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Thursday, October 11, 2007

In late September, as Paris Fashion Week was just beginning, the Folsom Street Fair was well under way in San Francisco, where each year about 100,000 kinky gay folks from all over the planet gather to share each other's company—and sometimes each other. The shit's brazen, says Cesar Padilla...

I was walking at the intersection of Dolores and 16th Street with my boyfriend, Mat, when a 60ish-year-old fellow passed by. He sported a loose tank top made of thin, well-loved strips of fabric and a pair of super skimpy jogging shorts that barely concealed a raging hard-on. It reminded me what the Folsom Street Fair is all about. FREEDOM! An exhibitionist's tumescent dream cum true, the fair has it all: fetishists galore, naked daddies, guys beating off in broad daylight, games of porn-star Twister, cocksucking, leather-worshipping German trash, goth breeder couples straight from shopping at their local Hot Topic, bears of all kinds (A bears, muscle bears, baby bears), smooths, gym queens, roids, nellatrons, ladies, mumsies, relics, uniforms, rockers, showboats, fat camp, starch queens, scent queens, product queens, popper queens, tweakers, straight-acting, face-downs, fisters, gawkers, stalkers, and those that like to be at the end of a dog leash. And me and Mat.