithering knot. My presence in this moment; Impossible.The venomous edge stalks like a desperate lover. Full of blame, attack, defiance, rage…He’s a gaslighting lover.Insisting my existence is at risk while this body swallows freshly cooked organic food in my cozy condo…He pretends not to be here. Invisibility clever, Void of reflection, Death without renewal.Insisting I am separate from the tribe, From the tribe of humans…Better than, smarter than, Wiser, kinder, gentler…A poisonous muse.Words flew with vigor from my fingertipsCharged with venomRipping open the fear in my soul Spilling blame on those closest to me…For who else can withhold the sustenance I need?I’m on edge.But with eyes open, With heart open,I reluctantly acknowledge This reality is not mine alone.We are ALL on edge.Who in this moment has not been abandoned by their people? Rainbow lovers eating their own, A country no longer protected by law, Workers unable to breath free, Elders forgotten and discarded, Children entering a planet on fire.Today, I will not add more faggots to fuel of the pyre of fear and seperatrion,With embarrassed reluctance, I reach out. Acknowledge the shared pain.I bow to my ancestors, Placed in front of me through the prayers of chosen family.Thank you, father.Thank you, Bill Gerle. “If it’s not about love and kindness, it’s not a conversation worth having.”I just want to cry. The tears have been many,So many, Each one a blessing. Allowing me to fall apart in the fertile strength of known wisdom.Only love. Only love. Only love.Going Deep: A Gay Guide to Reality is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit

Thanks for the invite. Who’s coming?When we receive an invite to an all gay event, what’s the first thing we do?Sure, we look at the theme of the party, the location, the date, but those are usually secondary considerations to the big question, “who’s going?”This is really a multiprong question: Will I feel comfortable with these guys? Is there anyone there I’d like to to date or fuck? Will anyone there want to date or fuck me? Will these guys bore me to death?Basically, am I physically and intellectually attracted to the guys who are going, and will they have a hankering for what I have to offer?The current political consensus of our people demands inclusiveness. As I understand the edict, nothing should prevent us from inviting every type of human expression (body shape/size, sex, gender identity, ability, color, or socioeconomic background) to our event.That’s “inclusive,” and it’s the right thing to do. Right?Is that what you’re thinking as you scroll the invite list? I’m guessing it’s not your highest priority.Are we already breaking the rules by just inviting gay men? Of course we are. And, of course, we’ll keep doing it.Because that’s how diversity works, we can’t have cultural diversity if we don’t have a diversity of cultures.Gay male culture is defined by our same sex attraction for one another. Yes, we share many other common interests, like show tunes, but no attribute is as universal as our same sex attraction. That aspect is intrinsic to our gay get-togethers. It’s often the centerpiece, whether overtly recognized or not.This causes a conundrum for those who want to create an affinity group (exclusive space) and your friend group is a mixed crowd, many of whom will not qualify, when one of the aims of the gathering is to provide space for erotic connections.This creates an awkward challenge as I continue my experiment of finding heart-centered connection instead of churning through meaningless sexual encounters.Meaningless sex is a simple endeavor: We both decide if we want what the other guy has. We both give and take. Done. Goodbye forever.Heart-centered connections that include an erotic overlay are vastly more complicated, mainly because we genuinely want the best for gu

This post is sexually explicit and very AIDS-y. Two states older gay men know well. Those adhering to the standard narrative I wrote about in my last post will find this content disquieting. So, with that warning, here goes. *A few months ago, on my knees, among hundreds of bodies writhing around me, a cock in my mouth exploded with a rare load in the G-dosed molly-spiked energy of a dance party dark room. I looked up and smiled with gratitude at the guy, who nodded down at me with a satisfied grin. No thoughts of death or disease, just the pure ecstasy of pleasure. No awkward whispers of HIV status. No recent funerals. No belongings to sift through. No forever friends with months, weeks, or days to live. No wondering who will die next. No wondering if it will be me. Just raw pleasure thanks to drugs that now shield us from transmission–from drama. And as I make my way back to the main party, it hits me that this is it. This is as good as the celebration of the end of the plague is going to get: a gaping void of drama. It makes me wonder if my nightmare memories are true. Did a male nurse sit across from me in the San Diego County Health Office in 1986 and tell me that I had less than eighteen months to live and I most likely would not see the age of 23? That same year, did a scumbag named Lyndon H. LaRouche get Proposition 64 on the California ballot that would have placed HIV+ people into concentration camps? Did my best friend Alvin die the next year? Did I give my first eulogy at 22?Was I getting bloodwork done every three months, for free, at the Edelman clinic in West Hollywood, where the new library is now? In 1991, did tears steam down my face when I looked at my chart and saw that my T-cells were about to fall below 200, the point at which all the opportunistic infections that pave the way to death begin? Was I the only one there to take care of my boyfriend Tony until he died because his parents couldn’t cope with finding out their son was gay and had AIDS all at the same time? Did I give my second eulogy at 26 on the baseball diamond of Poi

“Hey! It’s you guys. I didn’t know you’d be on the ship!” It takes me two full seconds to recognize the tall, lean Italian with dark eyes and grey-speckled beard stubble before a surge of joy-filled love overtakes me. I embrace him with one arm and squeeze my husband’s wrist in the elevator bay crowded with men in costumes. “Dennis! Look who it is!” We are taking a bathroom break during the first themed dance party of the seven-day March 2024 Atlantis Events (99% gay) cruise on the Valiant Lady, a Virgin Voyages ship that left from and will return to San Juan, Puerto Rico. The theme of tonight’s dance party is “Tropical Heat,” we are wearing black lines of “warrior paint” on our faces, red headbands, red tights, and the one pair of black Adidas sneakers that will need to support every activity this week. “Oh, my gawd! It is so good to see you!” says Dennis, squeezing through the crowd to give him a full-bodied hug. We met this man and his beautiful husband precisely three years ago on this same ship in the Mediterranean, out of Barcelona. Our connection on the dance floor translated into two memorable visits to our private stateroom with the four of us. It was a connection unlike most of the others because of its effortless blend of intense erotic pleasure and sensitive, emotional openness. I was genuinely sad when we said goodbye in the galley food area on the last day of that cruise in 2021. This is what keeps us coming back. Freedom. Joy. Sex. But mostly, love. These cruises provide what is no longer offered on land (in the United States): a 24/7 space dedicated to gay men’s comfort and delight for all ages and body types. This is my seventh cruise with Atlantis, and I’ve learned that the cornucopia of activities available makes it possible for every kind of gay, no matter his age, body type, activity interests, or cultural inclinations, to have a blissful journey. These cruises have something for every kind of gay. * Circut Party Gays * His body and wardrobe are maximized for dancefloor impact. * Wearing either a minimal thong & face full of glitter, or a full-blown themed group costume with yards of fabric blowing in the sea air, posing for a group photo. * Often embodied in one of the most objectively beautiful physiques on the ship. * Pupils dilated, he sometimes never sees the light of day. * He emerges after dark, is at least an hour

Easy to say. “You’re perfect.” “I see you as perfect.” All you need to do is let go of all the thoughts, beliefs, emotions, mental constructs, advertisements, comparisons on social media, and the tap tap tap of that nagging voice that says, “Don’t fall behind. You can still catch up. You can still win!” Just follow your breath. Well, notice it first. Can you? That thing you do every moment of every day. That very first thing you did when you slipped wet and cold into existence. That thing that will be the very last thing you do before it all ends or you move on to another plane of existence. That thing my father’s body tried to do even after he’d died. “Be here now.” Thanks, Ram Das. But how do we do that without trying? How do we try without judgment? How do we believe it’s okay to see ourselves as whole and happy? Unbroken. If I’m not seeking “healing” what is there left to do? Without trauma, addiction, and neurotic narcissism, what do I do with my day? Who will understand what I’m talking about? Unbroken. Whole. Complete. The red pill or the blue pill? Which one is the true fantasy? The earth, the moon, the stars. The sun that will be eclipsed by the moon today over North America. The galaxies, and clusters, and all the missing matter our current comprehension of math can’t explain. Without a creation myth, how do I cope with consciousness? To know I am, but little else? It’s not reason or math or science or myth that will bring peace. It’s faith. It’s jumping into the unknown, the unreasonable idea that I’m good and complete no matter what the other bags of muscle and bone and emotions helplessly tell me and sell me. Forgive their ignorance and my complicity. It’s an inside job. One bag of bones at a time.  This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit mikegerle.substack.com/subscribe

Just feelings. That’s what this week is about. Preparing for an ayahuasca plant ceremony is an opening of the raw self. It’s day 6 of taking away most of the things that help me avoid feelings. Coffee, weed, alcohol, refined sugar, red meat, lots of other things… and, wait for it, ejaculation! Yup. Just sit there and take it bitch! Worried about your substack, your husband’s struggles, your relevance in gay men’s culture, your mom’s reality without your dad, your other mom’s torments, your sister’s well-being, your health, turning 59, your motorcycle’s dead battery, that pain in your lower back? Just frackin feel it! Being present is no longer masked by distractions; it’s full presence, moment to moment to moment. I’ve even taken the suggestion of staying off social media, well, except Grindr. Is that a social app? Sure. Look at all those bodies and be a tease, “Not today, sorry.” What’s left is, well, everything. ALL the feelings. This is what it is to be human, buddy. Is this what it felt like to be a hunter-gatherer? Before tech and know-how brought us all the fat, meat, and sugar we wanted? Tears of joy and grief while digging in the garden? Well, I guess they didn’t have gardens. They were on the move. But they were tied to the earth. And being tied to the earth is why I’m going back. That’s why I’m doing my third plant ceremony. After experiencing a mushroom ceremony, I learned about an ayahuasca ceremony in my new neighborhood, on the same communal soil where I bought a condo two years ago, the same neighborhood where I have always hung out with leathermen. Pacha mama. Mother earth. During the last ceremony, I met You for the first time. The morning after, in the cool, bright morning Silver Lake air, I touched the bark of a tree growing near a 1920s building. It spoke to me. Much clearer than any wonky telepathic crap Counclor Diana Troy ever used on Star Trek The Next Generation, I was, and still am, connected to everything the tree is connected to. Words fail. But let me try. The expanse of an all-knowingness, a knowingness that is experiential, not intellectual. The tree, the earth, the water in the sky and the seas, each heartbeat in Silver Lake and all those around the world, each being that moves, and all those that grow, and all the essence of earth and sun and stars that have brought us into being. I touched it. It touched me back, and there was no longer

Moments after the door to my condo closed behind us, the stranger I’d cruised on the subway locked his mouth on mine. I eagerly accepted. The tension of 30+ minutes of eyeing each other in the train car, up the escalators, down Sunset Blvd., to this moment, piqued our primal need to engage. He pulled at the bottom of his shirt. I leaned away from kissing his scruffy face and said, “Hold on, can I get that for you?” and I slowly pulled his shirt up, revealing his bare skin, happy trail, belly button, chest, nipples, and finally, his masculine shoulders. The inside-out collar of thin cotton material moved up his throat while the bulk of the shirt acted as a temporary blindfold. As the shirt released from his head, I looked into his eager eyes – the t-shirt hanging relaxed in my hand. “Your turn,” I said. “Take your time.” Rather than ignoring all this erotic energy and racing towards orgasm with the intensity of an Olympic sprinter, I’ve learned to lean into erotic tension and savor its rare pleasures. This is a departure from the avid Sport Fucker practice I once thought was the height of sexual pleasure and liberation. Sport Fucking is about having sex for its own sake. Keeping a score sheet (even if it’s just in one’s head) of the numbers, variety, and status of sex partners is what it’s all about. Commitment and emotional depth are not part of the practice. An ass up, no talking, jackhammer fuck n’ go is its hallmark protocol. It allows us to protest against the heteronormative standard narrative: All sex outside of a monogamous relationship is bad. It also satisfies our need to seed, and be seeded by, as many individuals as possible. Sperm competition, as outlined in the book Sex At Dawn by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jethá, provides evidence that our genes are programmed to both give and receive as much sperm as possible. The one who gives or receives the most wins the genetic prize. Sport Fucking is still in my sexual repertoire, but it is only one musical genre with which to play the music. Sometimes, I want a nasty two-minute

My last post, Love, Contempt, and Leather Contests, ended up being a lackluster whimper that confused a few people. Thank you guys for the feedback. “Where’s the contempt?” they asked. And they were right to ask. In haste to meet my publishing deadline (on the 1st and 3rd Thursdays), I rushed a piece that was not ready for release. I also let an effort to be magnanimous prevent me from being brave. I am afraid to hurt the feelings of people I have grown to care about, even love. But sometimes, we need to tell our loved ones what’s keeping us from taking their calls. So here’s a remix with a heaping helping of contempt regarding certain aspects of leather contest culture. As I said before, I got interested in leather contests, thinking it would lead to instructions for handling a sexy boy kneeling at my feet. My leather contest contempt grew out of the impatience I felt waiting for the real world of leather to reveal itself. The one we’re all talking about during leather contests. It’s the world outlined in books like The Leatherman’s Handbook by Larry Townsend, Ties That Bind by Guy Baldwin, and Mr. Benson by John Preston. Where was the heat and eros of Tom of Finland? Why wasn’t I seeing guys like that kneeling boy who got away?

Overwhelmed by crowds of geared-up men at my first leather event, a Tom of Finland “Butt Boy” party in Hollywood, I escaped to an outdoor patio for a cigarette. I was in my late 20s, in the mid-1990s, wearing gear I’d purchased specifically for the event: a harness, armbands, a classic leather cap, leather shorts, and boots from an army surplus store on Santa Monica Blvd. With my naked back against a cool brick wall, I watched as men drifted between rooms while I pulled casually on my cigarette, hoping to look like I belonged. Apparently, I did. A beautiful shirtless blonde guy around my age, in jeans and boots, caught my eye and walked toward me. While I was still trying to figure out what to say to him, he got on his knees, clasped his hands behind his back, and bowed his head, causing an intoxicating wave of sexual arousal to wash through me. I discovered a new reality. Clouds parted. The skies opened. The leather gods smiled down upon me. At least that’s how it felt. Instinctively, I reached out and stroked his short-cropped hair. “Thank you, sir!” He said. And then…I had no idea what to do. No. Fucking. Idea. I honestly don’t remember what happened to that guy. All I know is he disappeared. And that scene played itself in my head repeatedly for over a decade. Searching for answers on my own got me nowhere, so at 41, I entered my first leather contest because I wanted to know what to do if that opportunity presented itself again. For the non-leather-folk “muggles,” it may be necessary to give some context to these rituals. Just like the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, the Leather World has its own press, its own houses, and its own politics. Each contest (each “house”), from Eagle LA to International Mister Leather (IML), sets its own rules for who is allowed to compete, the criteria for winning, and the responsibilities of the winning titleholder. Each house has its own special magic and wants to know if their contestants have the magical qualities that their house values. The judges of the contes

“I blink, and you’re hooked up with someone!” My husband says with his testosterone-fueled competitive voice.I get a wonderful turn-on when I see this side of my normally deferential, even-mannered, Vulcan-like boy. It’s dangerously delicious. His full 42-year-old, tall, masculine body radiates primal testosterone. Men turn me on, so seeing him charged with desire and vexed sexual frustration is intoxicating. It makes him sexually vibrant and desirable. I feel like a badass. And he confirms, with his horny, competitive frustration, that we’re still on the same page regarding our sexual desires and agreements. The Sensitive Slut is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.He’s an ambitious high achiever, a man who pursues measurable, quantifiable tools and protocols for reaching success. So my success, as he frames it, must be a simple matter of following some sort of playbook of which he is unaware. He doesn’t want me to change my behavior. He doesn’t want me to stop hooking up. He just wants to be better at it than me. So, for him and all the other high achievers out there looking to sharpen their “game,” here’s what I know. Your mileage may vary. Hone your Battlefield Awareness. That’s a term we used in my day job when I was a Special Events Coordinator for the City of West Hollywood. While babysitting gatherings like WeHo Gay Pride, Halloween, and the collection of Oscar Parties held by Elton John, Vanity Fair, and HBO (all on the same night), we needed to know where to focus our attention. The same situational awareness translates into navigating crowded sexual playgrounds. It’s the ability to focus an endless aggregate of variables into a small, actionable list of choices.As an aside, I am uneasy applying the term “Battlefield Awareness” to our sexual playgrounds because I want our unique spaces to be collaborative spiritual playgrounds. Not a place where there are winners and losers. However, for the uninitiated, these gatherings may feel like battlegrounds because of incursions on their personal space, an internalized sex-negative worldview that says one sexual partner forever means “good” & many sexual partners mean “bad,” or the newness of the social sexual culture for which they have yet to find a vocabulary. And, although relatively rare (compared to the number of good players), we have bad

I was recently at an all-gay birthday party, standing in a small gaggle of well-known friends comparing ages. The birthday “boy” was 44. I let the group know I will be 59 this April. Then said, “I’m old.” “You’re not old!” One of them insisted, his eyes confused. I stood my ground and insisted that, by the numbers around life expectancy, I was in the final 3rd or 4th of my life. His expression changed to befuddled surprise. He then scanned me up and down before saying, with some exasperation, “But you’re not ‘old.’” It was an attempt to be gracious, so why, even as I write this, does it piss me the fuck off? Isn’t that what we all want to hear? Isn’t that what we all want to believe? Isn’t that polite? The response was all those things, and I still want to discuss it. But when I push the subject, and I don’t fawn over the Emporor’s forever young clothes, even when I’m the one wearing them, the frigid response I receive tells me I’ve broken a social contract by saying the word “old.”One reason I want my olderness confirmed is because getting old, especially gay-old, is so disorienting. I shouldn’t be struggling with this. I was supposed to be dead at 23. That’s what the doctor said when he told me I was HIV+ at 20. Decades and decades ago, AIDS was supposed to kill me. It didn’t. It still hasn’t. In fact, by the numbers of my regularly measured blood work, I’ve never been healthier. I need help figuring out how to be this way, how to be gay, out, male, alive, and old. To be me. Right now. What the fuck is going on? Disorientation turns into fear, and fear turns into anger. Yes, gurl, she’s old. Calm down! We have collectively created a culture where death only comes from a bullet, a bomb, a space phaser, a drive-by, a drug overdose, a medieval ax, or a superhero’s pummeling. That’s how we see it play out in the media. It doesn’t come to good people who have followed all the rules, bought all the supplements, and stretched through every yoga class. Except that it does. That’s reality. Another reason I want my age acknowledged is because I know I’m invited to a themed party called “Aging, or Olds, or Elders,” one that includes big ideas, deep love, and fleeting beauty that is usually only witnessed by those left behind at funerals. Every gay knows (or should know) that it’s rude to attend a party and not participate in the th

Two years ago, while in my 57th year, I began going out to dance parties again. To my surprise, reentering the gay dance party scene at 56 proved to be, and continues to be, a much more edifying experience than it was in my 20s. I give credit for this transformation to decades of seeking with my MFT therapists Karen, Jim, Winston, and Sharon, a Forum-like intensive called The Experience, MKP men’s retreats, meditation retreats, yoga teacher training, coaching training, Tantra training, a personal meditation practice, and drugs. Of course, none of that would be possible if I did not have the willingness to look into my heart and unpack the results of the Idaho-Mormon-gay-AIDS trauma I’d internalized. Walking through all that trauma history with a wide array of teachers is why I am able to enjoy the cornucopia of pleasure, self-celebration, and connection I now enjoy everywhere, especially on the dance floor with my brothers. Everyone’s life is different. Everyone’s amount of trauma is different. My trauma required lots and lots of work. Some gays, like my husband, who’ve had relatively little trauma, have the ability to find contentment without all those programs.SubscribedNearly 30 years ago, when I was 28, I went to my first White Party in Palm Springs. It was a big deal back then.I had resisted going for several reasons. I’d only been sober for two years, it was still more expensive than I could afford, and most of all, and most pertinent to this post, I didn’t think I could compete with all the hotties I saw in pages of Circut Noise Magazine, the magazine covering circuit events pre-internet. It contained pages of evidence that I needed to be something other than who I really was. Someone confident, excruciatingly beautiful, and ready for a photo op with ten equally beautiful men.You know, guys who were winning the party. I’d need to reinvent myself to be one of them. I felt like I needed permission to be on the dance floor.“What if you got paid to go?” I was prodded by my workout partner, Adam, to join the scene. He had connections with the producers, custom design skills to create our Bad Bunny gear, and a body and cock that demanded attention. He made it possible for me to get paid to go, including a shared hotel room at Motel 6. All I needed to do was work a couple of doors and dance on a box at the military-themed nighttime pool party.Adam thrived on the scene.

Interested in a 3-way? ... Sign up for our Masterclass Trio:Sex / Love & Relationships / Spirituality & Intuition BundleIn these courses, you'll learn tips, tricks and insider information from 3 generations of gay men.You'll leave knowing how to prepare your mind, body, and spirit to give & receive the sex you desire and deserve.You'll explore finding love in all the right places!Find the inspired answers inside of you waiting to be discovered.Evoke your true desires and empowering your own authentic spirituality.Join All 3 Now! - For Only $97Learn More about each Masterclass________________________________________________________________________________________Did you miss the last Sex, Love & Relationships Challenge?Don't worry! We'll be doing it once more for those of you who haven't got the time but still want to go deeper, learn more about and improve the Sex, Love and/or Relationships in your lives.When? January 23rd - 27th 2021Learn More Now!________________________________________________________________________________________I need to get honest with you about sex.Because I love it, and believe that celebrating mindful, “conscious sex” is essential for gay men’s dignity. My last "Being A Man," or BAM, episode was about moving from oppression to celebration; and I barely mentioned sex at all.After a long discussion with my boyfriend regarding my struggle writing that episode, I realized that I had let my socialized, American, fear about sex, launch me into a clumsy, diatribe about fear itself, and my fear of just talking about what I really want.So let’s talk about the sex we have and the reasons we can celebrate it.After all, it just makes sense for a podcast “for gay men” to address the one and only thing that all gay men have in common, the urge to merge, the passion that surges in our balls, our gut, our brains, and our hearts, to seek out and touch other men, intimately.We talked about:Consent [8

Interested in a 3-way? ... Sign up for our Masterclass Trio:Sex / Love & Relationships / Spirituality & Intuition today!In these courses, you'll learn tips, tricks and insider information from 3 generations of gay men.You'll leave knowing how to prepare your mind, body, and spirit to give & receive the sex you desire and deserve.You'll explore finding love in all the right places!Find the inspired answers inside of you waiting to be discovered.Evoke your true desires and empowering your own authentic spirituality.Join All 3 Now! - For Only $97Learn More about each Masterclass________________________________________________________________________________________Did you miss the last Sex, Love & Relationships Challenge?Don't worry! We'll be doing it once more for those of you who haven't got the time but still want to go deeper, learn more about and improve the Sex, Love and/or Relationships in your lives.When? January 23rd - 27th 2021Learn More Now!________________________________________________________________________________________Hello GerleMen listeners.She is hilarious. She is irreverent. She is devastating in her academic acumen and her theatrical talent.And, although we may be laughing, her messages are packed with wisdom and insights many listeners will find life-affirming.While we pause our regular episodes and prepare a spectacular Season 2 of the GerleMen Podcast, we’d like you to enjoy some short, bonus episodes, co-hosted by my dear friend and rambunctious orange Nun, Sister Unity of the Los Angeles House of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.So enjoy the show my friends! We’ve packed all this awesomeness into some very short clips.Mentioned in this episode:Dr. Don Kilhefner (Listen to Wisdom of the Tribal Elder wi

Hello GerleMen listeners.She is hilarious. She is irreverent. She is devastating in her academic acumen and her theatrical talent.And, although we may be laughing, her messages are packed with wisdom and insights many listeners will find life-affirming.While we pause our regular episodes and prepare a spectacular Season 2 of the GerleMen Podcast, we’d like you to enjoy some short, bonus episodes, co-hosted by my dear friend and rambunctious orange Nun, Sister Unity of the Los Angeles House of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.So enjoy the show my friends! We’ve packed all this awesomeness into some very short clips.Mentioned in this episode:Sister Unity (Listen to The Queer Hero's Journey with Sister Unity episode)Sister on Social Media:YoutubeTwitterFacebookInstagram Get connected:Subscribe to my newsletter and blog on our website.Email me directly at mike@gerlemen.com.Or join the conversation on Facebook.And, for your viewing pleasure, find us on YouTube. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit mikegerle.substack.com/subscribe

Dear listeners - join us next week for our Sex, Love & Relationships virtual workshop!!We'd love to see you join the discussion and connect in real-time. xoHello GerleMen listeners.She is hilarious. She is irreverent. She is devastating in her academic acumen and her theatrical talent.And, although we may be laughing, her messages are packed with wisdom and insights many listeners will find life-affirming.While we pause our regular episodes and prepare a spectacular Season 2 of the GerleMen Podcast, we’d like you to enjoy some short, bonus episodes, co-hosted by my dear friend and rambunctious orange Nun, Sister Unity of the Los Angeles House of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.So enjoy the show my friends! We’ve packed all this awesomeness into some very short clips.Mentioned in this episode:Rev. Jesse Brune-Horan: (Listen to Rev. Jesse: Just F-ing Love Each Other from S1) Jesse on Social Media:FacebookInstagramJoel Benjamin. (Listen to The Union of Sex & Spirit with Yogi Joel Benjamin from S1)Joel on Social Media:FacebookInstagramTwitterYogaSmithSeattle.comSister Unity: Listen to the 1st Episode of the podcast with the hilarious Sister Unity.Sister Unity on Social Media: