Dear Diary, Last Saturday night while in San Francisco for my birthday weekend, Todd and I were fortunate to make the acquaintance of the one and only Rory K. Davis—aka Coach Bator—when he was dancing on the bar of the Powerhouse wearing only sneakers and a threadbare gym sock pud warmer garter-belted to his bouncing junk with an industrial strength cock ring. The charmingly outgoing and Hollywood white teeth smiling Coach—a silver fox/hot daddy type as the name would suggest—is an acclaimed local legend choreographer with a client base ranging from superstar drag queens and world famous boylesque theatrical productions to chair bound geriatrics taking aerobic classes in the recreational common areas of assisted living spaces. I got all that from the internet. The studly yet humble Coach told me directly that when he’s not go-go-ing at the clubs, he’s back home creating gay porn content where he sucks and fucks his pig scene partners while slathered in and sloshing around greasy plastic tubs of “Nickelodeon green slime.” Coach Bator. At the Powerhouse. Saturday, 02/21/2026. True Confessions by Bill Mullen

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