Holy bejeezabob I have had a good weekend in New York. Through the entire three years I lived here, I wished I could come back on a business trip. What it must be like to stay in the best hotels and eat on the company dime! And then finally, finally, the sweet Lord (or maybe just my boss) sent me here this weekend and gave me the trip I have been dreaming of. One night at the Gansevoort, two nights at the Standard. Three $100 dinners. Three friends, a Valentino shirt, an Ermenegildo Zegna tie, and wah-lah, my happy quota has been reached.
Each time I arrive in New York, I spend the first day thinking that I should have never left. The city is so alive! Every corner brings another amazing restaurant. Every block ten more gorgeous model-bots. I come to my last neighborhood, the Meatpacking District, and find a fashion and cultural center that didn't exist at all 10 years ago, yet rivals the best in the world today.
And then Day 2 comes.
Yesterday was my 2nd day in New York. I had breakfast at Pastis, then went for a walk through the gallery district of Chelsea. I walked a path that I used to walk when I had free time as a grad student, and I thought about my life then. I thought about Scott. We spent two years together in the city before we broke up and he moved to London. I sat on some steps on 24th Street and left a voice mail for Scott saying that I was in New York and thinking of him. Today though, as I started work, I got a long text message from Scott telling me that it was too little too late. He has needed someone to be there for him lately and I didn't show up for him and become that person. He was disappointed and hurt. It felt so appropriate to me to get this message while I was in New York. To me, this city symbolizes our failed relationship, and I found it quite ironic for him to end our friendship during the 3-day window where I happened to be in the same city where we ended our relationship.
In the last 6 months that I lived here I also had the best job of my life. I was going to be a millionaire and rule the world! Then I got fired. Great, so then I felt like I had failed my relationship and my career. That was it. My self esteem was shot. I moved within about two weeks.
San Francisco became home again. I moved in with the woman I love (that would be my best friend because I'm a total flamer in case you're a new reader), got a hot boyfriend, and found a wonderful job. I have had time now to really put my New York experience in perspective, and at least I can come here now and appreciate what I used to love about New York.
The best thing about New York is having accidental one-of-a-kind experiences. Tonight I met my friend Carl for dinner. Fortunately his potential 21yo "masculine" "bisexual" trick was completely stringing him along, because that meant he was free for me. After a fantastic meal and a couple grande martinis, Carl said he was going to take me to his favorite bar in the Village. As soon as we opened the door to Marie's Crisis, I loved it. Down three stairs was a small room packed with people who were all facing a man behind a small piano to the right. Everyone was singing along to some show tune. Carl and I found the bar and I stood looking in awe at the people in the bar. You know that look that a 19yo straight guy from a rural town might have when he first enters a strip club and realizes that he can touch a titty for just $1? Pure happiness! That's what these people looked like.
I didn't recognize the first couple songs, but then we got a Sound of Music medley, and Carl and I belted out the Doh-Ray-Me song and then the one about raindrops and kittens. It was so fun!
Then Carl met a Jewess who was from DC but moved to New York to be a corporate lawyer. She was also studying art. That's another thing I love about New York. Artist/lawyer/Jewesses. People here have so much going on! Then Carl said something about his penis, or maybe someone else's penis. I forget. Whatever it was made the Jewess turn around and stand with her friends again. Actually, then I think Carl shouted something about his penis and made 3 queens turn around. I honestly couldn't tell if they were interested in more penis talk or annoyed that he didn't know the words to the current show tune. I realized that they must put a big penis on the same entertainment level as a good show tune. Not my crowd. I told Carl I was ready to leave.
So, well, there was a small representation of the 1000 thoughts that I am having about New York right now. Some are sad. Some are beautiful. And at 3am, some are just sleepy thoughts. But after Day 2 in New York, one thought is always the same. I love San Francisco, and I really look forward to going home.
Nite nite.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
My Year at Folsom Street Fair - Watch the cartoon!
I had the most amazing Folsom weekend this year. For those of you that don't know, Folsom Street Fair is a street fair that happens in the last weekend of September each year. It is a celebration of sexual inclusiveness, and basically it is a chance for everyone to be a whore in a socially acceptable environment. It is totally San Francisco, and totally fun. Here is my cartoon account of my night at the Real Bad party on Sunday:
http://www.xtranormal.com/watch?e=20091004011219177
http://www.xtranormal.com/watch?e=20091004011219177
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Not Jesus
It has been raining in Mykonos ever since I wrote that last blog entry. People keep telling me how crazy this is. Guys who have been coming here for years never even bother to check the weather because it is always sunny. I just want to clarify for the world and the Gods that I am not Jesus, never was Jesus, and didn't mean offense to any person or deity. Please stop raining.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
I Think I Might Not Be Jesus After All
My best friend likes to remind people when they turn 33 that Jesus died when he was 33. I turned 33 on September 8, 2008, and for the whole last year there was at least a minor possibility that "Dad" upstairs might strike me dead and return me home. But yesterday I turned 34. I realize this is not definitive proof that I am not the second coming of Christ, but I thought I might at least consider the arguments For and Against the possibility.
FOR: Jesus had a beard. I have a beard. Granted, mine is more the George Michael type of closely cropped gay man beard, but there is no reason to assume that Jesus would not consider fashion trends when he returned to earth 2000 years later.
AGAINST: Rumor has it that Jesus's mom was a virgin. Mom, I love you and I would never imply that you were not a heavenly saint from birth through my entire life to this point, but, well, I would never believe the virgin bit.
FOR: I am no biblical historian, but I think there is a story in the Bible about Jesus when he was a young boy. His mother Mary lost him at the market, and when she found him, he was teaching a lesson to a group of men. I too have the ability to attract large groups of men in markets. You should see me work a mall.
AGAINST: I also believe that Jesus went to a wedding once and turned the water into wine. If I could perform miracles, I think the last thing on my list would be to get a bunch of straight people drunk. Shouldn't I be saving the kids in Africa or something? Actually, to be honest, the only reason I count this AGAINST is because I have drank many glasses of water wishing it was wine, and my wish never came true.
FOR: When I was a kid I used to think I had special powers. At about the age of 6 and 7, I would make paper airplanes in my babysitter's backyard. I would throw them and try to control their direction with my mind. About 50% of the time I was right, which would make total sense if I was 50% divine.
AGAINST: Jesus raised Leviticus from the dead. I have never raised anyone from the dead. Actually, I have never tried to raise anyone from the dead. Let me get back to you on this one.
Overall, I do think the odds are stacked against me. But there is one detail I have left out. I have been on the Greek islands of Santorini and Mykonos since I turned 34. These islands are about as close as I ever imagined to heaven, so it is possible that I died and went to heaven four days ago. If I make it to work next Tuesday, then I'll know for sure that I am not Jesus after all.
FOR: Jesus had a beard. I have a beard. Granted, mine is more the George Michael type of closely cropped gay man beard, but there is no reason to assume that Jesus would not consider fashion trends when he returned to earth 2000 years later.
AGAINST: Rumor has it that Jesus's mom was a virgin. Mom, I love you and I would never imply that you were not a heavenly saint from birth through my entire life to this point, but, well, I would never believe the virgin bit.
FOR: I am no biblical historian, but I think there is a story in the Bible about Jesus when he was a young boy. His mother Mary lost him at the market, and when she found him, he was teaching a lesson to a group of men. I too have the ability to attract large groups of men in markets. You should see me work a mall.
AGAINST: I also believe that Jesus went to a wedding once and turned the water into wine. If I could perform miracles, I think the last thing on my list would be to get a bunch of straight people drunk. Shouldn't I be saving the kids in Africa or something? Actually, to be honest, the only reason I count this AGAINST is because I have drank many glasses of water wishing it was wine, and my wish never came true.
FOR: When I was a kid I used to think I had special powers. At about the age of 6 and 7, I would make paper airplanes in my babysitter's backyard. I would throw them and try to control their direction with my mind. About 50% of the time I was right, which would make total sense if I was 50% divine.
AGAINST: Jesus raised Leviticus from the dead. I have never raised anyone from the dead. Actually, I have never tried to raise anyone from the dead. Let me get back to you on this one.
Overall, I do think the odds are stacked against me. But there is one detail I have left out. I have been on the Greek islands of Santorini and Mykonos since I turned 34. These islands are about as close as I ever imagined to heaven, so it is possible that I died and went to heaven four days ago. If I make it to work next Tuesday, then I'll know for sure that I am not Jesus after all.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Every Inch Counts
I haven't written in almost 3 months now. Wow! It was getting tough to write because as I became more intertwined with my boyfriend, my thoughts naturally revolved around the "him" and the "we" and the "us". I could probably have written a dissertation on communication, patience, boundaries, or the evolution of sex in a relationship just in the last few months, but I have chosen instead to spare my boyfriend the public analysis of those thoughts. I decided to wait until I could focus on the funny stories that inevitably find me.
Sure enough, a whole new type of penis story found me last week. It was just asking to be blogged about. So here goes...
I went to visit my work friend Cristi at her cube last week, and after the standard salutations she said she had a private question for me and asked me to follow her to a nearby conference room. Once we were seated in safe, silent security, she started giving me the context for her question. Her son is almost two years old. When he was born her and her husband had him circumcised, for no other reason than to have his penis match his fathers. This logic is essentially lost on me, but maybe because I wasn't raised with a father I can't understand all the bonding that apparently happens as father and son compare penises through the kid's childhood.
Anyway, several months ago, Cristi's husband started mentioning that the circumcision appeared to be tight. He brought to Cristi's attention that the other kids at day care all had bigger wee-wee's than their baby. Cristi realized that he had a point, but didn't think much of it. She tried to forget it, but unfortunately, her husband has started compulsively worrying that their baby is going to live the life of a man with a little wee-wee. Now Cristi is starting to go crazy too. So, her question: "Do you know of any way to make a baby's penis grow more?"
"No. Its impossible," was my short answer as the self proclaimed Wise Wizard of Penistry. There is no pill. Surgery is impossible on a child, and even on an adult surgery can only increase length by cutting the muscle that makes it stick up/out, so it would just hang there. You can also inject fat into the shaft for girth, but there is a high likelihood that the fat will settle in clumps and then later just get reabsorbed. Stretching is theoretically possible, but it would take hours of stretching day after day for months on end, and even if the skin could survive intact there is no way a kid could ever go through that. The only thing that might make sense is checking to see if there is some way to loosen the circumcision by adding back some skin, but I have never heard of that being done. It might be worth exploring because the average circumcised penis is 1/2 inch shorter than the average uncircumcised penis. Did you know that? True story. And it is attributed to the circumcision being too tight. Again, why do we circumcise? Viva la foreskin!
My last piece of advice was by far the most relevant. "Don't ever let your son know that you have ever even thought that he might have a small penis. Don't look at it, don't talk about it or even suggest it verbally around him. It will be bad enough if he notices his penis is smaller than other kids. Having his parents point it out would be horrible!"
I can't imagine what that would be like. I remember when I first became conscious of other boy's wee-wee's. It was 7th grade; the first grade where we had open showers in the locker room for Physical Education. I had seen one or two of my friends' wankers before that, but PE was full of boys you didn't know. And probably like every other boy, I don't remember the ones that were the same size as mine or smaller. I remember the big ones, and I remember that mine look horribly insanely painfully small compared to theirs. As a gay boy, this also mixed with a dirty exciting happy feeling too. In fact, I remember a blond boy named Jeremy with short curly blond hair who made me feel all those things. Of my 4 memories of 7th grade PE, two are of Jeremy. One is of standing next to Jeremy at the urinal and seeing his penis out of the corner of my eye (that's where I learned to stare out of the corner of my eye). It looked twice as big as mine. Despite my embarrassment, he became a crush of mine, and my 2nd memory is of "accidentally" brushing up against his butt as we changed for class. That was hot.
Anyway, my point is that men have a lot of confidence issues wrapped up around their penis. That feeling that I had in the locker room in 7th grade has persisted to some extent even to today. When I shower at the gym, despite 15 years of informal "research" and finding that mine is somewhere in the range of Not So Bad to Pretty Good, I still get a little shy, and it is only magnified by the donkey schlongs in the room. (However, as an adult, my strong mental stability allows me to overcome my insecurity and instead focus hypnotically on the swinging dingy before me.) Actually, now that I mention it, I wonder if my uncontrollable hypnosis can be traced back to that time period where I first noticed mine vs. theirs?
Ok really, back to the point. Geez its hard to focus when I'm thinking about big'uns. Chances are that through puberty, it will all even out and Cristi's son will figure out that he was just slow to catch up. If he doesn't, he is going to notice at some point that his is not as big as "theirs". If that happens, his response will in part depend on the confidence that he has learned up to that point. Cristi needs to focus on what's fabulous with her little guy, and forget that she ever worried about the missing inch.
Sure enough, a whole new type of penis story found me last week. It was just asking to be blogged about. So here goes...
I went to visit my work friend Cristi at her cube last week, and after the standard salutations she said she had a private question for me and asked me to follow her to a nearby conference room. Once we were seated in safe, silent security, she started giving me the context for her question. Her son is almost two years old. When he was born her and her husband had him circumcised, for no other reason than to have his penis match his fathers. This logic is essentially lost on me, but maybe because I wasn't raised with a father I can't understand all the bonding that apparently happens as father and son compare penises through the kid's childhood.
Anyway, several months ago, Cristi's husband started mentioning that the circumcision appeared to be tight. He brought to Cristi's attention that the other kids at day care all had bigger wee-wee's than their baby. Cristi realized that he had a point, but didn't think much of it. She tried to forget it, but unfortunately, her husband has started compulsively worrying that their baby is going to live the life of a man with a little wee-wee. Now Cristi is starting to go crazy too. So, her question: "Do you know of any way to make a baby's penis grow more?"
"No. Its impossible," was my short answer as the self proclaimed Wise Wizard of Penistry. There is no pill. Surgery is impossible on a child, and even on an adult surgery can only increase length by cutting the muscle that makes it stick up/out, so it would just hang there. You can also inject fat into the shaft for girth, but there is a high likelihood that the fat will settle in clumps and then later just get reabsorbed. Stretching is theoretically possible, but it would take hours of stretching day after day for months on end, and even if the skin could survive intact there is no way a kid could ever go through that. The only thing that might make sense is checking to see if there is some way to loosen the circumcision by adding back some skin, but I have never heard of that being done. It might be worth exploring because the average circumcised penis is 1/2 inch shorter than the average uncircumcised penis. Did you know that? True story. And it is attributed to the circumcision being too tight. Again, why do we circumcise? Viva la foreskin!
My last piece of advice was by far the most relevant. "Don't ever let your son know that you have ever even thought that he might have a small penis. Don't look at it, don't talk about it or even suggest it verbally around him. It will be bad enough if he notices his penis is smaller than other kids. Having his parents point it out would be horrible!"
I can't imagine what that would be like. I remember when I first became conscious of other boy's wee-wee's. It was 7th grade; the first grade where we had open showers in the locker room for Physical Education. I had seen one or two of my friends' wankers before that, but PE was full of boys you didn't know. And probably like every other boy, I don't remember the ones that were the same size as mine or smaller. I remember the big ones, and I remember that mine look horribly insanely painfully small compared to theirs. As a gay boy, this also mixed with a dirty exciting happy feeling too. In fact, I remember a blond boy named Jeremy with short curly blond hair who made me feel all those things. Of my 4 memories of 7th grade PE, two are of Jeremy. One is of standing next to Jeremy at the urinal and seeing his penis out of the corner of my eye (that's where I learned to stare out of the corner of my eye). It looked twice as big as mine. Despite my embarrassment, he became a crush of mine, and my 2nd memory is of "accidentally" brushing up against his butt as we changed for class. That was hot.
Anyway, my point is that men have a lot of confidence issues wrapped up around their penis. That feeling that I had in the locker room in 7th grade has persisted to some extent even to today. When I shower at the gym, despite 15 years of informal "research" and finding that mine is somewhere in the range of Not So Bad to Pretty Good, I still get a little shy, and it is only magnified by the donkey schlongs in the room. (However, as an adult, my strong mental stability allows me to overcome my insecurity and instead focus hypnotically on the swinging dingy before me.) Actually, now that I mention it, I wonder if my uncontrollable hypnosis can be traced back to that time period where I first noticed mine vs. theirs?
Ok really, back to the point. Geez its hard to focus when I'm thinking about big'uns. Chances are that through puberty, it will all even out and Cristi's son will figure out that he was just slow to catch up. If he doesn't, he is going to notice at some point that his is not as big as "theirs". If that happens, his response will in part depend on the confidence that he has learned up to that point. Cristi needs to focus on what's fabulous with her little guy, and forget that she ever worried about the missing inch.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Dude, do you know where the after hours party is?
(Written some time Friday night/Saturday morning, but I drunkenly forgot to post it):
Tonight was a fun night out drinking with the boys. After seeing the overly-hyped completely unbelievable Wolverine movie, D and I came home and had a couple cocktails. Once we were sufficiently primed on cheap vodka and diet cream soda (I wanted to take it back to my white trash roots), we found our friends at the bars. One hour of silly bar conversation later, the deep voice of the almost sexy bartender rang through the bar: "5 minutes left to closing". We all tried to figure out where to go next. I lived the closest, so it was decided that we would head to my place. Everyone agreed to be quiet and not wake up my best friend a few doors down the hall. "Fine", I said, "Let's go."
Trust me, I have been to an after hours party in my day. I wouldn't even know where exactly the start the story of the after hours. And actually I feel like I was setting you up for disappointment by talking about mine tonight. Lets just be clear that nothing happened. I'm one of those old dudes in a couple now who goes home at 2am with his boyfriend and kicks the stragglers out soon after. But this story is not about tonight. Its about my early years.... Where do I start? Forget starting. Let's just bullet-point this crap and give you and idea of what I grew up with:
Tonight was a fun night out drinking with the boys. After seeing the overly-hyped completely unbelievable Wolverine movie, D and I came home and had a couple cocktails. Once we were sufficiently primed on cheap vodka and diet cream soda (I wanted to take it back to my white trash roots), we found our friends at the bars. One hour of silly bar conversation later, the deep voice of the almost sexy bartender rang through the bar: "5 minutes left to closing". We all tried to figure out where to go next. I lived the closest, so it was decided that we would head to my place. Everyone agreed to be quiet and not wake up my best friend a few doors down the hall. "Fine", I said, "Let's go."
Trust me, I have been to an after hours party in my day. I wouldn't even know where exactly the start the story of the after hours. And actually I feel like I was setting you up for disappointment by talking about mine tonight. Lets just be clear that nothing happened. I'm one of those old dudes in a couple now who goes home at 2am with his boyfriend and kicks the stragglers out soon after. But this story is not about tonight. Its about my early years.... Where do I start? Forget starting. Let's just bullet-point this crap and give you and idea of what I grew up with:
- Age 24: I went to Universe (nightly club in San Franciso until 2001), and went back to the corporate apartment of a guy I knew from San Diego whose work had just moved him up from San Diego. I was there with a guy 15 years older than me who I was sleeping with. He took someone else into the bathroom, stood on the bathroom counter, and pee'd all over the place, including on the guy. I was a bit surprised when they told me the story, but hey, "welcome to San Francisco kid."
- Age 26: I went to a small after hours club South of Market with the same guy who randomly pee'd on the other guy two years earlier. We were just friends now. We had a great morning dancing with some crazy guys from around town. At some point in the morning when we decided to leave, we got in the coat check line to get our coats. A cute kid came up to Mark (pee guy) and started rubbing his trousers. Mark smiled. The guy got on his knees. I watched in disbelief as the guy blew him in the coat check line, until after just a short minute or two the scene ended with Mark's quiet grunts. I couldn't believe this was happening for real in front of me in the coat check line?!
- Age 28: I was living in Sydney. I went out to a gay club, and a group of fun straight folks asked me to come back to their place in the morning. One of their best friends was a life-sized replica of a Barbie Doll. She was beautiful. She also put all of her effort into seducing me. It worked. It was the last time I had sex with a woman. Not a bad last I must say.
- Age 29: I was visiting San Francisco, and after whatever respectable event I had been to earlier in the evening, I went to the End Up (24 hour club). I got kicked out shortly after for being in a bathroom stall with a very beautiful man. His fault. I swear.
- Age 30 and 31: Same kind of stuff.
- Age 32: Last summer I went out with my girls and a guy friend named Robert. After the club a group of us came back to my place. Robert got naked and danced a little bit in front of my mirror in the bedroom. When I insisted he put some clothes on, he found a red tutu (I am actually not sure where that came from). Robert sat with his legs crossed under the red tutu in my bedroom and drank a pitcher of margaritas.
- Age 33: Tonight.
As I read this again I realize my stories went in reverse order of shock-factor. So maybe you won't be let down when I sign off now. I really need to get some sleep. Nite nite.
Monday, April 13, 2009
More on Porn
I said at the end of my last post that I would let you know if anything exciting happened at the after-party for the gay porn awards. I didn’t write because, while the club was pretty amazing, nothing sexy happened. The only mildly interesting thing I saw was a very large (350-400 pounds) drag queen in a gigantic Marilyn Monroe wig sitting at the edge of a bed that was in the VIP area, stroking the flaccid penises of two porn stars. Now maybe if the penises had been hard I would have written sooner. Or maybe if they had just been surprisingly long or big or somehow special, I would have written sooner. But the penises could have been any penises in the middle of the size/pretty bell curve that I witness daily in the shower at the gym, and the “porn stars” (who I had never seen before) actually looked a little bored. Therefore, I really didn’t think it was noteworthy. Before the night was over my boyfriend talked another guy who is completely unrelated to porn into showing us his penis. His was twice as fat as the alleged “porn stars”. So at least by the time we left, I felt that Phil Super Thick, as I called him, had at least partially satisfied my voyeuristic craving.
Since I don’t have a fun porn story from that night, I thought I would tell the story of a gay-for-pay friend I had in San Diego . This was during the mid-90’s, in my early days out of the closet from the age of about 18-20. I met Justin when a girlfriend of mine dated him for a couple months. Even though they didn’t last, he became part of our circle of friends. I’m not sure why he hung out in the gay scene as much as he did, particularly considering that he was always on the hunt for vajayjay, but I suspect it was because guys flirted with him a lot more than women did, and Justin really liked being flirted with. That same desire for attention led him to do gay porn, and then eventually to being a hooker.
Interestingly, Justin was the only person I ever knew, straight or gay, to actually stand in Balboa Park and pick up tricks. There is a section of Balboa Park in San Diego that is known for hookers, and it had the reputation of being the bottom of the barrel type of hookers. (Bruce Springsteen wrote the song Balboa Park about it.) Justin was a pretty hot guy with a big uncut penis (never saw it myself, but I ran into a photo of him when I was cruising for porn about a decade ago). I figured he could have made a lot more money by putting an ad in the paper or something, but I think that would have signaled too much commitment to the idea for him. As long as he was just going to do it “this once”, then it didn’t mean anything.
One night I even remember calling him and saying that a group of us wanted to go out, but probably wouldn’t because we didn’t have any money. He said, “Pick me up, drop me off at the park, and come get me in an hour. I’ll take us all out tonight.” I said, “Ok.” When I picked him up an hour later he had $80 and said he just sat in some guy’s car and got a blow job. That didn’t seem like such bad work. I really did appreciate him paying the cover, getting us drinks, and buying me a burrito after the bar closed.
Justin had always been sober, and I mean completely sober. But in about 1996 he moved up to LA, and on the train to LA he met a girl who had ecstasy with her. They were flirting a lot, and Justin was ready for an adventure. She asked if he would like to take a pill. He did. They were high for a couple hours on the train and then hung out that afternoon in LA. That transition ended up being a big one for Justin. Once in LA he started partying a lot, and it became clear from our infrequent phone conversations that Justin wasn’t handling drugs well. Rowena and Umecke and I went to visit him a couple times, and I think the best way I can describe him is unstable.
One night we went up and stayed at his apartment in Hollywood . We all went out, and then after the club went back to Justin’s house to sleep. We stayed up talking for a while, but Justin was pretty incoherent, clearly not just from drinking. He had a light saber that he kept playing with, and eventually was laying on the ground staring at it. The girls and I eventually went to sleep, and when we got up in the morning Justin was on the ground in the same place with the blanket pulled over his head. We quietly got our stuff together and cleaned up, then started heading out. On the way out, I pulled the blanket down to kiss his cheek and say goodbye, and when I did I saw his eyes still wide open, staring at the light saber that was still tightly gripped in his hands. I asked if he was ok. He nodded yes. The girls and I felt very uncomfortable. We left.
Another time Rowena and I went up to LA together and went out with Justin again. He was living in a different apartment this time on Sunset in West Hollywood . We had a good time out, and afterwards went back to his apartment. Rowena and Justin had been a little nitpicky with each other but I didn’t think it was anything serious. Rowena and I sat on the couch while Justin went and got a bowl of cereal. We all talked for a bit, and then Rowena started falling asleep on my chest. Justin and I talked quietly about the night, and as we talked, he reached under the chair he was sitting in and slowly pulled out a gun. He never stopped the conversation, and never took his eyes off mine. I realized at that point that Justin had gone a bit crazy, and I was scared. He wasn’t pointing the gun at us or anything, just holding it in front of him. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably 20 seconds, before I whispered to put it away. He didn’t move. Then I rubbed Rowena’s side and said, “Honey, wake up. I think we should go home now.” As soon as she started to move he quickly put the gun back underneath his chair. Rowena never saw it. She didn’t understand why we were leaving, but I insisted that I wanted to drive back to San Diego that night and we had to leave now. She saw that I was serious and said goodbye to Justin. I told her the story as we drove, and I said at that point that I would never see him again.
This all came to mind recently because, after 11 years, Justin sent me a message on Facebook last week. From his 10-sentence email it sounds like he is sober, and sane, and well. I hope that’s the case.
Wow, I bet when you saw “Porn” in this title you thought you were in for a sexy story. Sorry. But seriously, that’s an interesting story, right?
Since I don’t have a fun porn story from that night, I thought I would tell the story of a gay-for-pay friend I had in San Diego . This was during the mid-90’s, in my early days out of the closet from the age of about 18-20. I met Justin when a girlfriend of mine dated him for a couple months. Even though they didn’t last, he became part of our circle of friends. I’m not sure why he hung out in the gay scene as much as he did, particularly considering that he was always on the hunt for vajayjay, but I suspect it was because guys flirted with him a lot more than women did, and Justin really liked being flirted with. That same desire for attention led him to do gay porn, and then eventually to being a hooker.
Interestingly, Justin was the only person I ever knew, straight or gay, to actually stand in Balboa Park and pick up tricks. There is a section of Balboa Park in San Diego that is known for hookers, and it had the reputation of being the bottom of the barrel type of hookers. (Bruce Springsteen wrote the song Balboa Park about it.) Justin was a pretty hot guy with a big uncut penis (never saw it myself, but I ran into a photo of him when I was cruising for porn about a decade ago). I figured he could have made a lot more money by putting an ad in the paper or something, but I think that would have signaled too much commitment to the idea for him. As long as he was just going to do it “this once”, then it didn’t mean anything.
One night I even remember calling him and saying that a group of us wanted to go out, but probably wouldn’t because we didn’t have any money. He said, “Pick me up, drop me off at the park, and come get me in an hour. I’ll take us all out tonight.” I said, “Ok.” When I picked him up an hour later he had $80 and said he just sat in some guy’s car and got a blow job. That didn’t seem like such bad work. I really did appreciate him paying the cover, getting us drinks, and buying me a burrito after the bar closed.
Justin had always been sober, and I mean completely sober. But in about 1996 he moved up to LA, and on the train to LA he met a girl who had ecstasy with her. They were flirting a lot, and Justin was ready for an adventure. She asked if he would like to take a pill. He did. They were high for a couple hours on the train and then hung out that afternoon in LA. That transition ended up being a big one for Justin. Once in LA he started partying a lot, and it became clear from our infrequent phone conversations that Justin wasn’t handling drugs well. Rowena and Umecke and I went to visit him a couple times, and I think the best way I can describe him is unstable.
One night we went up and stayed at his apartment in Hollywood . We all went out, and then after the club went back to Justin’s house to sleep. We stayed up talking for a while, but Justin was pretty incoherent, clearly not just from drinking. He had a light saber that he kept playing with, and eventually was laying on the ground staring at it. The girls and I eventually went to sleep, and when we got up in the morning Justin was on the ground in the same place with the blanket pulled over his head. We quietly got our stuff together and cleaned up, then started heading out. On the way out, I pulled the blanket down to kiss his cheek and say goodbye, and when I did I saw his eyes still wide open, staring at the light saber that was still tightly gripped in his hands. I asked if he was ok. He nodded yes. The girls and I felt very uncomfortable. We left.
Another time Rowena and I went up to LA together and went out with Justin again. He was living in a different apartment this time on Sunset in West Hollywood . We had a good time out, and afterwards went back to his apartment. Rowena and Justin had been a little nitpicky with each other but I didn’t think it was anything serious. Rowena and I sat on the couch while Justin went and got a bowl of cereal. We all talked for a bit, and then Rowena started falling asleep on my chest. Justin and I talked quietly about the night, and as we talked, he reached under the chair he was sitting in and slowly pulled out a gun. He never stopped the conversation, and never took his eyes off mine. I realized at that point that Justin had gone a bit crazy, and I was scared. He wasn’t pointing the gun at us or anything, just holding it in front of him. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably 20 seconds, before I whispered to put it away. He didn’t move. Then I rubbed Rowena’s side and said, “Honey, wake up. I think we should go home now.” As soon as she started to move he quickly put the gun back underneath his chair. Rowena never saw it. She didn’t understand why we were leaving, but I insisted that I wanted to drive back to San Diego that night and we had to leave now. She saw that I was serious and said goodbye to Justin. I told her the story as we drove, and I said at that point that I would never see him again.
This all came to mind recently because, after 11 years, Justin sent me a message on Facebook last week. From his 10-sentence email it sounds like he is sober, and sane, and well. I hope that’s the case.
Wow, I bet when you saw “Porn” in this title you thought you were in for a sexy story. Sorry. But seriously, that’s an interesting story, right?
Friday, March 27, 2009
Peter Peter Penis Eater
That was my attempt at creating a porn name. Not very good. I could have put more time into thinking about it but I seem to have few precious moments to write anymore so I thought I should get to the point. So, to the point...
It is Friday, and I am already looking forward to the highlight of my weekend: The Gay Porn Awards (officially called the GayVN Awards). I haven't actually scored tickets to the award show yet, though I am in the process of begging my friend Jonathan for freebies. I don't really care so much about the awards, but they are being hosted by Margaret Cho and Janice Dickinson, so I imagine it will be pretty hilarious. Whether I attend the award show or not, however, I will definitely attend the official after party at a new nightclub downtown. Jonathan has already scored D (boyfriend) and I VIP entrance. Apparently there will be stars in the room wearing boots and shoes and nothing else. I'm told its a super-sized cock smorgasbord. I don't know what you'll be doing tomorrow night at midnight, but I'm pretty sure you won't be having as much fun as me.
My anticipation of this event has got me thinking in the last few days of my connections to the industry over the years. Jason was the first friend I had who did porn. He was actually straight and started doing movies just after he stopped dating my friend Rowena. At first I thought his foray into gay porn made him a big closet case, but as time went on I started to think that he was really just a rabid exhibitionist.
Jason used to like to tease me a lot. One night we were hanging out at his place having beers and watching movies. Just for the fun of it, Jason stripped down to nothing so I could see his big uncut dick flopping around. This was really pushing my boundaries. I mean, we were friends and all, but I had an immediate salivary response that made me quite uncomfortable. I refrained from reaching for it while he stood in front of me, so I think to test me a bit, he grabbed a pair of pliers off a nearby table, raised one leg, and placed his foot on the back of the couch. He licked one handle of the pliers and then, much quicker than I expected, made it disappear in his bum. The actual sight of pliers in a butthole was not much of a turn on, but the fact that he was being so desperately rude was. The moment passed, but the tension remained. Later that night, Jason reached over and grabbed my dick. After he got me hard, he put it in his mouth. He gave me that bad over-the-top kind of blowjob that you can only learn from straight porn for about 30 seconds, then stopped and turned away. That was it. Jason told me years later that that was the only time he ever "messed around" with a guy without getting paid for it. Lucky me.
So let's see. I had an acquaintance named Ken who was only the third man ever to make more than $100,000 for a single movie. Later that year he told me that he had recently taken a lot of crystal and let his dog do him in the butt.
Through my mid-20's I lived in San Francisco, home of Falcon Studios, Colt Studios, Hothouse, Treasure Island, and countless more production companies. I met the "stars" at the gym, at the bars, at the clubs, on the street. I didn't know guys who did movies in Sydney, but then I met more when I lived in New York. Arpad Miklos asked me out a couple years ago (his picture is below). He found me online and told me that he wanted to play with my butt. He said he had a 10-inch penis and had pictures to prove it, though that really wasn't necessary because his dick is plastered all over the internet. We went on a date one day and because of his amazing hotness I was determined to make him like instead of just sleeping with him on the first date. We actually had a good talk and hung out for quite a while. But he really just wanted sex, and I wouldn't sleep with him. I think I finally understood the magnitude of my more recent transition to serial monogamist as I kissed him goodbye. He lifted me up to kiss him by grabbing my ass and literally lifting me off the ground, bringing my lips to his (he's very tall). As we kissed I could feel his claim to fame pressing against my leg. And damn, it was hot. But I gave him a wink and a smile and walked the other way.
Recently I have become friends with a guy named Kris who is a producer for Colt Studios. Now you have to understand, I have always thought of Colt as the ultimate in hotness. They don't just allow any guy with a boner to be a Colt Model. They take the big rugged manly ones. Several months ago, Kris asked me to be a Colt Model. I was insanely flattered, but I told him that I just couldn't see myself actually having sex with someone on camera (for commercial release anyway). He said that I could just do a photo shoot, and that they would use it for a magazine or calendar or promotional material. After months of thinking about it, I decided one-night to go for it. Unfortunately though, I didn't anticipate my boyfriend having a problem with it. But he did. Fair enough. So I'm not going to do it anymore. Sorry Kris if you read this and you're just finding out that I can't do it. I haven't had the balls to say no to your face yet. But let me thank you from the depths of my narcisistic soul for validating me so wonderfully.
So anyway, there's only one more day before the awards, so I better get to the gym. I haven't decided what I'm wearing yet, but its likely that my outfit will consist more of skin than fabric, so I have no time to waste. If anything exciting happens, I promise I'll let you know.
It is Friday, and I am already looking forward to the highlight of my weekend: The Gay Porn Awards (officially called the GayVN Awards). I haven't actually scored tickets to the award show yet, though I am in the process of begging my friend Jonathan for freebies. I don't really care so much about the awards, but they are being hosted by Margaret Cho and Janice Dickinson, so I imagine it will be pretty hilarious. Whether I attend the award show or not, however, I will definitely attend the official after party at a new nightclub downtown. Jonathan has already scored D (boyfriend) and I VIP entrance. Apparently there will be stars in the room wearing boots and shoes and nothing else. I'm told its a super-sized cock smorgasbord. I don't know what you'll be doing tomorrow night at midnight, but I'm pretty sure you won't be having as much fun as me.
My anticipation of this event has got me thinking in the last few days of my connections to the industry over the years. Jason was the first friend I had who did porn. He was actually straight and started doing movies just after he stopped dating my friend Rowena. At first I thought his foray into gay porn made him a big closet case, but as time went on I started to think that he was really just a rabid exhibitionist.
Jason used to like to tease me a lot. One night we were hanging out at his place having beers and watching movies. Just for the fun of it, Jason stripped down to nothing so I could see his big uncut dick flopping around. This was really pushing my boundaries. I mean, we were friends and all, but I had an immediate salivary response that made me quite uncomfortable. I refrained from reaching for it while he stood in front of me, so I think to test me a bit, he grabbed a pair of pliers off a nearby table, raised one leg, and placed his foot on the back of the couch. He licked one handle of the pliers and then, much quicker than I expected, made it disappear in his bum. The actual sight of pliers in a butthole was not much of a turn on, but the fact that he was being so desperately rude was. The moment passed, but the tension remained. Later that night, Jason reached over and grabbed my dick. After he got me hard, he put it in his mouth. He gave me that bad over-the-top kind of blowjob that you can only learn from straight porn for about 30 seconds, then stopped and turned away. That was it. Jason told me years later that that was the only time he ever "messed around" with a guy without getting paid for it. Lucky me.
So let's see. I had an acquaintance named Ken who was only the third man ever to make more than $100,000 for a single movie. Later that year he told me that he had recently taken a lot of crystal and let his dog do him in the butt.
Through my mid-20's I lived in San Francisco, home of Falcon Studios, Colt Studios, Hothouse, Treasure Island, and countless more production companies. I met the "stars" at the gym, at the bars, at the clubs, on the street. I didn't know guys who did movies in Sydney, but then I met more when I lived in New York. Arpad Miklos asked me out a couple years ago (his picture is below). He found me online and told me that he wanted to play with my butt. He said he had a 10-inch penis and had pictures to prove it, though that really wasn't necessary because his dick is plastered all over the internet. We went on a date one day and because of his amazing hotness I was determined to make him like instead of just sleeping with him on the first date. We actually had a good talk and hung out for quite a while. But he really just wanted sex, and I wouldn't sleep with him. I think I finally understood the magnitude of my more recent transition to serial monogamist as I kissed him goodbye. He lifted me up to kiss him by grabbing my ass and literally lifting me off the ground, bringing my lips to his (he's very tall). As we kissed I could feel his claim to fame pressing against my leg. And damn, it was hot. But I gave him a wink and a smile and walked the other way.
Recently I have become friends with a guy named Kris who is a producer for Colt Studios. Now you have to understand, I have always thought of Colt as the ultimate in hotness. They don't just allow any guy with a boner to be a Colt Model. They take the big rugged manly ones. Several months ago, Kris asked me to be a Colt Model. I was insanely flattered, but I told him that I just couldn't see myself actually having sex with someone on camera (for commercial release anyway). He said that I could just do a photo shoot, and that they would use it for a magazine or calendar or promotional material. After months of thinking about it, I decided one-night to go for it. Unfortunately though, I didn't anticipate my boyfriend having a problem with it. But he did. Fair enough. So I'm not going to do it anymore. Sorry Kris if you read this and you're just finding out that I can't do it. I haven't had the balls to say no to your face yet. But let me thank you from the depths of my narcisistic soul for validating me so wonderfully.
So anyway, there's only one more day before the awards, so I better get to the gym. I haven't decided what I'm wearing yet, but its likely that my outfit will consist more of skin than fabric, so I have no time to waste. If anything exciting happens, I promise I'll let you know.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Its A Small (Gay) World After All
Hola senoras y senoritas. I'm down in Buenos Aires and in awe again at the power of the gay network. I came here alone, not thrilled that my boyfriend or best friend couldn't join me, but happy to come see this city nonetheless. Then two days before I came, I was at the gym and told my friend James that I was coming, and he said his husband was going to be here at the same time. I said, "No way! Where is he staying?" He said, "I think some fancy gay hotel." I said, "The Axel Hotel?" He said, "Yeah! That's the one." I said, "Holy crapballs that's where I'm staying!". We figured out that Stephen would be here 4 of my 5 nights. Nice.
So I flew Friday and arrived Saturday morning. When I got to the airport I went in search of an ATM, and while I stood in line I looked back behind me toward the crowd at the airport. The second person in line behind me was an acquaintance named Casey. No way! He said he had just flown in (on a different airline) and was here with his husband Steve, who is also a friend of mine. I asked where they were staying. The Axel Hotel. No way!
When we got to the hotel we went for a walk. When we got back I went up to the pool to see if I could find Stephen. He was there with a friend named Tim, a flight attendant who he met last year and became friends with. He didn't know Tim would be here. Another man walked up to talk to us. Mark lives in LA, and knows Tim. Tim didn't know Mark would be here. We now had a group of 6 people hanging out, all loosely tied, and instead of going out alone last night I went out with a posse. Dinner was fabulous. The club was ok. We all got really drunk.
This morning (well, afternoon) I woke up and went down to the pool. I gave Stephen a kiss hello, but as I looked up across the pool, I saw a guy named Greg who I used to hang out with in New York. No way!
Ok so that's the last person I have recognized so far, but I have only been here 30 hours.
Oh wait, I almost forgot Kristina. I posted on Facebook that I was coming to BA and she wrote to me saying that she was here as well. She actually gave me a tour of the neighborhood where she is staying yesterday afternoon and took me out. That's right. Not part of the gay network, but an odd coincidence nonetheless.
This is a short post. My friends are at the pool on the roof (not to be confused with the pool on the ground floor). The one upstairs has a glass bottom, and in the daytime the sun shines through it and lights the center of the hotel. It a-mazing. I tried to get a pic for you to see from the website, but they use graphics. Check it out: http://www.axelhotels.com/en/
Actually, I found one. If I walk out my room and look up, here is what I see:
Buenas noches! Besos a todos!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
I'll give you $10 for that penis!
Most of us have probably heard of and even been to a strip club featuring women. But last week in Atlanta I had the pleasure of visiting a male strip club, and it wasn't the bachelorette party type that you see in movies with a stage at the front and lots of guys in shiny undergarments that only a woman would like. This was a big room with a stage in the middle (complete with a stripper pole) where dudes danced 3-song sets: shirtless, underwear, then naked. The crowd was mostly gay guys sitting around tables having drinks with friends, and occassionally walking up to the side of the stage, where for one dollar the probably-straight stripper would simulate humping their face for four or five seconds before bending down and allowing them to place their money in his armband. The name of the place was Swinging Richards. Get it? What's a nickname for Richard? Dick! Ha! Swinging Dicks! Brilliant.
I went there with my boyfriend and a really sweet gay couple, Rick and Ed, who we were staying with while we visited the American South's prominent urban destination (again, I mean Atlanta). Ed and Rick have been together for 21 years, and Ed was as excited about seeing hot naked guys as one would expect from a guy who had been in a relationship for so long, so my boyfriend made sure we got a table right at the stage. At first I was a little uncomfortable. Of course I wanted to look at the floppy genital show under the spotlights in front of me, but I felt so strange looking that I instead spent the first 30 minutes nervously looking for somewhere safe to rest my eyes.
I have only ever been in strip clubs twice before that. The first time was when I was 21, dating cute little raver Vince. We went to see our girlfriend at work one night. It wasn't busy, and just to be fun, Vince and I brought lollipops to give the girls as tips. We thought they would think us cute little gay boys were adorable. They did actually. The next time I was in a strip club was in Portland, where I heard that in a tiny little section of town it was legal for male strippers to get completely naked. It was disappointing though. Of the dancers I remember, there was a scrawny kid who looked barely 18 and still had acne, and a greasy looking long-haired guy in his mid-30's. The small crowd wasn't much better. I left within 10 minutes.
As the night wore on at Swinging Richards, I got much more comfortable staring at the guys. I watched one for quite a while because he was actually a really good dancer. Ed and Rick must have noticed because at some point when I was looking around they hired him to give me a lap dance. I wish they had let me choose the guy though, because I would have chosen the shortest dancer of the night, who ironically had the longest penis. His dance was adorable, because basically he just shook his hips back and forth so that his ding-a-ling rhythmically beat between his thighs. They didn't ask me though, so I got the dancer.
Ed and Rick called my name, and when I turned to them, the dude was already almost on my lap. I leaned back in my seat, grabbed my boyfriend with my left hand and my chair with my right. My favorite part was when he put one foot on the table next to me, leaned forward, and slapped his penis up and down over my chest. Good times! Then the song ended, Rick gave him ten dollars, and he was gone. Can you believe I got a penis grind on my chest for the bargain price of ten dollars! That's a deal if I ever heard one.
The rest of the trip was fun. It was a marathon of seeing Atlanta while concurrently meeting as many signature figures in my boyfriend's life as possible in four days. The best part of my vacation was getting home though and finally being able to relax with my boyfriend. Quiet time with him is even better than my first lap dance, and it doesn't cost me ten dollars.
I went there with my boyfriend and a really sweet gay couple, Rick and Ed, who we were staying with while we visited the American South's prominent urban destination (again, I mean Atlanta). Ed and Rick have been together for 21 years, and Ed was as excited about seeing hot naked guys as one would expect from a guy who had been in a relationship for so long, so my boyfriend made sure we got a table right at the stage. At first I was a little uncomfortable. Of course I wanted to look at the floppy genital show under the spotlights in front of me, but I felt so strange looking that I instead spent the first 30 minutes nervously looking for somewhere safe to rest my eyes.
I have only ever been in strip clubs twice before that. The first time was when I was 21, dating cute little raver Vince. We went to see our girlfriend at work one night. It wasn't busy, and just to be fun, Vince and I brought lollipops to give the girls as tips. We thought they would think us cute little gay boys were adorable. They did actually. The next time I was in a strip club was in Portland, where I heard that in a tiny little section of town it was legal for male strippers to get completely naked. It was disappointing though. Of the dancers I remember, there was a scrawny kid who looked barely 18 and still had acne, and a greasy looking long-haired guy in his mid-30's. The small crowd wasn't much better. I left within 10 minutes.
As the night wore on at Swinging Richards, I got much more comfortable staring at the guys. I watched one for quite a while because he was actually a really good dancer. Ed and Rick must have noticed because at some point when I was looking around they hired him to give me a lap dance. I wish they had let me choose the guy though, because I would have chosen the shortest dancer of the night, who ironically had the longest penis. His dance was adorable, because basically he just shook his hips back and forth so that his ding-a-ling rhythmically beat between his thighs. They didn't ask me though, so I got the dancer.
Ed and Rick called my name, and when I turned to them, the dude was already almost on my lap. I leaned back in my seat, grabbed my boyfriend with my left hand and my chair with my right. My favorite part was when he put one foot on the table next to me, leaned forward, and slapped his penis up and down over my chest. Good times! Then the song ended, Rick gave him ten dollars, and he was gone. Can you believe I got a penis grind on my chest for the bargain price of ten dollars! That's a deal if I ever heard one.
The rest of the trip was fun. It was a marathon of seeing Atlanta while concurrently meeting as many signature figures in my boyfriend's life as possible in four days. The best part of my vacation was getting home though and finally being able to relax with my boyfriend. Quiet time with him is even better than my first lap dance, and it doesn't cost me ten dollars.
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