BY CHRIS FREEMAN

So, Pansy Division has had three vans so far. The first one lasted one tour and died. I’m surprised it lasted that long! It was given to me by a friend who’d bought it in New Jersey for $500 and drove it across the country. It used to stall when it rained ’cuz the water would spray up into the engine. He hit a deer somewhere along the way, and the front grill was totalled. We used the bottom of a refrigerator to replace it! The hood had to be bolted down as well. Every time we wanted to add oil we had to take a wrench to it. Classy. No sex had taken place in that van.

The second van was a bit nicer--cost us $5,000. Our drummer at the time, David Ward, built a loft in it, so that the equipment would be hidden nicely and we could have a comfy bed on top. He even rigged curtains with hooks that hung on the fabric lining the inside of the van. Ah, privacy! Well, as much as can be had on tour. When you’re living in each other’s pockets for weeks or even months at a time, there’s really no such thing as privacy. The only time to spank the monkey is in the shower at whoever’s house you crashed at after a show! Or, if you were lucky, there might be a reasonably attractive guy at the show you could go home with! That became one of our tour games: the one who went home with the most guys on tour wins! The “Slut Queen” game. I used to be the hands-down champion ’til Patrick joined the band! More on this later ...

Anyway, I didn’t have a whole lot of sex in that van either. Jon did, however. More often than not, we’d be “hosted’ at a house that had cats or dogs, and Jon’s allergic to both. He’d stay out in the van and we’d wake him up in the morning in time to have a shower before we hit the road. There’d always be a wad of Kleenex on the floor and the rest of us would be jealous and grossed out at the same time. But that’s just masturbation, and you want to read about a “real” sexual encounter! I’ll let Jon tell his own stories and I’ll tell you mine.

I remember a guy I met in Albany, NY, (who shall remain nameless -- for his sake of course, I have no shame!) after a show. We’d gone down the street from the club to an empty office where we were taping an interview for some gay publication or radio show or something. This guy was just sitting there, looking real good, and distracting me from answering the questions coherently. When the interview was over, I grabbed this guy and told him what I wanted to do with him. It turned out that he lived like 75 miles north. Oops. Meanwhile, the rest of the guys had decided they were hungry so they went to an all-night diner, leaving us alone. Great! We have the van for at least a good half hour!

We quickly got into the van, hung up the curtains, tore the clothes off and climbed into a 69 position. After two minutes of this, we started hearing slurred chatter. The van was parked right next to a park on the median in the main street of town, and these drunks were using the van as a barricade so the cops couldn’t see them if they drove by! I couldn’t tell how many there were; I wasn’t about to look through the curtains! It threatened to kill our libidos, but we kept going, hoping they’d leave. We moved through various positions, which is difficult to do on top of the loft, low ceiling and all. The “missionary” position becomes a “half-missionary!” Plus, we had to keep our movements and moaning to a minimum, so the drunks wouldn’t catch on and start getting curious. We had just discovered that “perfect” position for maximum orgasm potential and we were almost there, breathing in rhythm, about to climax at the same time, when one of the drunks started to puke. But not just puke, more like a really deep, long hurl. Several of them. That did it. We both lost it and started giggling, it was just too funny. We decided to just get dressed and wait, either for the drunks to leave, or for everyone else to return from the diner. We more than made up for this interruption on the next tour. I’ve got the pictures to prove it!

The third van, the one we still have, has had much more sexual mileage! More from Jon than anyone else. His tricks tend to be younger with no private place to go. Mine tend to be older with their own places, so sex in the van for me is a once-in-a-while occurence. Same with Patrick. Luis, well, as cute as he is, and as much as everyone seems to want him, he tends to be the loner in the band. Oh, he’s got some stories, but he’s been pretty much celibate on tour for the last year or so, especially since he met Seth.

We bought this van with the money we made from the Angus soundtrack. Green Day were very kind in pushing our song, “Deep Water” for inclusion in the movie, and we made almost enough to cover the entire cost of $12,500. One of the best things about this van, aside from the extra length, electric windows and door locks, etc., is that it has tinted windows. What a blessing! I fully recommend getting them if you don’t have them. Jon’s further sexual escapades in this van even inspired a song, “Tinted Windows.” We had David Ward build us another loft and we were good to go.

My own sexual experiences in this van have been more limited than in the previous van. The older I get, the less interested I am in boinking around in the metal box. Plus, I’m fairly particular about where I sit my bare ass down. You’re also working against the weather: in the summer, it’s just too damn hot to fuck in a parked van, and when it’s cold, I turn into a little snail “down there.” But, all that aside, the van does come in handy when there’s really nowhere else to go and you just gotta do it. Given the option, however, I’m much more about finding someone with a home to go to. Can’t always be picky though!

The “Slut Queen” game has more going for it than just sex: getting away from the rest of the band for a few hours; a real bed, rather than just my sleeping bag on someone’s floor; a leisurely shower in the morning, rather than rushing to get all four of us showered and out the door; and sometimes even a nice breakfast, on the other guy, of course. Hey, I put out and I’m good, it’s the least he can do! Plus, if it was good sex, I’ll take his number and call him next time we’re in town. At this point, I have quite a few of these. I can get hooked up at almost every stop on a tour route! “Let’s see, tomorrow’s Kansas City. Mmmm, Jason...”

This hasn’t always worked, though, and there are a lot of dry patches. On the last tour in Calgary, I was extremely horny, not having wacked the pole for almost a week. All four of us were staying with our friend, Shannon, so there was no privacy at all. Plus, we’d driven the whole way from Vancouver to Calgary (known as the Coquihalla freeway, immortalized in song by Chixdiggit) in one trip, played a show, then stayed up all night to be on a breakfast television show early the next morning. By the end of that day, I needed tension relief.

We decided to go to a few gay bars to see what was available. In the first one I did my best to cruise this very hot guy, but he was only there to watch. Too scared to actually act on anything. Ho-hum. We moved on to another where they were having “Hot Butt” night! Jon and Luis entered the contest and gave a good wiggle. Out of about nine contestants, Jon ended up winning, surprising everyone, and even pissing off one of the locals who insisted that he should have won! Damn funny!

Wandering around, I saw many guys that fit my palette, but they weren’t biting. Being tall and kind of goofy looking tends to work against me. There was one guy, though, who kept giving me the eye, circling around, talking to his friends, giving me the eye, circling around again, talking to his friends, then he finally disappeared. I thought my fishing expedition was over. The bartender found out who we were and bought rounds for us, so Patrick and Luis proceeded to get plowed. Jon joined in, spending his hardearned contest money on Canadian liquor. I got depressed and decided to go home early. Maybe I could perform a chorus of “Beat your meat on the toilet seat, doo dah, doo dah,” before everyone else got back. To my surprise, there was that guy, standing outside, saying goodbye to his friends! We were both walking the same way, so I used that Jagermeister courage to say hello. After two minutes I knew that his dick was going to end up in my mouth.

He lived 45 minutes away (Again? Is there a pattern here?) so we headed for the van (I wasn’t about to bring a stranger into Shannon’s apartment!). It wasn’t too cold, and after smoking a bunch of pot, I felt fairly warm. Everything came out well, no interruptions (well, a cop drove by, but he couldn’t see in--haha), and just as he left, turning the corner down the street, the rest of the guys came back. I stepped out of the van and everybody could tell by the look on my face what I’d been up to. Now, I know that these stories are fairly vanilla compared to others. But, I’ve got stories, believe me, it’s just that I’m just much more open to experiences when I’m relaxed and not worried about being discovered in an open van. Prude that I am.

PICTURED ABOVE: Chris Freeman, the bassit for Pansy Division, fondly remembers band tours and boinking around in the metal box.