Not long ago a friend enticed me into volunteering for one of those large 'circuit parties'.  I had never been to one of those events but his reasoning sounded logical; "there will be people of import, nice professionals who care about the wellbeing of others and are into making a difference not only for the Gay community but for people in general and you might even find that special person among them" quoth the raven.

Never being one for doing things for others, I was immediately attracted to the last part of his argument.  Yeah, I said to myself these must be guys who actually have their sh*t together and are mature, responsible and not into the routine South Beach style of neighborly genitalia sharing, so I decided to contribute my efforts to this HIV hell raiser, ooops! I mean fundraiser.

I was impressed with how well organized this event is, people from all over the country fly to Miami to contribute their talents - self suckers included - I noticed the organizers were unassuming middle aged people for the most part, there was certainly nothing of the SOBE flash in them or at least if there ever was, time (and rehab centers) had taken care of extinguishing it. Nonetheless I was still hoping to find that perfect GQ model cover boy with the Dalai Lama's compassion and mother Teresa’s saintly heart throbbing behind perfectly defined pecs.

The parties themselves were truly FAAABULOUS affairs with renowned DJ’s spinning their wheels to quell back the AIDS epidemic, the pool area of this beach hotel suddenly transformed into an Ibiza fantasy, the Floridian sun endlessly caressing the hundreds of glistening muscled bodies all moving robotically to the same beat; all part of a single throbbing mass of beautifully tanned man meat.

A SOBE luminary approached me, shirtless fishing for a compliment for his newfound abs, in truth he is seriously undernourished for this kind of party all of a sudden the acronym HIV had become as irrelevant as my friend’s welterweight physique as the Chelsea type 300 pounder muscle queens, kicked us bespectacled geeks and B-lister wannabes out of their way and galloped like a heard of some steroidal superhuman breed into the dance floor and 37 bars that comprised our first line of defense against contagion. 

Dr. Mengele would have been pleased with what supplements have done to these guys and if we are to judge by the number of stuffed and bleeding noses the Medellin and Cali cartels must be really proud of being a major contributor to these parties. The war against what’s been called the disease of the 21st  century did not stop there, our muscled heroes of mercy despite how drunk and drugged they were then took it to the restrooms, hotel rooms and any available space in which they could get together for some unprotected sex group action all for the benefit of HIV.

Of course you all realize I’m only writing this because I’m bitter that these queens did not invite me to their S and M fisting and pissing druggie drunk orgies, as for Mr. Perfect, sure he was present too and we got to converse for a bit, on his way to one of those after parties he whispered in my ear “OUTTA MY WAY LOOSER I’VE GOT A 12 INCH SAUSAGE TO HIDE”.     

GP Harris writes tongue in cheek (no pun intended!) via the Devil’s Advocate feature of GaySOFLA Magazine.  The purpose of his column is to generate dialogue regarding issues that concern the GLBT community.