I was filling out my end of week evaluation at a gay men’s retreat. Ours is a sacred, nearly 100% organic, Brotherhood.

Although some of us do include bits and pieces of plastic and titanium and show up with diverse hearing and prostate stimulation devices, usually not really what one might think of as natural…. We may be undergoing a cultural shift. I have noticed that the eggplant and zucchini and cucumbers in the community garden seldom seem to make it to the table. So, perhaps there is a hunger for organic alternatives.

As Brothers on a shared spiritual journey together, we all do the best we can to leave it unclear exactly what we most prefer to worship. During our sacred Holes seeking youthfully erect Poles annual regathering, like legendary lemmings, returning to our seashore spot, we return to our lusty, usually kinda dusty, and increasingly rusty and crusty, MotherNest, expecting plastic wrapped snacks, and stretch-fabric costume galas, church-lady outside chapel services, and something grandly, and whimsically, called the Bijou Performing Arts Theatre.

Back in my golden shower day, it was called a sex party room. Although this room, which I first visited out of nostalgic curiosity, mysteriously includes a visitor’s gallery. Our possibly unique Worship Arts Gallery reminds me of a hunter’s blind; a safe place for awaiting innocent intimate prey. The Brotherhood has a playful side, with inspired transcendent amenities for a potential heavenly paradise. Something for both Awesome Exhibitionists and wondrously Breathless Voyeurs.

I am from the learning by watching school of worship, and must report a rather boring advantage this year, when sex business has been slow. I know when the Exhibitionists are practicing their Sacred Arts and Crafts; when they are not being naughty enough, and when they would have improved their outcomes by thinking through their choreography in advance. On the other hand, our apparently dwindling numbers of Exhibitionists never really know if anyone is watching, and hearing, and smelling, and wishing we too could taste communion, just one more hard and fully erect time

Be my friend, Let me start again. This first question on the evaluation, “Were you warmly received by our hospitality Team?”

I wish they would define “warmly received.” I wouldn’t have minded if the new yoga teacher had bent me over and practiced a dipolar co-arising Horny Dog on me. At the same time, that does seem like a level of commitment to hospitality that I certainly didn’t pay for, unfortunately.

Second question, “What was your best workshop experience, if the term “best” applies, and if you actually attended and stayed awake through a workshop.” A lot of “if’s” and this question clearly does not apply to me because I was hanging out in the Bijou Theater, watching educational gay play and pay flicks. It’s important to keep up to date on how the professionals do it, and their nails, and tattoos, and remaining hair, if any.

Let’s see. Next question… Oh, they took out “How was the food?” Just as well, why dwell on a forced diet plan, without eggplant and zucchini and cucumbers, or even an anemic summer squash or soft banana, or a well-lubricated tootsie roll.

Moving on. Here we are…next question: “What could we do to make next year’s retreat experience better?” Well…what are you willing to do? I remain grateful to receive from Thy great bounty.

I’m wondering if we could move the Talent/No-Talent show to the Bijou Theater. Worshippers in the visitor’s gallery could be judges, maybe…

No. Bad idea. Nobody comes here to be judged or to judge… Well, OK, maybe not nobody. Sometimes feelings do get hurt and need some compassionate rubbing. For instance, it was a little hurtful when our Team sang, and possibly danced, “I Feel Pretty” during the American Gay Idol competition–heads down and asses up, and we could hear yawning, and possibly some snoring.

Moving on, “Do you expect to return next year?”

Why does this question sound so needy? A year from now, I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to find my teeth! Or some of the more ambitious and demanding members of my dildo collection, which, every year, I promise to donate for the Silent Auction, to benefit Helping Hands and Other Body Parts.

But, yes, of course I hope to come back next year, if only to improve my worshiping skills in the Bijou Performing Arts Theatre.