When Chris (formerly called C in my journal) had suggested going to Provincetown, on the tip of Massachusset's Cape Code, for Labor Day weekend, I didn't immediately jump at the idea. I'd been on the verge of asking him if he wanted to go to Montreal for that same weekend. But I wanted to be agreeable, so I agreed to the Ptown idea. My expectations were that it would be mostly a party weekend; spending our time either on the beach or in dance clubs, and getting to know each other better along the way.

We set off early Friday morning. Well, it would have been early if I hadn't slept in after a very late night at work the previous day. We were finally on the road by nine o'clock, and reached Provincetown by mid-afternoon. Our hotel, Victoria House, was well located just a block from the beginning of the gay section of town, had a nice bathroom, and a serviceable bedroom (though rather cramped, and spartan for $150 per night, but such is Provincetown on a holiday weekend in the summer).

We took a walk up and down Commercial Street which stretched in either direction, along the coast, from the foot of the road on which our hotel was situated. To the right was the West End - the gay section of town. It's gorgeous, and gets more gorgeous as you walk further West - beautiful Victorians, with the sea as the background. Just walk one block to the left from our street, and the character changes completely - everybody looks immediately overweight and unstylish, ya know. So we took most of our walks in the West End. On our first afternoon, which was a beautiful day with a fresh sea breeze, we just ambled back and forth, looking in a couple of quite decent galleries, and making our dinner reservations (we'd been advised to dine early before the end-of-season blues hit the restaurant staff).

After a nap, and a shower and shave (gay man's peril - I cut my nipple shaving), we set off back down Commercial Street for dinner at Esthers, which was completely scrumptious. A really first class restaurant in every way. By ten-thirty it was going out time. One advantage of the early closing hours in Provincetown (no bars or clubs can stay open past 1.00 a.m.) is that you don't have to stay out until the wee hours to go dancing. We'd been told that the A-house was the place to go on Fridays, so we followed the crowd. First doze of reality. Provincetown isn't San Francisco or New York. The A-house sucked; lousy music, low ceiling, and nothing decor. So we retired early to bed (twelve-thirty - if we'd been in New York we'd have been just about heading out at that time).

Chris and I have had a rather ambiguous relationship. We've been sort of dating, but I've been trying to take it slowly, since I was unsure how I felt about Chris, beyond the fact that I liked him as a friend, and found him handsome. When we got into the single King-size bed wearing our boxers, we both knew that this night, or at least this weekend, would probably define our relationship. Inevitably, we started making out, and we had sex for the first time, though in a way that wasn't, perhaps, as passionate as you'd expect from two guys who'd been dating for a few weeks. So the first night passed with our relationship still undecided.

In the morning, I got up early so that I could grab some coffee and the newspaper before my hair-cutting appointment. It was thickly humid, and rather unpleasant, despite leaves blowing around as if in preparation for fall. The streets were surprisingly empty for a holiday weekend. As I read the paper in the main square, it was pleasant to see locals sitting out, watching the world pass by, calling out to acquaintances in their thick Cape Cod accent. I saw two young men come out of a house, and kiss goodbye in a rather impersonal way; probably after a late night tryst.

Lately, I'd been experimenting with growing out my hair. But the experiment had been a failure. Or at least I partly attributed to my longer hair the recent feelings I've been having; that I look old when I see myself in the mirror. So off came the hair, and I emerged with the shortest cut I've had in a long time, feeling much more boyish. We had a rather lousy breakfast (terrible service) at Bayside Betsys before returning home to get changed to go to the gym. Yes, we may be on vacation, but gay life must go on. En route to the excellent gym (Mussel Beach), we stopped off for a coffee at a quiet little cafe run by two cute, young lesbians. I suddenly felt that it would be a nice life to run a cafe in a beautiful town like this. But I wondered what it must be like in the Winter. Beautiful yes, but coooold, as I well remember from my own upbringing on the North East coast of England.

In the afternoon, we explored more in the West End before heading home once again to get ready for our late afternoon disco-cruise on a large ferry boat. Picture one thousand gay men (and a sprinkling of lesbians) dancing on the deck of a boat heading out into the waters off the cape, as the sun went down. The DJ, unleashed from the "I'm so cool" confines of a dance club, felt free to play some great tunes, stuff you really could enjoy dancing to, and we had a great time. We even got a little high, due to standing (accidentally on purpose) downwind of a pot-smoking lesbian. The funniest thing was to stand back and watch how the gentle, slow rocking of the ferry influenced everybody's motion on the dance floor; slow lean (or stagger, depending on the amount of alcohol or pot involved) to the right, then to the left.

The disco cruise

The view of the ighthouse at the tip of the Cape

Another beautiful view. He was gorgeous, but was unfortunately also extremely aware of it.

The pot-smoking lesbian

After a couple of hours, both Chris and I started to chill out a bit, and leave the dancing to others. I watched the sun slowly descend through the horizon, and it was an unexpectely powerful moment that I couldn't begin to put into words. Something about the the caring, warm rays of the sun and the magnificent perpetuity of it all. See, I told you I shouldn't attempt to put it into words.

Watching the sun go down

After another quite wonderful dinner, this time at Lorraines, we headed home again to change for going out. We should have left well enough alone after our experience at the A-house. Anyway, we got in line, dutifully, at the Paramount, which is the place to go on Saturday evenings. It was the same crowd as had been at the A-house the night before, and indeed on the ferry boat that afternoon. And I just wasn't in the mood. It was hot, crowded, and the music was just as bad as it had been at the A-house. Besides I was beginning to feel old again. Maybe the thrill of going out dancing, after half a year of indulgence, is wearing out. We were home before midnight this time.

I was tired and just wanted to sleep, but Chris was horny, and wanted to make out again. And he was distinctly more amorous than he'd been the night before, and said things that really crystalized the moment that had to come, the moment when I had "that conversation" - the one I feel I've had so many times, where, despite my best efforts, I just don't feel the special sort of chemistry that is needed to take things further, romantically. I guess he'd seen it coming, and he really took it very well. So well, in fact, that we had sex again in the morning. Not too sure if that was a good idea or not, but it felt good.

In the morning, I got up early again, this time to go running. Outside, I immediately realized that it was a magically perfect day. As I ran - first down Commercial Street, past beautiful houses set on perfect little lawns (in the quieter parts of the West End) and then down on the beach - I realized what a lovely town this is; so much to do - the nightlife (even if it wasn't to my taste); great restaurants, more than decent galleries, the beach, hiking and nature trails, wildlife, and the even more beautiful landscapes I found once I ran out of the edge of the town, and started along Route 6, lined with dunes, grasses and marshes set against a stunning blue sky and a milky blue sea. The air felt so fresh against my skin as it streamed past me while I ran along the beach, and I reminded myself once more that there was a hell of a lot more to look forward to in life than taking your shirt off at a dance club.

In the quieter parts of the West End

One advantage of running is that you find places you might not have found by walking. And on my run, I found the place where all the gay men had been mysteriously making for as they rode their bicycles through town. There were hundreds of bicycles chained to a fence next to a path into the dunes which obviously must lead to the gay beach. So after another lousy breakfast (this time at the beautiful, but way overpriced Martin House, circa 1750 - $4.00 for a single sausage link), we packed our backpacks for an afternoon at the beach, and set off on the three mile hike to the beach.

The day became, if possible, even more beautiful. One of the highlights was stopping off in Alice Brooks' beautiful apartment/artist's studio, where we chatted with her, and played with her adorable little poodle. We continued on our walk, neither of us minding its length, nor the wading through the march to reach the beach on the other side of the dunes. We stayed on the beach for only a couple of hours before we noticed that water had come in behind us all, flooding the marshes almost to waist level (on most people, not for me though). Fearing we'd be stranded if we waited any longer, we set off back home, wading through the cold water. It reminded me of my childhood in South Shields, where, as soon as the weather was warm (that is, above fifty), out would go the Geordie cry "Let's gaan plodgin'" (let us go wading), and trousers would be rolled up above pasty white kneees to enter the frigid North Sea.

On the beach

Stretched out

Handsome Chris

We'd both finally had enough of partying, so we spent our last evening watching the movie "I Capture the Castle" at the nice arts house cinema. The first half of the movie totally grabbed me, but it somehow fell apart in the second half, and lost my full interest. Perhaps it was because, of all the colorful characters in the movie, the heroine was the only one not to change (her initial forced declaration that she didn't believe in love, not withstanding). As we came out, I was just about to turn to Chris with my judgement, when he preempted me by saying it was one of the most emotional movies he's seen in year. So I kept my opinions to myself, feeling, at the same time, both a little callous and superior.

Monday morning, and Labor Day, and as if the weather knew of our calendar, the day was cool, almost fall like. People were to be seen rolling their luggage to the pier for the fast boat to Boston. Departure was most certainly in the air. And so it was the end of a great weekend in Provincetown.