as soon as i got in the car with D Thursday a.m. en route to pick up DA i said let's pretend we're in a circuit senior remake of Palm Springs Weekend, the lame Troy Donahue/Connie Stevens movie i once made it a point to watch on American Movie Classics . . . he looked at me as if i were crazy – he often looks at me that way – but quickly got in the spirit, typically assigning himself the starring role when i explained that we would need a thwarted romance to carry the plot forward . . . u remember how those Annette Funicello/Frankie Avalon movies used to work: eyes meet early on and they spend the rest of their time trying to hook up with plenty of amusing mishaps to keep them apart . . . or am i confusing them with Doris Day/Rock Hudson? . . . no matter . . . just as we pulled up in front of the South Park, i insisted we also needed a supporting character to provide comic relief . . . here he is chuckled D as DA stepped outside his building . . . DA immediately assumed we were talking about yet another circuit party expose movie, but that wasn't what i had in mind even though that's what our trip turned into: as much cautionary tale as comedy.

poor D, forced to ride with the rest of us peons in steerage . . . . he thought his 50,000 miles would buy him an upgrade on the flight crowded with Easter vacationers but no such luck . . . i'm never doing this again he mouthed as he walked past my row on his way to the bathroom . . . the weather made me nervous the closer we got to LA . . . way too much cloud cover west of the Rockies . . . sure enough when we met T, who had traveled from New York on a different flight, at the Dollar rental car pick up, the skies were mostly overcast . . . let's put the sun back in California i whined . . . we picked up the wrong aubergine Chrysler Sebring convertible after i had wiped my Advil bottle clean of fingerprints and stashed it in the glove box in case we got pulled over by the cops . . . that was our deal, u see: in exchange for me being the X mule, D & DA agreed to my choice of automobile . . . this is the perfect set up for our movie i giggled . . . suppose i had forgotten the X in the first car and we got all the way to Palm Springs without our supply? . . . little chance of that happening and besides, nobody was supposed to get murdered.

T got behind the wheel . . . i couldn’t because there's a warrant outstanding for my arrest in California . . . no biggie, but three years ago i was pulled over for doing 100 plus in Death Valley and never paid the humongous fine . . . this gave me the opportunity to play dj . . . does music ever sound better than when u are in a car with a bunch of guys on your way to a party? with the top down? . . . well, i guess it depends on the group of guys . . . these three immediately dissed Bran Van 3000’s Drinking In L.A. . . . so shoot me, i thought the lyrics would go over really well with this crowd . . . Shania Twain took over on the San Diego Freeway when the back seat grumbling grew too fierce to ignore . . . nobody, not even this old and familiar favorites crowd can resist (Wanna Get To Know You) That Good . . . or Cher's greatest hits.

it looked as if we were heading due west into a black cloud on Interstate 10 but the sun came out when we approached hundreds of wind turbines spinning madly in the distance . . . that's what we’re going to look like at the White Party observed T . . . and then, a rush of karma when we turned on to the Sonny Bono Memorial Highway, the stretch of road that would take us to our final destination: Sonny & Cher singing I Got You Babe.

we stopped first not where we were staying or at the Wyndham Hotel to pick up our Titanium passes (a distinction that rolled off DA's tongue more than once to my increasing embarrassment) , but at a local liquor store nestled at the base of the San Bernardino mountains . . . oh well , at least the trail mix and potato chips D purchased in addition to a couple of six packs of Corona and a bottle of vodka helped tide us over until dinner . . . pulling into the parking lot of the Las Palmas gave me a shudder, located as it was directly off Palm Canyon Drive, a major thoroughfare . . . but nobody had much time to complain about my hotel selection when T was unable to turn off the car alarm . . . u must have hit the panic button on the car keys soothed Tony our chatty and personable host when he emerged from the locked gate . . . truer words could not have been spoken: as D already had pointed out, this was T's first circuit event . . . sorry guys, said D, as we walked past a couple sunning by the pool . . . we were just trying to make an entrance: we're from New York and we don't have much experience with cars.

despite a stiff wind that waved that palm fronds like streamers at a high school pep rally, we quickly convened around the pool . . . i, for one, was relieved that we weren't the only ones wearing bathing suits at this clothing optional resort where the sexual heat had been rated “medium” by D's Out & About guide . . . we had plenty of time for Scrabble and a cranky discussion about where to eat once Tony had told us to expect a very gay experience at the restaurant where schedule-driven D had made reservations several days earlier . . . everyone else would have preferred Mexican food but we acquiesced to keep him happy and got a once-is-enough peek at "old" Palm Springs as a result.

cocktails at Blame It On Midnight provided our first clue that the locals differed considerably from the circuit boys who already had begun their invasion, posing as they were on street corners all over town . . . we entered through a back door that connected from a municipal parking lot . . . spring chickens were we in the midst of some very tan and deliberately coiffured 70somethings in pastel golf plaids and leather pants, most of whom had more and deeper wrinkles than a linen jacket . . . i would have kept walking right out the front door but DA ordered a round before anybody had a chance to squawk about the Tiki Lounge atmosphere.

despite the addition of an indoor waterfall, it wasn't much better at Shame on the Moon in Rancho Mirage, owned by the same proprietors . . . Blame, Shame do i detect an anachronistic self loathing sensibility here? . . . this must be what it's like to dine with a gay Bob Hope . . . DA, nevertheless, knew exactly what to do: order a second dirty martini and start slurring your words like the rest of the patrons while waiting forever for our spinach Napoleons & cream of potato soup.

nothing like gettting to know your neighbors over an ECB ("extended continental breakfast") served poolside from 8:30 to 10:30 a.m. . . . actually D beat everyone to the punch . . . some skinny Dutch guy--immediately dubbed the Anorexic by DA--followed him from the pool to the hot tub for an early morning grope that went nowhere . . . i think he wanted me to get him horny so he could go back and fuck his boyfriend D speculated over his Frosted Mini-Wheats . . . ah, pre-cereal intrigue . . . the minute he got up some fair-skinned, freckled guy with dead eyes, whose cute young boyfriend had not yet made an appearance, came over to claim any section of the New York Times that was available . . . we decided to stay here because it seemed less frisky than some of the other places he explained. . . he also offered some cryptic advice when he learned we were going to our first party in Palm Springs: i know it's time to stop when i begin seeing white spots.

don't drink any more coffee suggested D when he noticed my leg shaking up and down as i waited impatiently for DA & T to finish their breakfasts . . . they would have preferred lounging by the pool but i was determined to get to Joshua Tree National Monument even if i had to go by myself, no matter how many good looking guys emerged from their rooms . . . it took so long to get there that by the time we reached the southern entrance from the Colorado desert the sun had mostly disappeared, forcing us to cover the top of our six horsepower wagon, and nobody else was particularly excited to see hundreds of caterpillars crossing the macadam in some kind of Oklahoma land rush for insects.

in an act of desperation i slipped D's Danny Tenaglia into the CD player after a morning of DA's Bhudda Bar music, something he apparently never leaves home without didn't we spend all last summer listening to these at the beach? . . . fortunately, the further we drove along the winding two-lane road the prettier it got . . . the desert flowers were in full glory after heavy spring rains . . . the ocotillo, squid-armed cacti reaching up to god with bright red fingernails, were particularly beautiful . . . D insisted that the weird jumping cholla looked as if they belonged in a horror movie . . . i feel like they're going to reach in and grab us.

but even these city boys couldn't resist the lure of the rugged, litter-free landscape as we approached Arch Rock, where smooth boulders that looked like potatoes ploughed up in a field demanded to be climbed . . . leave it to us to find one that resembled a penis, the perfect backdrop for a picture-taking frenzy . . . 20 minutes later, back in the car, the dawning realization that we were in the midst of a joshua tree forest signaled our arrival in the the higher elevations of the Mojave desert . . . apparently, the Mormons, like U2 after them, attached some mystical significance to these very large members of the lily family . . . they stand like sentries, guiding travelers westward . . . plus, u didn't even have to get out of the car to see them . . . by this time, i realized that my desire to go hiking wasn't gonna happen with this crew.

instead, we headed back to Palm Springs with the Queer As Folk collection in the CD player and D behind the wheel even though earlier he had scraped the bottom of the car along one of the boulders . . . .who knew we had climbed nearly 5000 feet from below sea level until our ears popped on the way down? . . . we ended up at the Mexican restaurant Tony had recommended for its authentic food and double margaridas . . . DA ordered a double and sent it back because it didn't have enough alcohol . . . if i had known that this was the reason we had left the majestic desert, i would have told him to bring along the bottle of Absolut.

adding insult to injury, happy hour at Las Palmas became the new priority . . . thank god for digital cameras and laptop computers . . . i stayed in my room, happily e-mailing photos that i had taken hours earlier . . . everybody knew it would be too cold to go Knott's Soak City water park for the weekend's first event but we tried to catch some sleep anyway . . . finally it was time to go . . . long sleeve shirts turned out to be more appropriate attire than bathing suits . . . half an hour after we arrived, a local judge complained about the noise forcing the producers to turn down the sound system . . . not that it would have made much difference: dancing with a bunch of 20somethings in sandals with the temperature in the low 60s wasn't exactly what i had envisioned . . . nor did Steam, the tame afterhours party at the Wyndham hotel, make me glad that i had forked over $400 for an all-event pass just so i wouldn’t feel left out.

things began to look up after a 5 a.m. dump (damn that time change!) . . . i found D and DA in the hot tub where the full moon could be glimpsed through the open roof . . . we were soon joined by two attractive couples from L.A. who said they stayed at the Las Palmas just for the hot tub . . . needless to say, they hadn't worn their bathing suits . . . hmmmmm, i thought to myself, this could get interesting, particularly if i manage to outlast D & DA . . . which i did though it did require discussing Celine Dion's new Vegas act . . . the things u have to do for sex! . . . i eventually found myself alone with two of the guys, one of whom had a British accent and had made a big deal about being double jointed . . . he works as an entertainment reporter for the BBC his American boyfriend proudly announced . . . they started kissing loudly as soon as their friends left . . . it didn't take long to realize that they were fucking so i took off my Speedo and scooted over with an erection that kept bobbing above the churning water . . . it turned out they were more interested in finding somebody they could fuck together so they didn't stick around after i jerked myself off . . . i still couldn't go to sleep so i stayed put . . . five minutes later, the Brit returned to invite me upstairs to their room . . . u can come up and watch us . . . so friendly, these California boys . . . i followed against my better judgment knowing full well that i wasn't about to give them what they wanted, poppers or not . . . but i did do the next best thing: i went back to my room and told D go knock on Room 17 . . . he waited in the hot tub instead and came back to our room an hour later to report i didn't disappoint them though an X hangover prevented me from getting off . . . what do u think the chances are they will acknowledge us at breakfast? i asked drowsily.

we didn't have to wait long to find out . . . two hours later the Las Palmas had hung out the No Vacancy sign and we lost our favorite table to earlier risers . . . this forced us to lay next to a couple that DA sneeringly dismissed as HIV positive clones . . . D struck up a conversation with the Fatigue Mannequin, the friendlier of the two, who seemed intrigued by our game of Scrabble even after his boyfriend snidely announced i didn't know u could spell. . . they descended into party babble but it bonded them and definitely contributed to our aura as the dominant group in the hotel when the hot tub boys finally came downstairs . . . what is the etiquette in this situation? . . . should i have waved? . . . . D, socially more graceful than i ever will be, simply said hello from the pool when he floated past their chaise lounges while they played cards and appraised each new arrival . . . i couldn't wait to tell T & DA about the Predators but discretion demanded greater privacy.

we spent the afternoon going to the top of Mt. San Jacinto, via the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway, a welcome diversion if one that required enormous effort due to lack of sleep, hot tub fatigue and the prospect of dancing all night at the White Party . . . Easter holiday crowds meant we had to wait half an hour to climb aboard the cable car that rotated 360 degrees several times during the 10 minute ascent to 8,500 feet . . . Fatigue Mannequin had warned us to dress warmly and to expect heavy fare at the Top of the Tram restaurant . . . right on both counts: the 45 degree temperature propelled us inside to enjoy the spectacular view, if not the food, which was perhaps the worst i ever have eaten . . . u know me, i said pushing away my mostly uneaten Sante Fe wrap and freedom fries . . . i usually clean my plate . . . and everything on mine, too chimed in T, who had been experiencing stomach distress even before we ate . . . still, what food we did get down managed to fortify us for a brief hike in Ponderosa country under snow peaked mountains and achingly blue skies . . . . we ran into a group of other guys who were killing time before the main event . . . one of them had to be rescued by a Ranger when he tried to leap from one rock to another . . . i guess u won't be dancing tonight observed D tactlessly . . . he didn't smile, but he probably was one of the only other people to notice some Asian chick who was hiking . . . in heels.

as we left the Gray Squirrel parking lot, top down now that the temperature had returned to the low 80s, i slipped Fleetwood Mac's Rumours into the CD player . . . u are dating yourself said D when we both began to sing along, badly, to Dreams . . . i don't care i shouted as we descended through the fresh air of Chico canyon, sun on our faces, to Palm Springs . . . life is just too fucking beautiful for this circuit senior . . . was that the X talking or simply the joy of being alive and enjoying a new experience with a few good friends?

the feeling passed quickly enough, a burp or two after pulling into the Las Palmas parking lot now crowded with convertibles . . . the pool was beginning to feel more like home but try as i did to concentrate on The Crimson Petal and the White while D read The Forsyte Saga, i kept flashing on the white wind turbines and wished i could turn the clock forward to 11 p.m. . . . i spent another happy hour spent organizing my digital photo collection . . . just as i thought i might actually catch a wink or two, T entered the room with a bottle of wine and begged me to sign off on his outfit . . . thank god he hadn't made one for each of us! . . . only T could pull off his latest creation: bell bottoms cut from a sheer ribbed fabric with a specially fashioned cup that revealed the outline of his cock if not the texture.

such a motley crew: T in couture, D in Diesel, DA in nylon sweats and me in tennis shorts . . . but the British Predator obligingly took our photo before we departed for the convention center only to start bickering almost immediately about our designated meeting spot . . . it turned out we had little need for it in any case once Madonna drew us on to the dance floor with American Life and the X kicked in . . . T, who had sipped a little liquid courage a.k.a. Cointreau to get in the mood for his first circuit event, grabbed my hand and held on for dear life, eyes wide and mouth agape at the spectacle of 10,000 men, many in white costumes that made his look relatively tame, if still unique and worthy of appreciative comments from every drag queen present . . . if somebody had told me we would spend much of the evening with our fingers locked together i would have said they were nuts but hey, my new circuit buddy was feeling the love along with everybody else . . . who cared if the dance floor felt like Port Authority at rush hour or that Christina Aguilera was a no show . . . the acrobats on the trapeze were much prettier and the flesh . . . well, there was flesh for any who desired.

including castaways . . . T had his eye on one of the few ethnic faces dancing near us but when some short, sexy guy with a hairy chest tried to put the hip moves behind his gorgeously accented butt i advised T if u can't be with the one u love, love the one u are with . . . T had other ideas and i suddenly found myself in the exact same position . . . half an hour later i was dancing between the short guy and his big South African boyfriend . . . all six of our hands were quite friendly . . . thankfully my half hit of X had worn off which got me an invitation back to their room and the assurance of a ride home.

do u like to play? Baby asked me while Sunshine unlocked the doors to their high end Mercedes . . . what have i gotten myself into now? i wondered . . . this couldn't be the way these guys preserved their anonymity because we already had introduced ourselves . . . Baby & Sunshine . . . gag me with a spoon! . . . should i make a run for it now? . . . too late, no re-entry, Titanium pass or not . . . and i realized that i had lost the tiny plastic zip loc bag containing the other half hit of X i would need to keep going for the afterparty. . . what choice did i have but to soldier on in the name of sordid sex

as soon as we got to the Marriott, Baby & Sunshine each smoked something with another guy who was sharing their room and who didn't appear in any rush to leave tho he did hurry to complete every other activity for as long as he remained in the room . . . sex is my drug so i didn't protest when Baby & Sunshine decided to pick up where we left off on the dance floor . . . at just the point when Baby and i had successfully inserted our cocks into the place where the sun doesn't shine in Sunshine, flashbulbs starting popping . . . paparazzi expecting Christina Aguilera to be Dirty perhaps? . . . no, just the speed freak killing time before the afterparty . . . fortunately neither my face nor my tattoo were visible . . . but when he left with the evidence, was it really necessary to shake my hand AND forget my name? . . . things really got hot when Baby finally let me fuck his much tighter hole . . . Sunshine, look he's fucking me, i'm getting fucked . . . Sunshine smiled the smile of an indulgent parent but he didn't look too happy when i whispered does Baby like my dick? . . . using Sunshine's rather pedestrian term of endearment for Baby felt like a mistake, as if things had suddenly taken an unbearably intimate and inappropriate turn . . . i wondered if i should apologize or just keep pounding him? . . . i chose the latter course and breathed a sigh of relief when Sunshine moved in to share a kiss with Baby and me . . . tongue and more tongue, that's the most enjoyable way to keep MY mouth shut.

dawn in a strange hotel room on Eros-slick sheets with birds chirping outside the window and Sunshine snoring on one of the two double beds can be a very strange place indeed for the sleep deprived and the daylight shy so when Baby asked me to split half a Viagra with him i said why not, today is a new day . . . now i can find out what all the fuss is about . . . to be honest, i couldn't tell much difference in the quality of my erection . . . nor could Baby who screamed and shuddered when he finally came ten minutes after he stuck the tiny blue pill in my mouth . . . why had i expected it to be so much bigger? . . . not my dick, the pill!

a couple of hours later i discovered the real appeal of Viagra, long after Sunshine miraculously awoke to his boyfriend's orgasmic alarm and ran me home, as promised . . . D and T returned from the Climax afterparty looking very worse for the wear in front of a full breakfast audience but insisting that DA (who had hooked up with the Finger-pointing Finn) and i had missed the best event yet . . . . the men, Phil B's music, the fog it was everything the White Party wasn't . . . we debriefed each other over bagels and with nothing else on the agenda spent the rest of the day lounging around the pool . . . that was when i finally decided maybe Bob Dole does have a point.

u see, i'm at the point in my life where i don't often get spontaneous erections, especially after not sleeping for close to 48 hours . . . but as i watched the Predators situated across from me, while D & T slept nearby and DA read the Times, i got the kind of roaring hard-on barely contained by a royal blue Speedo . . . it certainly did increase the sexual tension when the American Predator took notice as he played solitaire and the Brit chattered into a cell phone . . . when D turned over, i let the X and the Viagra do the talking: let's go have an orgy . . . what are u, crazy? he asked . . . i don't want to have sex with u! . . . so much for feel the love . . . i just giggled, a lot actually, and lay back, listening to the Quirky Covergirls playlist (have u ever heard Tori Amos sing Enjoy The Silence?) on my I-Pod, drinking water, eating fruit and cookies and watching the hunky guests come and go, my own private reality television, until it was time to dance . . . again.

we did save the best for last . . . my circuit buddies finally even had a good word to say about the CD i selected for the drive to Marquis Park: BT's Rare & Remixed . . . let's hope this is the kind of music they play everyone chorused . . . what is it about dancing outdoors? . . . another completely different crowd for Sunset T, this time more age appropriate for us circuit seniors . . . DA hooked up again with the Finger-pointing Finn, T found the only black man on the dance floor, a recent Army discharge no less, & D added Christina Aguilera's Beautiful to his list of disco anthems while we watched a man with a black hat embody the lyric . . . he moved as if he were the star of his very own Vegas act . . . why does Kimberly S bring us up and then stop? complained D . . . i feel like i'm on a roller coaster that stops all of a sudden . . . no such problem for me, especially during the last hour, even after my final half hit of X had worn off . . . music will have to be my drug now i screamed while spinning and jumping ecstatically to Paul Oakenfold's remix of U2's Beautiful Day shortly after the fireworks display ended.

was it the music or us? i wondered when got back in the car and were stopped not once but twice by hunky young guys who wanted to know what we were up to next . . . which turned out to be take out from Denny's for me, the only one with an appetite for food . . . they certainly don't discriminate against circuit seniors . . . the guy behind the counter didn't charge me for the ice tea i ordered . . . D headed straight for the hot tub, hoping for some action, T remained in the car listening to the BT CD until it ended and DA sucked down a screwdriver and scarfed down cheese and Triscuits while i ate my over salted chicken salad and prayed for sleep . . . the party was over . . . or was it? according to the Associated Press that same morning HEALTH OFFICIALS FEAR SYPHILIS EPIDEMIC IN PALM SPRINGS . . . i'll bet the Troy Donahue and Connie Stevens didn't have to worry about that.