Like many of my peers, I’ve looked at the slick ads for gay cruises showing the beautifully buffed bodies of men in their twenties and thirties, naked to the waist or lower, slobbering over each other on a moon drenched ship’s deck, or cavorting on Caribbean sands, and I’ve both longed for, and lusted after, what I saw.

But I figured this isn’t for me. I’m neither beautiful nor buffed, and my twenties and thirties are about as distant for me as the moon is from the ship’s deck in the romantic glossy pics.

Furthermore, I imagined a gay cruise would be a floating sexual orgy and, thank God, since I live in Fort Lauderdale I don’t have to leave land and invite sea sickness for that. Sex is available here 24/7. Just pick up one of the bar rags and read the ads.

Knowing that I was a gay cruise virgin, friends invited my partner and me to join them on an Atlantis cruise departing from Barcelona and plying the waters of the Mediterranean and the Aegean. Since we’d be with a group of friends, I was interested and finally, I tossed my inhibitions overboard and said, "What the hell. Let’s try it." And off we went.

Just as the advertisements promised—the ship was beautiful. In fact it was spectacular, with an eight story central atrium and a dramatic massive corkscrew sculpture of cloth and aluminum cascading from deck 12 to deck 4. The food was excellent, the entertainment first rate and the buff beautiful bodies were there in droves.

There were, however, an equal number of men in the fifty plus category and enough non-buff types in all age ranges that I didn’t feel conspicuous. Also, there were a hundred or so gay women and half dozen straight couples on the manifest.

Despite my initial reservations, I had a wonderful time. If the ship’s captain, a handsome, trim gray haired sixtyish Norwegian had asked me, "Was it good for you?" I would have confessed that yes, it was more than good. It was a great voyage, and I was surprised in a variety of ways.

I was surprised at how courteous and polite my fellow passengers were—holding an elevator door, moving a chaise lounge so that I could sit with my friends by the pool, or moving on and off tour buses quietly and without fuss. The ubiquitous "attitude," that supposedly is the hall-mark of younger gay men, was not in evidence. The mixing of ages, body types and genders was comfortable and effortless.

Also, to my surprise, it was amazingly easy, at the breakfast table, by the pool, or at a bar, to strike up a conversation with strangers and move quickly past the "Where are you from and what do you do? to "What do you think about?" and invariably we were immediately into philosophy, religion or politics. I never heard a single conversation about size although there were glowing reports emanating from the steam room.

My biggest surprise, however, by the end of the cruise, was the gradual realization of how comfortable—no, how exhilarating—it was to spend ten days in a totally gay environment. It was just plain great to see men show spontaneous affection to each other. A peck on the cheek, a pat on the butt, an arm around a partner’s shoulder, were frequently seen, and there was no concern as to who might witness these events and possibly be offended.

It brought into sharp contrast the behavioral restrictions that I silently accept as part of the price of living in a heterosexist society. No one knows and understands those restrictions better than gay men and women. I’m not usually conscious of the limitations that society imposes on my daily interactions with my partner and with gay friends. I simply accept the limitations as normal. That’s the way life is.

I walk out of our condo and don’t hold hands with my partner, even though half the building is gay and the straight half knows we’re a couple. Except for one or two gay bars, or when visiting in gay friends’ homes, we don’t openly express affection. I never grab his ass or give him a kiss on the cheek in public. He’d feel embarrassed and I’d feel it’s risky. After all, we don’t want to upset our heterosexual neighbors and friends or break the rules that they have imposed.

But it really felt good to be able to claim, as a gay man, the spontaneous affirmation of affection that straight couples take for granted. Heterosexual couples can walk hand in hand on Walnut Street in Philadelphia or on Connecticut Avenue in Washington without concern. A hug or a kiss for straight couples is noted by passers by with a smile or perhaps even with a touch of envy. But for a gay couple to claim the same right of openly displaying affection in public places is problematic at best and risky at worst. So to be free of those constraints, even for a few days, was affirming.

It seemed similar to the relief that comes after you take off shoes that are too tight on your feet, or underwear that, like a cheap hotel, has no ball room. While you wear them you’re not fully aware of your discomfort, but when you take them off, it feels sooooo…good. I imagine taking off a too tight bra produces the same relief.

Long after the memories of which ports we visited fade, and the documentary photos I took are safely stored in an album that we’ll never open, I’ll still remember the pleasure of experiencing the free and spontaneous expressions of affection between gay men and gay women. For me it was an enjoyable holiday, a great cruise, a significant experience—call it what you will—but what I’ll carry with me as a memory is what it felt like to be me.

John Siegfried lives in Ft. Lauderdale but occasionally makes it back to Rehoboth for a visit.