Polo cologne and menthol cigarettes filled the air like rainbow fog. It permeated every gay club I visited in the eighties and walked beside me whenever I was with my gay brother or any one of the tiny handful of boys I had crushes on back then.
Those were the years of Patrick Nagel prints, glass and brass furnishings, and the perfectly made bed beckoning just a room away. I was like the little boy who loved fishing yet had no idea what to do if he ever caught one. So, I practiced catch and release.