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San Francisco Sunday

As Michael and I wandered through the Folsom Street Fair yesterday, I couldn’t help feeling a kind of rosy glow of community, thinking that perhaps by writing Carrie’s Story and Safe Word (as Molly Weatherfield) I had made a tiny contribution to the universe of good-humored kink and exhibitionism that gives rise to the fair.

As well as family values, not to speak of récherché taste: because who was that man, I’d like to shake his hand — well, it’s got to be a gay man, doesn’t it? — who put together that fabulous turquoise kitchen they used in this year’s event poster?

We didn’t bring a camera, which was probably just as well, because we only had an hour to stroll, to ogle, to grin and giggle, stare and marvel at the prodigies of erotic imagination on display, and which you can get a taste of at this online slide show.

Click on the word “slideshow” to get it started — I can’t decide whether I was more turned on by some of the fabulous bodies on show or moved by the aging, imperfect ones moving by us in brave, buoyant proclamation of their owners’ right to display and desire.

I did like the body language of the pony girl in slide #84 (and hoped she, at least, had read my Carrie books). But you can’t see it in the still photo — nor the dash with which her escort wore his kilt (there were a lot of those on guys). And I also liked the little pair of speedo-type trunks some young guy was wearing, that said “talk nerdy to me” on one cheek.

And I was totally moved by the man in a motorized scooter-style wheelchair, with wiring attached to his head that hinted at neurological damage of some kind, who’d rigged up a big plush pink penis (large teddy bear size, more or less) at the front of the scooter to nose its way ahead as its owner drove joyfully and purposefully through the crowd.

Michael and I aren’t brave enough for public fetishware, but I did want to wear some hot new shoes that I got the day before (Via Spiga platforms! $27.00 at the amazing consignment store Cece’s Closet! Unworn, it seems to me!) but I couldn’t walk as fast in them as I could in my clunky Keens, and we needed to be at a concert by 4:00.

It doesn’t matter, Michael said. Nobody looks at your shoes in a crowd. Which every woman who’s ever lived knows to be utter nonsense. Everybody looks at your shoes. All the time.

But the Keens did get us to the next stop on time, which was the first concert of the 2009 season of the San Francisco Early Music Society, and a beautiful one it was too.

Hope your weekend was as lovely.

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