Page 119 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 89

invisible queer of them all: the manly homosexual.
The Manifesto’s opening line read: “The hardest thing to be in America
today is a man.”
“They’re probably holed up,” Kweenie said, “writing dirty stories and
taking dirty pictures.”
“Maneuvers keeps them off the streets,” I said. “That’s the function
of gay porn.”
“Without it what would little boys do?”
“Forget it,” I said. “They’re in-love”
“I know they’re in-love,” Kweenie said. Her orange juice arrived. “Just
like the movies. There’s the smell of popcorn in the air.”

2

Solomon Bluestein was a movie mogul. He was the Sam Goldwyn
of the Tenderloin. He started out in 1969 shooting little porno films on
Super 8 and evolved into erotic videotapes he sold mail order. Solid Blue
Video, Inc., was a money machine paying quarterly taxes. Solly never
hired the expensive, interchangeable blond twits or the coltish modelles
who populated gay films. His stars were real trash: runaways, throwaways,
street hustlers, excons. He was a grand cross between Fagin and Father
Flanagan.
“I’d rather smell the sweat from a straight young wrestler’s dripping
armpit than have sex with a gay boy.”
His cinema verite videotapes were legendary on the pudbuster circuit.
His technique was high-toned. His material was low-down. His gross was
boffo. For thirty bucks, he outhustled his hustlers. He coached from his
tough guys the hard-assed Attitude that attracted and frightened people
in the street. He understood beauty and terror.
Ignoring his own advice, he warned his customers in his brochures:
“Never take these boys to your lovely home.”
His stars were dangerous graduates of the best Youth Authorities from
east coast to west and points south. To a trick, they were, so they said,
personally straight, professionally mercenary, living in cheap rooms in
sleaze-bag hotels, drinking beer and Jack Daniel’s when they could cadge
it, smoking cigarettes and dope, shooting up, screwing with tough little
teen hookers, proud of their hustling, bragging, “Shit! The old lady’s a
working girl. So I work the streets too.”
One after the other the boys stripped for his color-sound camera,
posing solo, oiling up naked, running their mouths, flexing, spitting,

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