ABSTRACT
Down the street from the Naval Training Center in San Diego are several strip joints and peep show arcades frequented by sailors and an often larger number of gay civilian “military chasers.” One arcade is particularly cruisy despite capricious intermittent crackdowns by the staff, who bark at, threaten, eject, or otherwise tyrannize cruisers who fail to spend the requisite tokens or scurry cockroach-like from the view of the video surveillance cameras, or are simply unlucky enough to cross one of the clerks on a day when his power trip wants exercising. The cruisers sometimes have an even harder time with each other, as they are a fiercely competitive lot. All such places have a corrupt and undemocratic etiquette, and persons laying despotic territorial claims. Undisputed queen of the peep show down the street from the Naval Training Center is Boris. It is a title he works to retain through sheer unmitigated gall.
