From the short story"in the bars of heaven and hell" in the book entitled "love, castro street: reflections of san francisco"
I bought this book on a trip in San Francisco in the Castro in my mid-twenties. I like this part of this short story:
"Last call at the Rendezvous--we stood around drinking, eyeing, and we home and sometimes talked and sometimes didn't and spread our legs or got spread, we licked and bathed each other in sweat and sometimes traded tender kisses that seemed to matter and sometimes didn't, a repertoire of intimate address played out in a microcosm of distance: the one-night stand, the trick; the Rendezvous which had no warning printed above its legendary unmarked door into which I entered shivering a hundred nights, all in my youth, eighteen, nineteen, not yet part of an army of natural lovers--but I will get there, it will come--not quite yet one of the soldiers of ecstasy."
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