Ron and I checked in at the desk. We were sharing the room with an old friend of Ron's from Massachusetts named Jimmy. I didn't know much about Jimmy except that he was also a Scorpio. The desk clerk said he had already checked in a few minutes before we got there.

We opened the room door and this hot little hunk came leaping at me, humping all over my leg, trying to remove my clothes.

"Oooh, you're cute, let's fuck and get it over with," Jimmy was pawing at me.

"Slow down a little, we've got all weekend."

"You like getting fucked? Or whatever else you like," he persisted.

I was rather shocked and felt like Jimmy had an obvious need to be in control. The rest of the weekend proved to be difficult in the room, mostly for Ron who said he never should have put "two scorpions in a shoebox." Jimmy and I were bickering the entire time. Ron was in the middle, being the friend of both of us – Jimmy from the past, having a history with Ron (which included an affair), and me from the present. Jimmy was just plain jealous, in my opinion, probably of the relationship that Ron and I had, and I guess this was how he acted out about it. Ron insisted we were both horrible and did his best to keep us from stinging each other to death. It was strained to say the least, but the conference kept us all busy.

There were lots of workshops to chose from, and lots of men as well, in shorts and bathing suits, without shirts, tanned and hot – and everyone was fresh meat to each other. Of course we were all there for recovery. It just takes many forms.

You could walk right out on the beach after doing a workshop. It was a lot different than Civic Center Auditorium in San Francisco.

There was a Tea Dance out by the pool one day where I flirted shamelessly with the DJ who was a South Florida bear. We met later in the empty banquet hall for some backstage hanky-panky. He had keys to get in since he was a volunteer.

We met a couple from Boston. One was a leatherman who was covered in Celtic tattoos and multiple piercings, a silver fox. The other was a mad drag queen. They came to the Saturday night banquet as a couple from Gone With The Wind, he in a Rhett Butler suit with a string-tie, and she in a hoop-skirt gown that had to be torn off the windows at Tara. Everyone wondered how she got the dress in her luggage. The answer was that it was made out of detachable, fold-up sections. Ah, the creativity of queens.

We met lots of other characters, some regulars at the Florida Roundup, some locals, and some "conference-hoppers." Ron had been to this one before, so he knew some people there. He introduced me to a guy named Paul, who was from Ft. Lauderdale. Ron and I were going to spend a couple of days there after the conference was over, so Paul invited us to hook up with him and his boyfriend when we got up there.

Actually I had the feeling that Paul wanted to hook up with me right there at the conference, so we went off to do a workshop together. It happened to be a healing circle. I didn't know exactly what to expect, but I was really in for a surprise.

The room was large, and the atmosphere was extremely intense. There must have been about 80 people or more sitting on the floor in a circle on the perimeter of the room with a workshop leader in the middle. We held hands and closed our eyes. We were guided through various meditations and visualizations which were intended to connect us with the people we wanted to heal or send energy to. This, of course, could include ourselves.

The group facilitator had us visualize sending green light to someone. We were encouraged to speak out loud if we were so moved. We were told that we could literally send a beam of light to another person, from our heart to theirs. We were asked to really see it in our minds, the light coming out of us and traveling through space or time, or both, and entering the other person. They could be living or dead, it didn't matter. We were also to send violet light, and then white. These represented various chakras and levels of spectral energy involved in healing, cleansing and purifying. We could do this with one person, and then we could repeat the process with as many others as we wanted to. We were encouraged to send the light to ourselves last.

I immediately thought of Steven, my first lover. I was very young when we were together. He had been the love of my life. We had had a horrible breakup after a year and a half. I had attempted suicide at the age of 20, after Steven had found a new lover and flaunted it in our bed, right under my nose. He was the man who had saved me when my Dad had thrown me out for being gay. I couldn't imagine going on living at that time, being betrayed by both of them. I had spent some years getting past that time of my life. I was 37 years old – that was almost half my life ago. But obviously there was more in there that I hadn't dealt with. In many ways I was frozen emotionally at that time. Now I was having a new breakthrough, reaching another plateau of healing. It was the old "peeling away the onion" that I always heard about at meetings.

I understood suddenly that I needed to send healing energy to Steven. It was more than forgiveness, or even acceptance. It was connecting with another soul where there had been love, and acknowledging the flow of energy between us. I didn't know if he was alive or not, but I could actively send energy to him and not expect something in return. This was a selfless act of love. It was ultimately designed to help heal my wounds, but the result at this workshop was having them ripped wide open after being closed for so many years. I began to speak out loud and to cry. "Steven, I want you to heal. You deserve to heal. It's not your fault, I forgive you. Please heal, please. Let the love back into your heart. I am sending you love and light. I am sending you light."

Then just as quickly, my father came into my mind and I burst into uncontrollable sobbing. Paul was squeezing my hand, knowing that I was in a lot of pain. While I shook and cried, in my mind I thought, "Daddy, I understand. I forgive you. You were only doing the best you knew how. I was just your little boy and you rejected me. Your father wasn't there for you, you didn't know how to be a father. It's OK. I am sending you healing energy and love. Please heal Daddy, please."

Out loud, I spoke through the sobbing, "Daddy."

Paul knew what I was going through. He broke free of my hand and put his arms around me, and we cried together. He knew the little boy inside me was hurting terribly and needed a man to hold him. I cried for about an hour after the healing circle ended and the room had cleared. Finally Paul and I left to rejoin the rest of the living.

I regained my composure with some difficulty, but I was changed. I felt completely drained and exhilarated at the same time. I didn't know how much time had passed. I was a different man, I felt a little stronger, a little more compassionate toward myself. I was seeing everything differently. I was raw and exposed, and it was OK. Everything was getting better. I was starting to get better again.

Ron and I drove over to the Gulf coast to Naples to visit my Mom before going to Ft. Lauderdale. I hadn't seen her in five years. We would spend one night there, and just make sure to keep our nipple rings hidden. I wouldn't be able to hide my tattoos since they're on both arms, but to hell with it. She'd have to get over it.

My Mom looked so tiny when she opened the door. She was beautiful though. She had only been 16 when I was born. I always bragged that she and Jane Fonda have the exact same birthday, same year and everything. She did sort of look like her. But she was a very small person, barely five feet.

We were teary eyed as we embraced, and of course the first thing she noticed were the tattoos.

"Oh, those are pretty," she said, obviously fascinated. She gingerly put out her finger toward my arm.

"It's OK, you can touch them, it won't rub off." I smiled and pulled up my sleeve.

My little brother was there also, but he wasn't so little. He was about 6'1" to my 5'7" and I was filled with strange emotions as we hugged, remembering that little baby again. I was 12 when he was born and always thought of him as being my one chance to have a kid. Even at that age, I somehow knew I'd never have any of my own. So I pretended he was mine, helping out as much as I could with changing his diapers and the 4 a.m. feedings. It wasn't until the terrible twos that I began to resent him. We shared a bedroom, so he was always into all my stuff. When I was 17 and he was 5, it was really difficult. Then I moved to Columbus and I was always just his "big brother in college." We never really had a chance to know each other.

Now here he stood in front of me, 25 years old, a grown man. It was almost bizarre, seeing that little boy's face in his. I had this uncontrollable feeling of pride.

Ron told me later how much we all looked like each other. I tended to forget that you have blood relatives that are genetically connected as well as by soul.

Mom made us a nice supper that reminded me of that Midwest cooking I grew up with, but there was an added level of something Southern to it. She had, after all, lived in Florida for nearly 20 years since my parents were divorced and remarried.

After we ate, we sat around the table eating pie and discussing funny stories from my childhood. My mom amazed me with her level of understanding about who I was as a kid. She was a bit more aware than I thought about my moodiness and brooding. She told Ron how I would lock myself in my room for hours on end, reading and drawing and painting and writing. She even dragged out some old things I'd written in high school. She said she always thought I was weird. We all laughed. God knows I am.

After showering, Ron had to carefully drape the towel around his shoulders, letting the ends fall down over his nipples, in order to get from the bathroom to the guest room. My Mom had the double bed all made up for us. I don't know whether she thought we were lovers or not. I had told her that Ron was my best friend, but who knows how she interpreted that.

When we left the next day, I watched my Mom waving and getting smaller as we drove away. Who knew how long it would be till the next time I saw her. I cried halfway across Alligator Alley.