Going Deep: A Gay Guide to Reality

NOV 24, 2025

21 MIN

NOV 11, 2025

The Community of Men.

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 <a target="_blank" href="https://mikegerle.substack.com/p/my-queer-secrets?utm_source=publication-search">first gay pride</a> 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 served “3.2 beer” (regarding its low alcohol content), which the state of Colorado deemed acceptable for 18-21 year olds. My friends were at the cooler, hotter bars for older, 21+ gays, but we had plans to meet up at The Ball Park bathhouse after the bars closed. When the boy I had just fallen in love with turned out to have a jealous, dramatic boyfriend, I couldn’t wait to rendezvous with my comrades at the bathhouse.Feeling grateful for my bathhouse tutoring on the drive down, I seamlessly made it through The Ball Park’s entry process.I was soon standing at the foot of an enormous faux-stone hot tub, fed from above by a two-story indoor waterfall. The sound and scent of water crashing into the hot tub. In the misty open space above, men used the conspicuously placed shower stations lining the floors above to lather up, cruise, and be cruised. Like a chandelier of male sex, I felt their energy rain down on me.The fact that it was still a <a target="_blank" href="https://lambdalegal.org/case/lawrence-v-texas/">crime</a> to have gay sex in Wyoming, the state I woke up in that morning, (and the two other states I’d lived in: Nebraska and Idaho), made the three floors of cruising, two hot tubs, a steamroom-cave-maze, a full-sized semi truck cab, a three-tiered orgy/porn room, a giant fish tank, a maze of glory hole booths, what seemed like miles of private rooms, a snack bar, and a dance floor to dance the night away, all the more opulent and liberating.The idea that this playground was designed and made for me and my kind made me feel seen and empowered, like I’d received a gift. I belonged there.I miss the protocol of Men’s Class at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet School summer session, where the rituals of the ballet world focused on the specific proclivities of men. The surprisingly delightful competitiveness between us as we showed off for each other and the ballet master. Jumping, turning, and beating our legs together, proving who was best. All of us working to perfect the same art form gave us unity, while we simultaneously competed to be the best, the soloist who stands out. Ballet tights accentuated our crotch mounds and lined the deepest crevases of our well-developed glutes, providing a hormone-charged surge that didn’t occur during mixed class.“Ladies, re-rack your weights!” was a call to order routinely made over the Athletic Club’s speakers. It made me grin every time. There were no ladies. The Athletic Club was not a gay friendly gym; it was a GAY gym. Only one locker room, stacks of free gay publications by the front door, working out with our shirts off, a tanning service, a pool, a kitchen, and sections of glass brick separating the showers from the parking lot so anyone walking by could see the fractal shapes of bodies showering. The stairs up to the sun deck, the sun deck itself, the steam room, the sauna, and the tanning bed rooms all made on-site orgasms possible. The professional masseurs were excellent, gay, and accommodating.During one workout, I looked up to see lots of guys packed around the TV in the kitchen, and I worried something terrible had happened or that some sports thing I knew nothing about was droning on. But when they started laughing and singing along to a scene from the 1956 musical “The King and I,” I was both relieved that nothing bad was happening and happy to know I could chat about “the game” we were all watching at the gym.On the cork bulletin board filled with calling cards and flyers, someone posted a handwritten, anonymous note: “To the man with the Tweety Bird tattoo. I miss you. We never talked, but I always liked you, and I’m so sorry you’re no longer with us.”As much as I love the club feel of the new John Reed in West Hollywood — probably the gayest gym in LA right now, only feet from the old Athletic Club — it will never be a gay club that offers that kind of camaraderie and solace.It was more than a gym; it was a club for gay men. It was home.The book, <a target="_blank" href="https://www.amazon.com/Mans-Country-More-Than-Bathhouse/dp/1955826412">Man’s Country, More Than A Bathouse</a>, published in 2023, inspired this post. It was open for 44 years, from 1973 until 2017. Here are a few quotes from men who were there:“Going there made me feel safe. It felt comfortable–like we were all connected or a big family in a way.” ~MS (p. 31)“At Man’s Country, we knew each other like brothers of a clan. We trusted each other in sex and morals, and didn’t trust that our society would treat us morally.” ~Jon-Henri Damski (p. 37)“There was sex, entertainment, and food there. Since it was the 1970s, there was lots of positive sex energy. … The thing was, even though I was alone, I felt connected to a broader community at Man’s Country. It was a way to merge community and sex in a positive way.” ~Richard F. (p. 28)“I love the way the sexual mixed with the social. That didn’t exist in any other environment outside of the great bathhouses, and it hasn’t been replicated since.” ~<a target="_blank" href="https://substack.com/@racebannon?utm_source=global-search">Race Bannon</a> (p. 30)We’ve had these places before: the benefits they provide for building community and dignity are proven.Is it possible to create these places and feel that kind of solidarity again?The only places I’ve felt that kind of gay belonging and fellowship recently have been on cruise ships and warehouse parties. But the fact that neither of them has an address where I can drop in when I need the energy and support of being with my own kind makes me sad. An ephemeral gathering spot that may or may not be shut down at any moment is not the same as a physical location built for us that many regulars eventually call home.In my next post, I’ll discuss why we think sex is bad and how that keeps us from rebuilding these spaces.Until next time, please be good to yourself,Mike This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://mikegerle.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2">mikegerle.substack.com/subscribe</a>

12 MIN

JUL 31, 2025

Yoga, Gonorrhea, and the Middle Way

Two months ago, I <a target="_blank" href="https://mikegerle.substack.com/p/confronting-my-egos-demand-for-meaningless">wrote about</a> 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, <a target="_blank" href="https://mikegerle.substack.com/p/jealousy-and-sluts">even when it makes him jealous</a>. I have the unconditional love of my bio-family who embrace me even when I’m <a target="_blank" href="https://mikegerle.substack.com/p/so-many-imls">winning gay men’s leather contests</a> and writing a blog called <a target="_blank" href="https://mikegerle.substack.com/s/the-sensitive-slut">The Sensitive Slut</a>. This is a choice I’m making for myself.I’m trying to choose well.The goal is about finding contentment, a state of being more sustainable than happiness. It’s not about fitting into moral purity defined by someone elseWhat’s changed is being conscious of the intention behind what or who is receiving my most precious resource, which is my attention. Instead of letting an app on my phone seduce me into distraction, I’m doing my best to consciously use my phone to place my attention on something edifying, like connection.So, it is about sexual restraint, using moderation as a tool to maximize contentment with some sustained bouts of hardcore happiness along the way. It’s about making the sex I have as generative as possible. It’s about investing my attention rather than spending it.I’m using sex as one of life’s most potent spices. Like salt, it can transform a sensual experience into delight, or it can disgust the palate. It all depends on how it’s used.At least that’s the theory.Presently, I think I may have overcorrected, like I need a little more salt in my diet.I’ve felt more lonely than I need to.What I’ll continue to lean into.Repeats: I’m picking regulars over randomsHaving regular fuck buddies is a new practice for me.Picking a regular over a random hookup has felt really good. I get that this is a normal practice for many guys, like my husband, but for me, it’s new. I’ve noticed that this leads to more “pillow talk” that is deeper than giving them directions out of my building. I’ve learned about their husbands and swapped relationship tips. I’ve experienced a lot more making out, body contact, and eye gazing. Having sex with interesting individuals is more edifying than fucking well-formed meat sacks.Sex venues: Love the one you’re with.At DenLA, a public orgy here in LA, I let my attention stay with the guy I’m with rather than trying to check him off my hotties to do list. There seems to be a short span of time during a sex party hook-up when it’s acknowledged by both guys that the check box has been made, both say thanks, and then on to the next. When I’ve offered to keep going, adding more empathy and sensuality, more love if you will, guys respond extremely well, giving the love back. Even in the middle of an orgy, a giving connection can happen. We’re still geared up, sliding in and out, but the quality of the encounter is vastly different.Some hotties may go unfucked…Parties with a dark room:At a private pool party with a sex space set up in a bedroom near the bathroom, I choose to keep talking to friends outside by the pool rather than stalk the sex space. This led to one very satisfying fuck with a regular and multiple connections with guys I didn’t want to fuck because I was outside by the pool instead of giving all my attention to the sex space.Random Hookups:On apps or in cruising venues like the gym, I look in their eyes (even if it’s on an app) and don’t fool myself when I see crazy in their eyes. I read body language or what they text on an app and follow through with the ones that fit my intention to connect.Work in progressAs I said in my original post, this is an experiment, a work in progress.What’s changed for good is pursuing quality over quantity.This requires me to be present with my thoughts and feelings so that I can determine if my intentions are going to be satisfied with who and what I am giving my attention to.This won’t keep me from acquiring gonorrhea from a random, but sweet connections are worth the risk. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://mikegerle.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2">mikegerle.substack.com/subscribe</a>

10 MIN

JUL 23, 2025

We’re a Coalition, Not a Community

14 MIN

JUN 26, 2025

On Edge

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 <a href="https://mikegerle.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2">mikegerle.substack.com/subscribe</a>

5 MIN

Going Deep: A Gay Guide to Reality

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