Pride week in key west

Dusk has descended upon the Conch Republic and from the backseat of my air-conditioned Uber I observe the twinkling streetlights of Key West, an occasional passing moped, and on the balcony of one of the city’s famed clapboard homes—a shirtless stud surveying the scene below. It’s Pride Weekend, and the strength in the wind is kinetic.

Key West always romances me swiftly. True, the queer scene is smaller than in P-Town or Palm Springs. However, male lover travelers are still very visible and easily stand out among the tourist hordes thanks to pronounced biceps and noticeably less fashion missteps than their hetero counterparts who seem content to walk around wearing baggie shorts, fanny packs, and jokey t-shirts sporting phrases like “Don’t Stare at My Cock,” a nod to the city’s ubiquitous roosters. Plus, I love Key West’s “One Human Family” ethos and laissez-faire attitude toward all who visit.

What I’ll discover this weekend is that most gay visitors alternate between as short-lived clothing as achievable and none at all. Reluctantly, I put on shorts and