Cruising for sex on the QM2

[readerc54]

From NY Times

“Leather jacket at 5 o’clock,” my friend John whispered. I scanned the room and located the young man in a sleekly fitted jacket. Amid the 2,000-odd crowd of passengers waiting to board the Queen Mary 2 at Southampton, England, heading to New York, it’s not hard to spot those of eligible age for our kind of “cruising,” which happens more often in clubs or on Grindr than aboard luxury ocean vessels. One has only to scan for heads without white hair, as John wasn’t in the market for a tryst with someone twice his age.

“Definitely gay,” I agreed. We watched him turn to an older man seated beside him. “Is that his dad,” I wondered.

“Or his daddy?” John asked.

During our 40-minute wait, we spotted a handsome young couple with tidy haircuts and matching suits, a gaggle of bearded men whose American voices rang boisterously over the sea of seniors, and a towering Clark Kent look-alike accompanied by a man thrice his age.

“Daddy,” we whispered in unison.

No one takes the Queen Mary 2, or QM2 as it’s known, to get lucky, unless it’s in the casino. John is a regular on cruises by virtue of both a plane phobia and a book he is researching in Greece. Most passengers, however, take the QM2 to revel in the 151,000-ton homage to an antiquated ideal of British luxury. People take the Queen Mary to be served — by Eastern European waiters in white gloves, Filipino stewards who hover in the stateroom corridors, British performers with feathered headdresses, and “dance hosts” hired to steer the many eager dowagers around the ballroom. (The hierarchy of the crew on the QM2 is clearly delineated by nationality.) But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to cruise more than the King’s Buffet on the famous luxury ocean liner. And I would prove it by playing Cupid for my friend, whose Midwestern home base is less than a thriving metropolis of gay culture.

The seeds of my mission had sprouted when, during his last voyage, I received an S O S email from John: He was eating meals alone in his cabin, had been the sole attendant at an L.G.B.T. cocktail hour and had barely spoken to anyone in five days. This was not a total shock — he often faces social anxiety. But he’s also an influential writer, extremely handsome and one of the kindest people I know.

“I’ve 86ed myself,” I explained as we boarded. “But, by God, I’m going to get you some action on this boat.”

“Let’s hope you don’t get seasick,” he said, trundling up the gangway.

It was hard to imagine the inside of a ship as a luxury hotel until I saw the six-story Grand Lobby atrium with its 22-foot bronze relief mural of the ship itself, Art Deco chandelier and white grand piano. If ships are female, the QM2 is the biggest, baddest drag queen — the RuPaul of sea vessels.

“Leather jacket at 5 o’clock,” my friend John whispered. I scanned the room and located the young man in a sleekly fitted jacket. Amid the 2,000-odd crowd of passengers waiting to board the Queen Mary 2 at Southampton, England, heading to New York, it’s not hard to spot those of eligible age for our kind of “cruising,” which happens more often in clubs or on Grindr than aboard luxury ocean vessels. One has only to scan for heads without white hair, as John wasn’t in the market for a tryst with someone twice his age.

“Definitely gay,” I agreed. We watched him turn to an older man seated beside him. “Is that his dad,” I wondered.

“Or his daddy?” John asked.

During our 40-minute wait, we spotted a handsome young couple with tidy haircuts and matching suits, a gaggle of bearded men whose American voices rang boisterously over the sea of seniors, and a towering Clark Kent look-alike accompanied by a man thrice his age.

“Daddy,” we whispered in unison.

No one takes the Queen Mary 2, or QM2 as it’s known, to get lucky, unless it’s in the casino. John is a regular on cruises by virtue of both a plane phobia and a book he is researching in Greece. Most passengers, however, take the QM2 to revel in the 151,000-ton homage to an antiquated ideal of British luxury. People take the Queen Mary to be served — by Eastern European waiters in white gloves, Filipino stewards who hover in the stateroom corridors, British performers with feathered headdresses, and “dance hosts” hired to steer the many eager dowagers around the ballroom. (The hierarchy of the crew on the QM2 is clearly delineated by nationality.) But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to cruise more than the King’s Buffet on the famous luxury ocean liner. And I would prove it by playing Cupid for my friend, whose Midwestern home base is less than a thriving metropolis of gay culture.

The seeds of my mission had sprouted when, during his last voyage, I received an S O S email from John: He was eating meals alone in his cabin, had been the sole attendant at an L.G.B.T. cocktail hour and had barely spoken to anyone in five days. This was not a total shock — he often faces social anxiety. But he’s also an influential writer, extremely handsome and one of the kindest people I know.

When I was 9, my entire family had crossed the Atlantic on my father’s cargo ship, and I had just finished writing a book that described it, along with my last passionate love affair. If anyone could help John, I could. A true extrovert, I also manage to fall a little bit in love everywhere I go. This mixed gift is the reason I was on a six-month stint of voluntary celibacy. I had been in consecutive monogamous relationships since the age of 15, the most recent of which had been catastrophic enough to write this new book about, and to inspire the much-needed hiatus.

“I’ve 86ed myself,” I explained as we boarded. “But, by God, I’m going to get you some action on this boat.”

“Let’s hope you don’t get seasick,” he said, trundling up the gangway.

It was hard to imagine the inside of a ship as a luxury hotel until I saw the six-story Grand Lobby atrium with its 22-foot bronze relief mural of the ship itself, Art Deco chandelier and white grand piano. If ships are female, the QM2 is the biggest, baddest drag queen — the RuPaul of sea vessels.

It was quite a contrast to the memory of my father’s ship. The Leslie Lykes carried only 50 people, mostly crew members, and was the length of two Statues of Liberty laid torch to toe. The QM2 is far longer — a bit more than a horizontal Chrysler Building. Yet when I stepped out onto the deck, the briny wind whipping my hair, I felt the same spark of excitement in my chest.

John was wary. Attendance at our L.G.B.T. cocktail hour — coyly called Friends of Dorothy — had been poor. On his previous voyage, one of John’s dining tablemates had given an impromptu lecture about the dress code, fuming at how a single person wearing shorts in the dining room “just ruins it for the rest of us.”

The last night in the disco was lively, despite the empty dance floor. The most handsome of the bearded gay men sidled up to us at the bar. He ordered a shot, batted his eyes at John and recounted the Botox injections he had been talked into at the spa. “This is the most expensive vacation ever,” he said.

I agreed. And I wasn’t going to fork over thousands for a trip that didn’t include my kind of dancing. I begged the D.J. to play some dancehall.

The cute bearded man whispered: “Your friend is adorable. I’d love to get him alone on the dance floor.” I didn’t tell him that dancing — as well as facial hair and Botox — was a deal breaker for John.

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/04/04/trav ... ary-2.html

[Smiles]

Surely to christ the 'New York Times' can dredge up a better, more intriguing story than this.
Pass the Botox ... or a valium.

[Gaybutton]

Surely to christ the 'New York Times' can dredge up a better, more intriguing story than this.

They can always tell us all about how Pattaya is the sex capital of the world, as some of the tabloids do . . .

[Smiles]

"They can always tell us all about how Pattaya is the sex capital of the world ... "

But that's not news, everyone knows already. Only the infiltration of a few hundred thousand lesbians will change that.

[Between Lives]

Surely to christ the 'New York Times' can dredge up a better, more intriguing story than this.
Pass the Botox ... or a valium.

I'll take the valium lol