Jason Rimbaud

I fucking knew it! I didn't want to assume that you remembered me but i knew it was Authors Haunt. Welcome back! J

I was going to respond to a few things that were posted in this thread and for over an hour I wrote a response in which I addressed a few of the comments people made regarding if authors would just get more involved in the forums, and comment on other peoples stories, then they too would receive more comments. Then after reading what I wrote and realized it was extremely angry sounding though that was not my intent, I deleted it all and decided instead to actually answer the question that was presented. I do read a lot of stories on this site, or at least I start a lot of stories on this site. But truthfully, it takes a certain kind of story that keeps me going longer than the first chapter. I typically don't enjoy the gay romance stories filled with angst and young people discovering sex. I'm in my forties now and normally stick to sci fi or fantasy mostly. And finding those genres on this site that don't involve kids or keep my attention beyond the first chapter rarely happens. And I do happen to believe that if you can't say something nice then keep your thoughts to yourself. I do enjoy poetry a lot but the new format is rather difficult for me to find things and I don't have a lot of time to spend online figuring things out. The poetry club is the most confusing thing to me so I stopped going there. I've been fortunate that several people on this site have been extremely kind to me and sometimes I feel bad that I don't repay that kindness by commenting on their stories or posts. But my sense of humor doesn't normally translate to text and I can rub people the wrong way with things I say. Plus I am completely shy and really have a hard time interacting with people outside of my job. So long post tried to cut short, I love the idea of this site, and the commutation it brings to those all over the world, and I try to support it as much as I can. When I do read something I like I do comment on it at the end or throw a like on the chapter. But as rare as that happens, I could be better at commenting.

Truer words were never said. J

I was perusing the Blogs over at GayAuthors.org when I happened to read a new Blog called Marty's Musing. I don't know Marty but the title caught my attention and I urge everyone to go there and read it as it is definitely the "muse" that started me down this long rambling entry of my mine. https://gayauthors.org/blogs/entry/17900-o-muse-where-art-thou/ To briefly give everyone an overview, Marty once upon a time use to write a fair amount but for the last ten years or so has focused on other things in his probably amazing life. And a few months ago, he started getting the urge to dip his toe back into the writing pond and was having some difficulty finishing a story he began all those years ago. He also had a few new ideas but after writing a page or so he would find himself getting discouraged and abandon the words on the paper. At the end of his post, he posed these three questions. 1. What is the cause of writers block? 2. How does an author overcome writers block? 3. O muse, where art thou? After reading Marty's post, and it's only about five paragraphs long and I have included the link above so I urge you to read it. As of this writing, there are about five comments and they are perfectly nice, encouraging words that I have come to expect from the members of GA. Things like don't force it, let it come naturally, just take some time and wait for good ole "muse" to return. Things like, go to the story prompts and see if anything gets your mojo flowing again. And for some reason, these positive answers who's sole intent was offer encouragement to someone that was feeling a bit down got me a bit fired up and I starting to respond to what had been said before me. And then much like I always do, my reply got to be pretty long with some colorful language, some blunt honesty, and childish musings about a subject I might not know anything about. So after a moment, I decided to post my reply in my Blog to keep from hijacking someone else's entry and to ensure I don't hurt anyone's feelings. I don't believe in the traditional idea of "muse" and its whoring reputation it carries around the world. You know the one I mean; you first meet "muse" at a coffee shop. You have a double shot of espresso with almond milk and you tell everyone you're sick of everyone raping the cows for their joy juice but secretly wish you could enjoy real milk in your beverage but don't want the judgmental guy behind the counter to give you a disappointed stare when you order. So you sit there, sipping your dairy free beverage and suddenly, "muse" walks in the cafe. "Muse" skips past the guy with the ironic mustache trying to construct the perfect sentence in his essay about the dangers of drinking milk. Pirouette's around the housewife peering intently at her Hawaii Five-0 fan fiction crossover with Magnum P.I.. Frowns at the out of work screen writer who is steadfast in his belief that he alone has the script that will finally show the amazing talent that is Nicolas Cage before sliding into the seat across from you and give you that dirty little smile as if to say, 'how you doing'. "Muse" seems to be very impressed that you are drinking a dairy free beverage and starts to gently rub your instrument under the table, discreetly at first. Suddenly your fingers are flying over the keys, your writing so fast you can't help but look around to make sure everyone can see that you are writing so fast and that the elusive "muse" has settled on you to employ its magic. Ironic mustache guy leaves in huff, his hopes of stopping the consumption of milk dashed forever as "muse" continues to do dirty things to your instrument. Housewife leaves, her face a little flushed but completely stumped how to finish the scene where Chin Ho Kelly and Magnum finally consummate thirty-seven chapters of longing on the hood of the iconic red Ferrari. While the out of work screen writer continues to struggle with the perfect script for Nicolas Cage. And sadly, this screen writer never stops at this attempt, never. Because now "muse" is no longer content to discreetly stroke your instrument. Now "muse" has progressed to doing something so dirty I can't even describe it with human words. But that doesn't matter, because your fingers are flying over the keys. You have a look of ecstasy on your face and everything is right in the world and you owe it all to "muse". This behavior continues for hours, days, maybe weeks that turn into months, and sometimes it could even last for years. You and "muse" seem to have an understanding, you'll keep writing in public spaces and "muse" will continue to rub your instrument. Once upon a time, I use to produce a fuck-ton of content. I have nine complete novels posted on Nifty and seventeen short stories that I uploaded over a span of about four years. I'm talking a hundred thousand words plus novels. I also wrote dozens of poems that some might have read once upon a time. And trust me, I'm not claiming that these stories and poems were great or even good, I'm just saying that I use to produce a lot of content when I was younger. I will also say that I am rather proud that save for one sequel, every story I ever posted online is complete. When I was younger, I wrote a story that attracted some reader attention and garnered me hundreds of encouraging emails that stroked my fragile ego. And when that story finally came to an end after 32 chapters, the encouraging emails stopped arriving in my inbox. And I missed those glorious words. So to keep those emails pouring in, for the first time I started writing and posting chapters immediately after finishing them. I skimmed over them barely but really didn't have an idea on where I was going. But I was confident that I knew these characters and didn't think I needed to worry about the end. I knew I would get there. The first chapter was posted, and again, dozens of emails. The next chapter, I only received half the amount as before. And with each chapter after, the emails all but dried up. So by the time I got to chapter five, I was completely lost and the story fizzled away and I abandon it to the internet. The fans who loved the first story lost interest in the sequel because truthfully I didn't really have an idea I was just winging it and it showed in the writing. I didn't know then but I was scared. I wrote about some characters people liked and hoped to capitalize on my earlier success by offering up a shitty premise. Not even my sub-conscious mind could work out a plot that was so paper thin before I even put words to screen. I think a lot of people believe "muse" to be a fragile creature, one that is meant to roam free, to traverse where it will without any guidance or structure. As if any attempt will stifle the creativity it brings you. Many writers treat "muse" in this manner, with kid gloves, hoping not to anger the delicate flower that could leave you at a moments notice to rub some other instrument. Like one day you'll be at a party, you and "muse", and you turn your back to get a tuna poke on a piece of kale appetizer and when you turn back around, "muse" is off in the corner giving someone else a hand-job. And the frustrating thing, you've seen this other person's instrument, and its not as impressive as yours, but "muse" is going to town and suddenly you feel taken advantage of and then your instrument shrivels up until its barely a tip and no amount of writing in a public space can bring "muse" back to stroking your instrument. You continue to go to that same coffee shop, order the same boring milk free beverage, you sit in the same spot, hoping to attract "muse" again to your instrument. But "muse", that fickle so and so, rubs everyone else's instrument but yours. You get depressed, eventually you start ordering espresso with real milk cause you just don't give a fuck anymore and one day you wake up and you aren't even writing, you just surf FaceBook and comment on cat photos. I think writers tend to create blocks as they try and appease this thing called "muse". Whether its sitting in the same spot every day, listening to the same piece of music, having the room at the correct temperature, complete silence or even chaos. All these rules and structures they somehow believe will get "muse" back to where it belongs, under the table stroking your instrument. And in the end, writers allow these things to rule their creative life. Merriam-Webster defines muse: to become absorbed in thought, especially to think about something carefully and thoroughly. You don't get to the more popular definition of muse until definition number three, a person or source of inspiration. And that definition is the second one if the word is used as a noun. So why do most people believe that "muse" is more the third definition over the first. The definition where it clearly defines what "muse" is, to think about something carefully and thoroughly. So to answer Marty's first question, what is the cause of writers block. Maybe you didn't carefully think through the story in the first place. I'll add a question of my own, how can you hope to finish something if you have no idea where you want to go? I know there are writers out there who post chapters online as soon as they are written with little or no thought of where they are heading. And those same authors will argue they allow the characters to take them on the journey and they as well as the reader will find out together how the story ends. But how many of those stories are ever finished? Maybe 2%, if we the audience are lucky. Or the other side of the same coin, the never ending saga. You know the one where the author keeps rambling on for dozens of chapters chronicling in great boring detail events that never seem to progress the plot forward. Seriously, every story has to have an ending; its the nature of what we do. Overly long stories are nothing but a glaring sign screaming 'I don't have a clue where I am going but please take this journey with me and hopefully there will be a resolution sometime if "muse" allows it'. And let's be brutally honest here, most of these type of stories are complete shit. And the ones that aren't complete shit would never have a chance at professional publishing. Much like Marty, I too left writing some ten years ago to focus on a career that I ended up hating. I am currently trying to change my life path and have gotten back into writing almost every day. And like Marty, I went back to an old unfinished story and struggled for about three months to complete it. I already had seventeen chapters finished with a dozen more that had half-baked ideas but I could never get it moving in the right direction. The frustration was there mixed with a lot of fear that maybe because I stopped writing all those years ago, I somehow lost the ability to put words on the screen. And for a moment, I faltered. I went over my past writings, hoping that "muse" would again grant me the inspiration to start writing again. I found an old outline I wrote on June 25th, 2002 on a yellow legal pad during a slow day at work. As I read the twelve page outline, a few things stood out among the shit. Some really cool characters, a few great scenes, a ton of out dated technology and some really stilted dialogue. Even without a strong idea, I was convinced this was my next project, my grand return to online writing. It was a constant daily struggle to accomplish anything. For every good scene I wrote, I would delete entire pages of shit that just didn't make any sense. It was the most difficult time I've ever faced attempting to do something that gave me so much pleasure in my younger days. After one particularly rough day, I took a break and went outside to empty the trash and then it hit me. The reason it wasn't going well was because it was shit. If its only a collection of cool ideas with some half-drawn characters but no plot to speak of, was it any wonder I wasn't moving. I was trapped at a certain point and no matter what little trick I did, I couldn't gather the "muse" long enough to do anything except stare at that dreaded blinking cursor. I hadn't thought about it carefully and thoroughly. Which leads to Marty's second question, how does an author overcome writers block? Merriam-Webster defines writers block: a psychological inhibition preventing a writer from proceeding with a piece. Makes perfect sense to me, most of the things we encounter in our life begins in the mind anyway. Why would a block be any different? What are some of the reasons one might get writers block besides the things I already covered above. Fear is one that comes to mind first. Fear of letting other people read what we wrote, to voice our opinions, our viewpoint, or whatever it is we are trying to convey. Perfection is another. I can't write until its perfect. We fall into this trap of not even attempting until we think its perfect. I hate to bust your bubble, but perfection takes time, and re-writes, and editing, followed by more re-writes. Perfection will come, but it will take time. Timing is another block. You start writing something like I did, but you really didn't have more than the seeds of an idea and quickly you lose focus and the story dies on the page. Ideas need time to be nurture, water the seedling and then shape it until you have a usable idea that will be turned into a realized story. So back to Marty's question, how do you overcome this dreaded affliction? Before I give you the definite and only answer, and I do have the answer. I'll give a few ideas on how to get some movement on your thought process. Lets pretend we are back in our favorite coffee shop with our diary free beverage and "muse" isn't stroking our instrument. Get up and go for a walk. Change your environment and ruminate on the idea at hand. Maybe change your music selection, read a few pages of your favorite book, play video games. Sometimes getting your conscious mind off the problem will allow for your subconscious to tackle the issue without you banging your head on the table in front of everyone. There a thousands of ways to alter your frame of mind, and all of them have one thing in common. There is a famous saying, 'the only way out is through'. Sometimes you have progressed so far that it is easier to continue the path ahead then to turn around and go back. Whether you change your environment, or your music selection, or the task you are accomplishing, all of these are paths of movement. You have to move from the place you are currently to somewhere else. Sometimes that movement might be forward, sometimes that movement might be sideways, or sometimes that movement is backward. And like in my case, sometime that movement is starting over from scratch. Standing still will never defeat the block in your life. J Michael Straczynski is a well respected writer of television, movies, comic books, books and any other medium that involves creating. He created Babylon 5, Sense 8, reimagined Thor, transformed how people write Wonder Woman and is hired often to re-write screen plays and polish them. He is also famous for writing every single day. No breaks, no vacations, no holidays, no time off. Just like Steven King, who once stated that he wrote at lease five thousand words every day, JMS continues to write on a daily basis. That is the answer to Marty's question. You can only overcome writers block by writing. Writers get blocks, authors do not. Somehow authors have learned that writing is not a gift from the "muse" of legends. It's a skill that is honed by doing your ten thousand hours. It's getting up every day and writing before work, or after work, or on the train commute, or however you do it but all authors do the very same thing, they write every day. After I gave up on my old work, I saw a prompt as I was going through some Blog posts on GA. Prompt 706-Creative Tag-Sleep The patient has been in the hospital for longer than you have been alive. They barely look eighteen and doctors keep running all sorts of tests. You were hired to exercise the patients muscles, keep them groomed, and clean. While bathing them today, the patient woke up, what happens? I didn't happen overnight. I thought about this prompt for the rest of the day. When I cooked breakfast the next morning I thought about this prompt. A few days later when I was doing laundry, I thought about this prompt. The next week while playing video games I thought about this prompt. This idea consumed me for a few weeks before I sat down and wrote this paragraph... "Nuresh Rajendran whistled happily as he pushed the cart down the brightly lit hallway. He had just celebrated his 65th birthday the week prior and had been awarded a small gold watch. That watch signified thirty years of service, and though he moved a bit slower than he once, he still hadn't lost his love of the job." So to answer Marty's third question, oh muse, where art thou? It's where it's always been. In the idea that is carefully and thoroughly thought out before attempting to write it down. J

I guess I'm the odd ball here, and though we've never had any conversations, because I've always thought of you as he. There was never a doubt in my tiny brain. I guess Its about how you are naturally I guess. It always seemed to fit. J

Considering that straight isn't a motion, I always walk forward! Though I've never walked straight to begin with. And let me clarify...I pierced my ear that first day, I didn't get all 17 piercings at the same time, it was over a few years and the rest were all done by a professional. Though for complete disclosure, I did pierce my friends nipple one night after a few adult beverages. Which led to a fun evening in the back of his truck later one after the bonfire died down but thats a different story.

That's right, Mass Effect 2 didn't have any gay romance. In Andromeda, I played the game four times, and I could only romance Reyes and the alien. I never could get Gil for some reason. Reyes romance is pretty short, unless I didn't play everything right. The Alien lasted longer but meh for me.

The year was 2002, a boy named Jason dominated my world. I had amazing hair, a trim waistline, and was head over heels in love with my best friend. There is a famous book called Women are from Venus and Men are from Mars. Since this song is called My First Trip to Mars, I like to think its chronicled a first encounter with another boy. Either way, this song meant way too much to me all those years ago.

The teacher sent me to nurse, i had some residual blood.

Mass effect 2 and 3 has okay gay romance options. So does Andromeda but it’s only better if you play female option.

I would have stayed straight edge in my twenties...

I first pierced my ears when I was 17, my friend shoved a safety pin through my ear one morning before school. I returned the favor. Before i I was done, I had seventeen, seven ear, both eyebrows, nose, two lips, tongue, navel, two collarbone, one Prince Albert i didn’t get my first tattoo until I was thirty. By then I lost all the piercings but two in my ear, currently diamond studs. As for tattoos, I designed all four of them and each has a special meaning. Two on each arm. But I will be getting another one soon, mine and my fiancé’s birthdays, I drew it out and we will be getting matching ones as my engagement present.

Its five o’clock and I arrive home This house is empty, I feel so alone I wonder if you’re working late You text saying you’ll be home by eight I place my coat on the chair in the den Go to the kitchen and get a bottle of Zin The one you bought that time at the fair The liquid tastes bitter without you there By six o’clock the shadows fall I stare at our memories lining the walls There was a time when the sun would set You’d be right beside me and the day we’d forget There’s

That was the best ever! Hi Ho Hi Ho, its off to Charlie Browns house we go

Four months ago, at least from the outside, most would say that I was on top of the world. I have a good job, a great apartment, and an amazing boyfriend. I had a good start on a saving account, a brand new car with all the bells and whistles. If I was a normal person, I would have been content at the success I enjoyed. Yet for all those possessions, something was lacking in my life. I first started working in hospitality the year I turned 21. I really didn't have the opportunity to go to college, and didn't really have any other avenues to traverse. What else could a cute gay boy do for work besides shake his ass as a bartender. And though I moved from working in gay bars, then stopped bar-tending completely, only to move into serving before landing a job as a manager a few years later. Truthfully, at least professionally, it was the only thing I was ever good at. And I can say with complete modesty, I am very good at my job. From the time I was a young boy, my only dream was to be a writer. And until I turned thirty, I followed that dream. But then I got sidetracked, I started listening to others telling me that I had to secure a future. So I guess you could say, I fell into the hospitality business. I built a career out of the one thing I was good at and for a time, I was content to do so. But content is not happy. The future was starting to cement, I started growing my savings account. And I had built up quite an impressive resume with some of the most successful people in San Francisco. I calculated each move, every time I left and took a new position, it was for a better future for me. I sacrificed a five year relationship and more friends then I would care to admit in my single minded ambition to secure a future. For a time, I told myself that when I reached success, when I finally made it, then I would focus on my personal life. But truth be told, the more successful you become, the more time and energy it takes to maintain that success. I started to wonder when enough would be enough. Then I met "N" two years ago. Three hours after meeting him, I told my friend that I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I just knew it. Two months later, I had gave up my condo in Daly City and moved into San Francisco with him. Again, from the outside, most people would say that I had it all. But I wasn't happy. And yes, I could mask it at work, I am a professional after all. But the years of 14 hour days, six to seven days a week, working every single weekend. Sometimes not getting home until 1am only to get up at 4am and then head back to work for another 14 hour day. "N" understood the long hours, after all, he is in the same business as me. The difference, the owner he works for truly believes in work life balance, and he rarely works more than 40 hours a week and always gets two days off a week in a row. I am not so fortunate. In the dark parts of the night, snuggled in bed with "N", I told him about my long forgotten dream of becoming a writer. Of course he was interested in reading my work as any good "N" would be, I showed him my past writings. And he started to encourage me to take up the words again. And over the last two years, I have slowly dipped my toes in the water of creativity again. Though it had only been occasionally and in brief spurts only. And much like the discovery of an old friend, I started to realize how much I enjoyed sitting down at my laptop and spewing forth nonsense onto the screen. The dedication it takes to operate at the level I had managed to achieve is total commitment. It's working 14 hours in the restaurant, then spending another three hours at home answering emails from the department managers and various vendors that need my attention it seems daily. I will admit, I probably worked more than I needed too but the restaurant brought in 12 million a year and I was responsible for every dollar of it. So yes, my focus was on the bottom line for more than just my quarterly bonus. It had been brewing for a while, my unhappiness at work. And I can't blame the owner for wanting to make the most money he possibly could. But I started to wonder how much money was enough. I knew the numbers, I knew the magic number. Once the restaurant makes this magic number, anything over that amount is profit for the owner. And he was a single owner, he had no partners. So when he set the budget for this year 25% more than last year, I had to wonder what he was thinking. He's the owner, he can set whatever budget he wants, its his right. And as a professional, it was my job to try and hit that budget. I"m not so naive that I don't understand business. He is only in it for the money. And its his money and his right. Any of you that understand budgets and how the restaurant business works, it is highly unlikely that any restaurant, unless something out of the ordinary happens, to grow a business by 25% over the previous year. Especially when 35% of your business is tied up with the Moscone Center and their convention business. I'll give him the unreachable budget. When it was written the year before, he did not know Moscone Center was going to be in construction and all the conventions we enjoyed in 2017 would not be there in 2018. Nor did he realize that international tourism is down due to our current political climate. Add that to our out of control homeless problem and several large conventions citing homeless issues as the reason they are no longer booking in San Francisco, and its no wonder all restaurants in the city are down fifteen percent city wide. After talking with friends in the accounting world, he should be happy he's only down 10%. He is actually doing better than most currently in San Francisco. I have lost count of the high end restaurant closures and the celebrity chefs that are struggling to keep the doors open. I know the main reason he raised my budget so high, was to help cover the cost of his new restaurant that was opened in 2017 and was struggling, to put it mildly, in the current climate. For full disclosure, I started losing my happiness at work the moment I met "N" and realized he was something outside of work that was more important than anything. It had been brewing for months. So when the culture of the restaurant started to change and the owner started to show his stress more and more. So during the monthly meeting when he demanded what I was going to do to attain this budget, I brought out the numbers, a bit more in detail than what I describe above, and he looked at me and responded that it was only excuses and he didn't pay me to give him excuses. And he is right. He didn't pay me to give him excuses. So I said the first thing that came to me. And trust me, I had given better speeches over my career. And it might have been a mistake, but every fiber in my being said it was the right thing to do. I can't say what I told him, I don't really remember. But I resigned that day. For the first time in my life, I walked away with no notice and no prospects. San Francisco is a small town, every owner knows all the rest. And leaving like I did was not the smartest thing I could have done, but that was the day my happiness returned. And I will be honest, it wasn't just because my owner is an asshole, he is. But I don't think my life has room for something that is so demanding that takes me away from being happy in my life. So for two months I've sat in my great apartment with my amazing boyfriend and made time for myself. For the first time in ten years, I have nothing to do. Everyday I spend time with "N" before he goes to work. Then I clean the house, I do laundry, sometimes I play video games, sometimes I get hammered in the middle of the day for no reason, but most of the time, after I do my house chores, I sit down at my laptop and write. I write like I did in my twenties when the desire was strong and I didn't know what the future held but I was excited to face it. My vacation payout alone was two months salary and I figured I was going to enjoy every moment. We aren't rich and my little diversion from work won't last much longer. After all, this is the most expensive city in the country to live and he won't let me be a bum much longer. I think my time in hospitality has come to a close. I think my next job will be something that will allow me to pay my bills yet leave me time to focus on what really matters in this life. The night I left my job, I went out and bought my amazing boyfriend a ring, we are planning on getting married next June and life could not be happier for me.

Not sure if this is an anthem but it speaks to me on some many levels

Five years ago I first heard a song called Young Love by Eli Lieb and was blown away by his infectious music and gay themed songs. Still makes me wanna dance every time I hear it. Jason

One of my favorite songs by my favorite band...a very positive message for today

"I don't care what you do to me...I won't tell you where my butter finger is"

I'm intrigued by prompt #706, I really like it. I think I might have a story bubbling around my tiny brain. Thanks. J

Thank you, this little vignette always made me laugh, as its kind of based on my own relationship with "N", he's very much like that in my life. But we do love our crazy partners don't we. J

I’m sure most of you are wondering how I could possibly make this statement with a straight face. Or even how I could offer any evidence that could support the above bizarre statement. There are times, not always, but certain times I can’t make up my simple mind. So in those times, I flip a coin to help me make those hard decisions. For instance, I can’t decide on which pair of pants to wear out to the club to attract all the hot nerdy guys. I flip a coin. Or as I call it, the fate flip.

"It's not that I didn't like the gift..." "You don't," Ron interrupted while he flipped through a magazine. "Right, but he doesn't have to know that." "He will figure it out when you never wear it again and it goes the way the rest of his gifts have gone," Ron stated as he gestured towards the hall closet. "It's our fifth year anniversary, that deserves something more romantic than a brown coat and an even plainer brown scarf," Daniel exclaimed as he pushed his hair from his fore

I have been in the restaurant business for twenty years. And I can say with conviction, there is kissing and then there is kissing. I have seen couples kiss and peck each other during the meal, gay or straight and have never heard any complaints from anyone. Then I have also seen, gay and straight, couples having full blown make-out sessions and have heard complaints from guest, staff members (who are trying to do their job yet feel uncomfortable approaching a table while they are in the middle of a full blown session). I once had to go to a couple, who was going at it so heavy, I could see the outline of his erection, and tell them to either calm down or leave. And they got so upset, they couldn't understand that we didn't want to watch them groping one another. His hand was up her shirt, her hands were rubbing his crotch, it was disgusting. I shouldn't have to watch anyone making out while I'm at work, gay or straight in a restaurant. I have seen other examples of couples going at it on the train and there are just certain things you don't do in a public space. I don't care if you "aren't" hurting anyone, have some respect for other people. When I'm in a bar, gay or straight, I don't really care what you do, mainly because there is no kids around, and usually it's pretty dark so I can ignore it. If you need to get off in public, go to a sex club where everyone is there for the same reason. Otherwise, have respect for the other humans in the world and keep your affection to appropriate places. My two sense.