Sunday, February 29, 2004

Well if Howard Thinks so.....

"Get him out of office. I'm tellin you, man, he's in dangerous territory (with) a religious agenda and you gotta vote him out - anyone but Bush." -Howard Stern on the radio.

To that I would add, yeah make the world a better place by letting gays marry and lesbian stripper dwarves flash their oversized silicon titties at 7:30 in the morning on the radio. So get your fat hairy ass off that $20 trannie hooker in the back seat, put your ridiculously tiny penis back in your pizza oil stained pants and get to work voting Bush out of office. Howard says so.

Friday, February 27, 2004

A Little Sumpin Sumpin ... (part 2)

Warning: This post contains explicit sexual content. If you are easily offended or know me too well to want to read completely intimate sexual details about me, feel free to skip today's entry.

Don't worry heteros. I don't get married at the end.

I went back to the bed, climbed on and waited. In a second he came in and lay down next to me. Fuck, how long had it been since I had a warm naked man in bed next to me? I got on top of him and pressed my body down on top of him and kissed him. I wrapped my legs around his and ground my crotch into his. A shudder of pleasure shot through my body and exploded in my brain. Yeah, this was perfect. I looked in his eyes just before I started kissing his neck. He arched his back and his eyes rolled back in his head. I fuckin love that. I started kissing down his chest. A couple of his chest hairs had turned white. Why do I hate that on me but on him I thought it was cute? I made the obligatory stop at each nipple and sucked and flicked them till they stood up but I’m not too into nips so I kept kissing and licking and biting my way down his stomach, occasionally returning to swap tongue. Eventually I got down to that gorgeous dick. He was rock hard. One of those you have to actually force away from his belly to get a good grip on. No preliminaries on this one I just opened my mouth and swallowed that bone. I guess I surprised him.

“(Gasp) Oh fuck!”

I sucked him right away with long strokes or just running my open mouth along his cock or sometimes just up and down the shaft or just working on the head. (That, he liked.) In short, I handed him a pretty decent opening blowjob, all the while grinding my own hard-on into the bed. It was my turn now. I climbed back up his body and straddled his chest, pointing my cock right at his face.

“Suck it.”

I didn’t have to ask twice. He eagerly swallowed my cock. Damn, that felt good. I let him do the work for a while, eventually I took over and started fucking his face. He liked it. Then more of him just bobbing on the head of my dick. Now we were both rock hard. Not wanting to miss a trick (so to speak) I spun around into a good 69 position. Us being the same height works well here. I love a good 69. Talk about being connected to another guy it’s like a hot circle of energy from your mouth to him back to your cock. I can get off during a hot 69. I cut it short and climbed back on top of him.

“That’s so hot, baby” he said.
“mmm you feel soo good baby.” I kissed him. “Now let me see that ass.”

I flipped him as he willingly turned over.

“Shit, that’s pretty.”

He had a tan line from his vacation. Two paler brown globes set off by dark brown latin skin. You can kill me now. I groaned as I bent down and jammed my tongue up his butt.

“Oh yeah that feels good;” (Yeah, I know.)

I ate his hole like a starving man. I pushed my tongue as hard up him as fast as I could. After I got him good and wet I played around with my fingers, sticking a couple part way in to see how loose he was feeling. Fuck it, I went back and ate him some more. I like eating ass. And he really liked it. Then I sucked him some more.

“You have to stop, you’ll make me cum.”

That’s nice to hear. Fine, I went up and kissed him some more and jacked his dick a little. We just lay there, kissing and caressing one another, our bodies felt like just one mass, moving slowly in different directions.

“I loved it when you ate my ass.”

“That feel good, baby?” I had a little grin on my face.

“mmmmm yeah. I loved it.”

“Good.” The grin had turned into a flicker of mischief. I grabbed his legs and folded him in half.

“I want more.”

And I dove back into that ass. He roared his approval.

When I finally had my fill and could barely feel my tongue I asked if he was ready to get fucked. He said yes and I grabbed the condoms and lube and put one on my cock. Then I put some in my hand and started to finger his hole. A good fuck needs to be prepared for. Learn it.

“Damn, baby you’re tight!”

And I wasn’t being nice. Despite a half hour of eating and tongue that hole snapped tight around one finger. But fuck was he hot inside. I love that.

“Yeah, it’s been awhile.”

No problem, I think, and one finger becomes two and he’s moaning and I’m pushing my fingers in that glorious hole.

“You know, we don’t have to fuck I’m having a great time just like this.”

He looks at me, unsure.

“No, I’m serious, this is great.”

Now mind you, the whole time I’ve got two fingers jammed up his hole.

“Well,” he says, “then we have to fuck next time. Will there be a next time?”

And I lean in, and I give him one of the softest, sweetest kisses I know how to give, my lips barely brushing his. And I rest my head on his forehead.

“There fuckin better be.”

And he smiles.

And then I move closer and take that still hard cock in one hand and finger fuck him with the other. After about two minutes his moaning gets louder.

“I’m gonna cum.” (No shit.)

And he does. A healthy, warm wet respectable load that runs down my hand and back onto him.

“Right behind you.” (It’s the cum on command thing)

And about 30 seconds later my warm wet respectable load is landing on him too. Apparently we both cum rather loudly and violently, both doing that full body spasm thing, followed by the twitch. The kind of orgasm you bring from your toes. This makes me laugh, as I collapse on top of him, and he starts laughing too. Laughing after shooting usually means you did it right. We laid on the bed for a half hour or so talking and kissing and lightly stroking each other. Again, the sign of a good lover and a nice man. Eventually, clothing was recovered and he dressed. We exchanged phone numbers and I e-mailed him that afternoon. Just to say hi and thanks. We got together again about two weeks ago. But that's another story.

Wednesday, February 25, 2004

All Right.

I recently posted an admittedly lightweight and slightly smug take on my feelings about gay marriage. I stand by those remarks as they apply to me. Obviously, that was before The President Of The United States expressed his desire to amend the Constitution and legalize at a Federal level discrimination against me and mine. To quote Bugs Bunny, " Of course you realize this means war." I admit it, I was stunned. The audacity! Now, I hope everyone is smart enough to realize this amendment will never come to pass. I hope everyone is smart enough to see that this is a desperate attempt by an elected official to be re-elected by attacking a group that by and large wouldn't support him anyway. None of that is really that important though. The fact of the matter is he said it. He really and truly said it on national television. Our job now is to make sure that he is well and truly punished for it. It is now up to gays and lesbians nationwide to throw down on George Bush. We have to honest to god collectively bitch slap that bastard as only real faggots can.

More than that we have to enlist the help of all well meaning friends and family to join us. You have a gay or lesbian son/daughter you claim to love like all your kids? Prove it. Vote him out of office.

You have a best gay friend you've been having brunch with once a month on Sundays? Prove it. Vote him out of office.

You believe that discrimination in any form is unacceptable and the supposed leader of the free world should probably be the last person to try to place discriminatory language into the Constitution? Prove it. Vote him out of office.

More than that, we must all demand our leading candidates stop playing both ends against the middle with this "I don't believe in gay marriage but I don't think we need an amendment crap." We need to insist they pick a position immediately and publicly. As had been said at the dawn of our most recent war, "You are either with us, or against us." Pick a side.

"President Bush has betrayed his campaign promise to be 'a uniter, not a divider. By endorsing this shameful proposal, President Bush will go down in history as the first president to try to write bias back into the Constitution." Sen. Edward Kennedy

"Log Cabin Republicans are more determined than ever to fight the anti-family Constitutional amendment with all our resources. Writing discrimination into our Constitution violates conservative and Republican principles. This amendment would not strengthen marriage - it would weaken our nation. As conservative Republicans, we are outraged that any Republican - particularly the leader of our party and this nation - would support any effort to use our sacred United States Constitution as a way of scoring political points in an election year." Log Cabin Executive Director Patrick Guerriero (Wake the fuck up! They don't like you, they don't want you, but they will take your money and use it to beat you down!)

Andrew Sullivan

Had anyone told me 2 days ago that my newest post would contain quotes from Ted Kennedy, the Log Cabin Republicans and a link to Andrew Sullivan I would have taken their temperature. The times have truly changed. The time to fight is now.

Don't worry. Part 2 of the sex story tomorrow....

Tuesday, February 24, 2004

A Little Sumpin Sumpin.... Nudge Nudge, Wink Wink, Say No More

Warning: This post contains explicit sexual content. If you are easily offended or know me too well to want to read completely intimate sexual details about me, feel free to skip today's entry.

Here's a story for all you wage slaves sittin at your desks today..

About a month ago I was cruising on-line. I was actually having coffee, sitting in a pair of sweats with my unwashed hair sticking up in every direction. So half-ass cruising at best. I received an e-mail instant message from the cruising site from a name I had never even seen before, and honey, The Dutchess tracks em close. I clicked on the link to his ad and child, in the picture was the sweetest, hottest, slightly hairy, round Puerto Rican ass with a pretty respectable cut dick hanging down to boot. His profile lists preferences: bottom. I started boning up immediately. Just to make it absolutely perfect he lived in the neighborhood. You know when something is too perfect? So much so you immediately begin inventing scenarios for why this won’t work. Oh, I need to get the laundry done. I was gonna hit the tanning booth and then the gym. I’ll need to shave my balls. You start to talk yourself out of getting your hopes up. Still, I decided to at least answer the man. I mean, he said I was hot, or cute, or something nice like that. So I sent back the usual message I send to someone I just think, at least in their picture or profile at least, is well and truly fuck material:

“I love you.”
“wanna fuck?”

Sometimes I combine them.

Anyway, he answered yes, and when, in no uncertain terms. I’ve done this, but I rarely meet other people who can see enough of a profile or picture of someone that they can just say damn, I want to sex that fucker up and then do it. Had I found a kindred spirit? I gave him my e-mail addy right quick and sent him a couple naked shots of me sexing up me. He sent me two of the same plus a third fully clothed face shot. Latin, late 30’s maybe 40.Height/weight proportioned at least but the nude shots show a really hot bod. Not perfect but I sorta hate perfect because I’m not and I’m always afraid there’s some revulsion subtext going on. Suffice it to say this cat had either good genetics or knew the way to a gym. Now, he really was moving into too good to be true. A triple jackpot as far as look/type/hot ass but also horny and still wanting to get together even after seeing pics of my average bod. (With a hot cock, true, but some people want it all.) In the end, I did a lot of what I did last year. Which was talk a good game but when it came time to closing the deal I usually stopped the communication line. It was always, he’s too hot I bet he’s a flake. The apartment is dirty I can’t have company. I need to go to the gym it’s my only day off. Pick an excuse I had hundreds.

Flash forward to this week. Please consult my New Year’s intentions. I’ve got the afternoon off and I’ve gone from the e-mail to the blog spin of the day to who’s on to who wants some sex or do I just surf to a porn site and blow a load and get it over with. Lo and behold, there’s the screen name I had burned into my memory. Yep, same spectacular ass shot. This time I’m the one to reach out and touch.

“Hello sexy, what’s goin on?”

“Just got back from vacation and I’m super horny you want to get together?”

Man, if this guy is really this all or nothing I’m gonna love him.

So I do what I always do when I have to make an important quick decision. I start to sweep the floor. What can I say, housework relaxes me. I start to make a mental checklist/reason to stall. I really do need to have some food (diet, don’t ya know) and shower/shave before I can be ready. And I really do need to clean the road salt footprints tracked along the hardwood floors or I would truly be mortified. Typically, I would find an excuse. However, newly fortified with New Year Pledges, instead I opt for this:

“How’s 4:00?”

“4:00 is great. What’s the address?”

“I’m at --- Second Ave. Apt #--. Let me know if you change your mind or can’t make it.”

“I’ll be there. Looking forward to it.”

This is exactly the answer I would give. As if to say, relax, I’m coming over. We’re having sex. Done deal.

Food/shower/shave not important

Finally, a few minutes after 4 (enough to make me almost give up, almost) the buzzer rings, my heart skips a beat. He comes in all bundled from the extreme cold. Wearing glasses that make him look cute and all edumacated. He takes off his coat and shoes immediately. A great signal for me. A fag doesn’t remove his shoes unless he’s sure he’s staying. He asks to use the bathroom and when he comes out he continues getting comfortable taking off layers. He’s down to a T-shirt and starts to undo his pants. Hello! Idiot boy you want to get in there? I move in close and put my hand on his chest and run it down his stomach. Solid, nice. Or rather:


“you too.”

More touching/petting/breathing ensues. I reach up under his shirt in the back and feel bare skin. Men’s skin can be such a turn on, so warm and yet a little tough at the same time. I grab him in both arms and kiss his shoulder through the fabric of his T-Shirt. I work my way up further until I reach his bare neck. I kiss him lightly. Then I use my teeth. Not hard. I’m just sayin hello. Eventually, with all the groping and caressing I brush his cock. He’s not full on hard If I know my hard-ons (and I do) but heading that way. Another good sign. I’m turning him on. He’s wearing a heavy pair of dress pants but not so heavy I can’t slide my hands back and confirm that the ass in the picture is now in my living room. I pull him in as close as you can without getting behind him and press my cock into his body.


And with that, he kisses me full on. I’m not sure whose tongue shot into whose mouth first. I’d guess at a tie. I growled and squeezed and bit his neck. A little harder this time. I feel his cock swell on my thigh. I grab his hand and pull him to my bedroom. We start taking clothes off and kissing when he sits on the bed and starts undoing my pants. I know he wants to see if the crotch rocket in the picture is the real deal. He pops it in his mouth. I gasp. I manage to work his shirt off as he’s sucking me. His body is perfect. Not too big, not too small and the most beautiful, soft, brown skin. I ran my hands all down his back as he worked my dick. He finally let go of my cock and we both started to strip. I was going to stop him from taking his pants off as sometimes, I like to strip the other guy. Slowly. Like a much anticipated present. Suddenly, he asks if it would be all right if he rinsed off in the shower as he just came from somewhere and blah, blah, blah
“Sure. I’d join you but I literally just took one.”

I get him a fresh towel and when I come back he’s naked. And hard. It’s gorgeous. I follow him to the bathroom and turn on the tempermental shower and adjust it. I get him some soap and leave him alone. After a few minutes, I regret not hopping in the shower again. I go back to check on him. I reach into the shower and run my hand along his soapy back. He turns and kisses me again. We both breathe deeply. He’s still hard.


End of part 1.

Sunday, February 22, 2004

I shop, therefore I am.

I left the house Saturday intent on purchasing a new shower head assembly. I returned with a shower head, a garlic press, six pairs of socks, new Diesel jeans, new black suede Puma hi-tops, a wristwatch and a 3 gallon water jug for the fridge.

By the way, the shower is fixed.

Thursday, February 19, 2004

Fun Fact:

Not that I had anything to do with it, it being all my Mom and Dad's doing. Me being the end result nine months later. Today was the day I got birth'd.

Monday, February 16, 2004

Take My Life ... No, Seriously. Kill Me

How was my weekend you ask? You'll be sorry. Sunday comes and it's already time for work. (OK, I was 45 minutes late technically but I got home from work at 6am you can't really expect I'm going to be back by 4pm the next afternoon, can you. Well, can you?) So, promptly at 4 :45 ....OK, it was 5, I come breezing through the front door give a half a salute to the opening bartender heading for the back bar to eagerly and quietly peruse my Sunday Times. Out of the corner of my eye I see what looks to be a gentleman being helped back on to his barstool by another patron. I suppose I should be concerned but I really, really want to read the paper. I turn around and check them out for a few minutes and manage to convince myself that maybe the older guy just needed some help on to his stool after all, and with that tra-la!, I head for the empty back bar. I no sooner take off my coat and sit down in a comfy wing back chair and begin leafing through the sections when I hear an unmistakeable *THUD* which is clearly a sound I know too well, the sound of a drunk hitting the carpeted floor.

With a heavy heart I open the door and sure enough, another patron and my bartender are scooping up said drunk off the floor. They're heading right for me. We decide to park him on a couch in an unopened back bar for a while. Sometimes, they just need a half hour to get their shit together but more often, this is just a prelude to more horrible behavior. At any rate, I can't in good conscience toss somebody to the curb that can't stand up, I'm already annoyed with the opening bartender for letting him get to this point and I am now the proud owner of a 60 something year old drunk man. Oh, happy day.

Two hours go by, at some point Neo shows up. I shorthand the story and let him know to behave normally. We do our Sunday chat part talk about our issues part dish the dirt on co-workers. Every once in a while the drunk in the corner manages to get our attention as he continually mumbles phrases but occasionally seems to really be communicating. At one point in all of this he does, in fact, manage to let me know that he wants another drink. (right) Eventually, after dozing in and out, he seems to be more coherent and in fact asks to go to the bathroom.

"Help me up."

"Buddy, if you can't get up I'm not gonna let you walk around. If you want to stand up stand up."

Just help me up. C'mon, one, two, three."

Against my better judgement I one, two, three him up and help him to the bathroom. I notice he doesn't lock the door and think great, I won't have to break in in a few minutes. Sure enough after about 10 minutes just as I'm going to check on him, another customer opens the door and clutches her pearls. Shit (I hope not). I look in the door and my drunk in the corner is now drunk on the floor. His head is wedged up against the porcelain sink, his pants are undone, he's got one hand on the toilet bowl trying ( I assume) to pull himslef back up. He's also peed everywhere and on himself. Fighting off my first impulse to just lock the door and come back in a week when he's dead, I start to pick him up.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Don't pick me up."

"You're lying on the bathroom floor covered in piss, clearly, you're not fine."

I help him to his feet and his doing that spaghetti leg thing as I'm trying to hold him up while he buckles his pants. Clearly, he is not up to this kind of complicated maneuver, and he's concentrating so hard that he forgets to stand. I'm trying to prop him up but he outweighs me by at least 100lbs.

"You have to stand up. Stand on your own two feet, what's wrong with you?"

"Jus haff to buckle up theshe pants...."

"You fuckin drunk stand on your fuckin feet I can't hold you up! Son of a bitch!"

I have totally lost patience by now, and Neo must have heard me start swearing and asks if I need help.


Now Neo comes in to hold him up and I get the rare pleasure of trying to buckle up his piss soaked jeans. I manage the bottom two buttons as his stomach is too distended from drinking to get the top ones. I give up and close the belt and we lead him out of the bathroom. By then, my doorman has arrived for work and he and Neo lead him to a chair by the front door. I am literally covered in sweat. He finally managed to get down the stairs to the outside (where he promptly fell again). After several attempts where even cab drivers refused to pick him up, the fresh air seemingly revived him enough that he could stay on his feet and get a taxi to stop for him.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking. Why did we get him so drunk? We didn't. According to my bartender he arrived kind of drunk which is apparently a normal occurrence. He had half of a martini and part of a beer. Apparently, some other bartender somewhere else did all the damage, we were left to clean up the result. Still, I did have a strongly worded discussion with that bartender in that I could care less if somebody's a regular customer or not, if they arrive visibly drunk from somewhere else we don't push 'em over the edge. It always backfires, and this time it backfired on me.

The very next day, again early in the night (on a Monday for god's sake!), I overhear my doorman in a discussion by the bathroom with somebody, basically a back and forth you have to leave now, no I don't want to deal. I can tell the doorman is in over his head so I get ready to be bad cop at the same time my doorman is coming to get me. By the time he gets to me the man had managed to lock himself in the very same bathroom from last night. According to the doorman, the customer was found alseep, standing at the urinal, pants around his ankles with his dick in his hand. (Why, oh why they don't come and get me then, I'll never know.) At any rate by the time I discover that he's locked in the bathroom I arrive just in time to hear that other unmistakeable sound. Yep. He's puking. Delicious. It's all I can do now but wait. I can't leave. It's very rare to catch the Pukatrator in action. Most times the filthy pigs yak in a sink or down the wall and just leave it. ( Aside to everyone: I know at the time that you're drunk, but in all my legendary days of drinking and drugging and Exctasy and what have you I have never, never ever thrown up in anything but a toilet, unless it was outside. It's a big round hole in the floor. Lean over and blow chunks. How hard is that?) So I was highly motivated to wait this man out. If he opened that door and his innards was everywhere I was going to turn him right around and make him clean up after himself. Eventually, the friend he was with that night arrived to wait with me. He had had a couple drinks but was far far away from the condition of the other guy. Which leaves me to believe it was a Better Living Through Chemistry situation. C'mon, the man passed out while pissing.

After a good half hour and me rapping on the door to get a response he did finally emerge. He's a regular I've seen many many times but never in this condition. A quick spot check by me, and except for a bit on the toilet seat he did manage to clean up after himself. Aren't people great? So I asked if he was feeling better and while he was wobbly, he was coherent and I let his friend take him off to talk. I should have made sure they left together, I just naturally assumed they would. About a half hour later I discover to my horror that friend is gone but Pukatrator remains. He's heading for the back bar, I'm confident no one will serve him any more liquor and I decide to let him be.



And I should ask him to leave at this point but honestly, as a person I just get really worried about sending people out into Manhattan if they can't stand. People drunkenly fall off subway platforms and get killed a few times a year. It's such a yeah, yeah thing in NYC they only get a little 1/8th page blurb in the paper. But I would feel awful if someone left my place and got squashed by something. Besides, he just passed out, again. I leave him sleeping. I just..... I can't. Another 1/2 hour goes by and suddenly T---- is asking for the doorman, who I have sent on a break.

"What's wrong?"

"The dude is throwing up."

I rush in and more accurately he's heaving and spitting but everyone has moved to the other side of the room in horror. Notice, nobody puts down their drinks and leaves, they just relocate and watch. I run to grab a bucket in case he really does yak and R-- rushes over to get him to the bathroom. So there I am standing outside the toilet, again. A few minutes later he emerges. Looking decidedly pale and with wet spots on his shirt. Marry me! I had located his coat, scarf and bag.

"Time to leave."


So I helped him on with his scarf and coat and handed him his bag. I escorted him to the door. He started listing to one side. I steadied him. He looked a little surprised.

"I've got you."

He got to the front door.

"You want some help down the stairs?"

"No, I'm OK."

"OK well, grab the railing."

He made it down fine.

"Get home safe."

"Thank you. Good night."

Please don't fall in front of the No. 6. I thought to myself.

Sunday, February 15, 2004

Uh, about the elephant in the room….


Rock on! San Francisco!

All right, so I’ll weigh in on my views of this whole gay marriage thing and the extraordinary events in S.F. the last few days. A big shout out to Mayor Gavin Newsom. Nice set of balls, man. Now, I have been following along on this whole gay marriage issue not because I actually ever would get married. I’ve been fascinated by the issue because of the strong socio-political arguments people for or against have been pulling out their asses to justify their positions. I understand it’s extremely important to many gays and lesbians to be able to marry. There are monetary advantages (I guess), as well as the implications of living in a society that recognizes and validates your relationship regardless of either of your genders. This is presuming you are the type of person that requires others to validate your relationship. The legal implications regarding medical issues, treatment and rights of inheritance are all important considerations as well. Because it seems so all fired important to so many gays and lesbians to have the right to marry, and truthfully, because it seems so all fired important for various “in defense of family” (pick one) groups that we not have that right, I landed firmly in the camp of pro gay marriage rights. Let my fellow suckers and lappers wed!

I would never. Why my fellow fags and lezzies are so eager to imitate straight people and their ridiculous constructs is beyond me. Close to 60% of all “straight” marriages end in divorce. Lives that have been tangled then have to be untangled, often at great expense, benefiting no one but hordes (whores) of lawyers. To what end? My parents have been married almost 50 years. I remember the times growing up when I was sure they were splitting up. They never did. Almost impossibly, had you asked me twenty years ago, they’ve managed to hash out what appears to be a comfortable detent that occasionally even manages to look like love, or at least like. Good for them. But I’m not my parents, I never wanted to be my parents. I never wanted to live like my parents. I never wanted that cookie cutter house in suburbia. I’ve never wanted to own a car. I’ve never really wanted kids all that much. And if I did decide I wanted kids I know where they keep ‘em, I’d just go get a couple. And I don’t care how much I say I love you and I can’t imagine my life without you, I also can’t imagine giving you access to my checking account. I have no interest in imitating heterosexual constructs nor do I need to attend their churches nor do I need to quote from their bible as I harass young poor mothers and blow up their health care centers and kill their doctors. And while I would find it amusing to pretend to get my morality handed to me by an 80 yr old man in a dress in Rome who can barely hold his head up long enough to string a coherent thought, I’m afraid I’d tire of that quickly as well, and would fall back on the true moral center I try to use on a daily basis.

Still, you have to love what’s going on in S.F. If you’ve read the link to the letter Mayor Newsom sent, he did couch his argument and (I assume) his justification for his actions in purely legal, non-discrimination arguments, I’m also assuming he was quite aware that throwing open City Hall doors to a thousand (or so) homo couples was gonna seriously frost some uptight ass. Of course, that’s the part I love. And all due respect to Ms. Cho, (link to her, now!) it damn straight Skippy is an act of civil disobedience. And one of the best acts of civil disobedience since Rosa said, “The back of the bus?” and snapped her gum and sat front and center. "Please..."

For a straight writer's pretty cool view of this issue.

Friday, February 13, 2004

Straight People Are Stupid

I was cleaning up my PC and found I had saved this. It's from a very useful resource. They usually don't print this kind of nonsense. I don't believe these people are kidding. Some people really are this dumb. If Darwin's Theory were in effect for humans, they'd be dead. Spelling errors uncorrected....

underwear from the dryer

Posted: Nov 27, 2003

Dr Bob,
Can you get HIV from underwear that was taken out of the clothes dryer. I took a pair of girls underwear out of the dryer and about 10 minutes later I used it to masterbate. I wrapped the underwear around my penis for a little and then I started to smell them. There were no stains on the underwear but there was a slight odor, and I think that was from the hot air that came of the dryer. I took my tongue and licked the crotch part of the underwear, I did not taste any vaginal secretion that would normally be on a pair of used underwear, and now I am concerned that I could have gotten HIV from this. I would assume that the clothes were washed because none of the clothes smelled or looked dirty. Would the hot air thats in the dryer KILL the virus? I know that this is a strange question but I called the CDC and they told me in a nasty way that I need a therapist, they thought that there is something wrong with me to even think that I could have gotten HIV from this.I looked through all the responses and have not found any questions relating to this. I am hoping that I did not put myself at risk , but I would appreciate your expert advice and a Woo-Hoo.

The CDC was nasty and told you that you needed a therapist for sniffing, tasting, and whacking off with girls' underwear you swiped from a clothes dryer? I don't agree with that, unless of course the underwear belonged to your mother, in which case, yeah, a therapist would indeed be in order.
So what's your risk from this clandestine Laundromat activity? Well, aside form annoying the hell out of whoever's panties you chewed up and jizzed all over, I'd say none. Specifically, what about HIV risk? Absolutely none. So, can you WOO-HOO? Sure, but take the dryer lint fuzzy stuff out of your nose first, OK? Stay well.
Dr. Bob

Posted: Dec 7, 2003

Hello Doc,
I am very worried over an incident that occurred a few months back. I had sex with a high-risk female. I wrapped a common plastic grocery bag around my dick and had sex for about 3 minutes.
When I finished there was no visible vaginal fluid on my penis or on the bag.
But then two weeks later, I noticed a lighter-color skin patch (area) on the shapt of my penis almost as though something had entered my skin. There is no itching or any feeling, just the discoloration.
What do you think is up? Is it possible that although I didn't see any fluids on the bag or on my penis, that just being inside the vagina, HIV could have passed through the bag and enter the skin?
Also some friends have told me I have lost weight.
The act happened almost 5 months ago. I plan to get tested next month. But perhaps I should get a post exposure prophylaxis?
Please advise.

A plastic grocery bag??? Who were you banging? The checkout clerk at the local Piggly Wiggly?
This event happened five months ago and you are wondering about PEP (Post-exposure prophylaxis) now? No, that wouldn't be helpful. PEP needs to be started within 72 hours of exposure.
Could HIV pass through the grocery bag? I would have no way of knowing. Well-designed placebo-controlled clinical trials using plastic grocery bags have yet to be conducted.
Your symptoms on your penis "shapt" are not at all concerning for HIV disease.
What should you do? If you are concerned about HIV, get tested. HIV tests are definitive at three months. So you can test right away. What else should you do? Buy a pack of latex condoms and discard the plastic bag they come in so you aren't tempted to "cum" in it as well.

Good luck.
Dr. Bob

Wednesday, February 11, 2004

I found this on his website. I well and truly like this.

• Get and stay out of your comfort zone. Security is for cadavers.
• Focus on what you want to have happen. Remember the saying, "As you think, so shall you be."
• Take things a day at a time. You can get through anything one day at a time.
• Always be moving forward. Make it your goal to be better each day in some small way.
• Be quick to decide. As Gen. Sherman said, "A good plan violently executed today is better than a perfect plan tomorrow."
• Measure everything of significance. Anything that is measured and watched improves.
• Never let anybody push you around. You have just as much right to what you're doing as anyone else, provided it's legal.
• Never expect life to be fair. You make your own breaks.
• Solve your own problems. By coming up with your own solutions, you'll develop a competitive edge.
• There's always a reason to smile. My little brother reminds me, "We're not here for a long time. We're here for a good time."

Tuesday, February 10, 2004

You know, Not for nothin

But I covered that gay penguin story back in May. I'm just sayin......

Hey a new bit of new coolness. After a couple of I'm an asshole moments I managed to successfully add a comments feature to my precious little weblog. I may or may not regret this. It may or may not even matter. Since I only hear from you and you and you on the reg. Still, if you have something funny or dirty (or both) to say post it here for all the world ta see. Careful, though, children, this kitty's got claws. It's all done courtesy of the fine folks at Haloscan. I'd link to them here but just scroll down I've added a link button.
Odds and ends…

Not content to torture myself for a few days setting up the wireless LAN for the apartment, which by the way, I have generously and illegally (sorta) left open for my scabby neighbors to leech off my DSL, I made a decision to switch my regular phone service to the new VOIP phone service (I think it stands for Voice Over Internet Protocol). All the people that I trust (tech wise) to know of which they speak swear that this new service has finally come of age with crystal clear connections and feature rich packages all at a cheaper price than the big nasty phone companies we all hate charge. So after a bit of reading and a ton of commercial bombardment (I admit it, I’m suggestible) I opted to go with Vonage. Signing up on their site was easy and while it cost some dollars for the initial set up fees, I’m boning up at the thought of having phone, long distance, call waiting, call forwarding and voicemail for 25 bucks a month. Split it with The Ex and I’m getting turbo phone service for 12 freakin 50 a month! Besides the budget benefit I was of the mind that this was a cool new gadget and I don’t know anyone who has it yet, so the cutting edge faggotness appeals to me as well. What it resulted in was more hookup headaches as yet another piece of tech was added in the form of a phone adapter that would somehow magically turn my computer in to a phone booth, or at least a switching station. I followed the directions perfectly. Nothing worked. I sort of anticipated this as the set up contained special extra directions for configuring the very brand of router I was using so I expected problems. It took me about two hours of trial and error and booting and rebooting and telling different pieces of technology the same DSL sign in and password. Finally about 1:30 am I confirmed a working phone and a working PC and a laptop able to sign on. All being right with the world I slept contentedly and came to work Sunday crowing of my tech prowess. Bow down before the Tech Goddess! Alas, Sunday when I returned home at 3am and picked up the phone it was dead and worse, my PC couldn’t connect either. I managed to reboot the phone and I’ve confirmed the DSL is working as my laptop can still use the wireless connection. I just need to figure out how to get the info through the DSL modem and into my computer. And why I had it working before and why it stopped.

Update:I take absolutely no credit for it but miraculously, my system came back to life. I plugged and un-plugged and booted and re-booted several times yesterday and one of 'em musta took. This actually makes more sense, as I said, I was puzzled by how it previously was working perfectly everywhere and then not on only one machine. So all is (almost) right in my digital/phone/DSL world. I still can't access my home PC remotely. A small problem to be sure.


I sheepishly admit to following the Martha Stewart case from day one and even toyed with the idea of designing some “Free Martha” T-shirts for a while. I decided I was the only one weird enough to find that funny. Unlike some other people I never had intense feelings for Martha pro or con. I always found her Stepford Wife TV manner amusing and I loved the stories of what a mega/super/uber bitch she could be. Mention of Martha good or bad always elicited a little smile from me. And I’ve seen enough of “that little shit’s” testimony to reach a pretty easy conclusion. She guilty, girrrrrrl. But how guilty and how serious does her punishment need to be? Yes, Martha was informed by “baby” that Sam and the ImClone gang were dumping stock, and then she willfully and illegally sold off her shares in a violation of insider trading rules. Big fuckin deal. Had she waited the extra day to make this whole transaction legal she would have lost an additional 45,000.00 dollars. Selling the stock at the time was greedy, and stupid. But it hardly vaults Miss Martha on to the same stage as Kozlowsky (Tyco) or Lay (Enron). The woman was worth close to a billion dollars at the time. This wasn’t designed to enrich her as much as make her first, or smart. She ended up looking dumb. And obvious. But her actions didn’t funnel millions into property or art or lavish (some might say gaudy) parties. Nor did she cause scores of people to lose all their retirement money or their pensions. Or force thousands of Americans to scramble to replace the job they believed would carry them into retirement with a worse, emergency, low-pay position just to keep a roof over their heads. I say tell her to fork over the 45k, design some killah sheet sets and never sin again.

Now is it just me, or does everyone hate this Douglas Faneuil? “Baby snapped at Miss Martha.” You silly faggot, please. You’re a brokers assistant at one of the most important financial institutions on Wall Street referring to yourself as “baby”? I swear, I want to fuck him ‘till he starts to cry.


I know, I know. What’s up with the porn film? Well, I met with the director Saturday afternoon. It was the real deal. And we had, in fact had a sexual encounter before. If I remember correctly, twice. It was a few years ago, he was posting on line to be an anonymous gang bang bottom. The first time we hooked up it was one on one, the second time it was two other guys. Both times he was waiting, naked and lubed ass up. We rubbered up, fucked him frontwards, sidewards, and him on top, we shot our loads on him and left. A fun date! Anyway now he’s directing porn. So we talked for a bit, I stripped, he took some pics of my face and then my massive schlong and I got dressed. An offer has been informally made and I accepted. As with all things of this nature, I take it as it comes. The shoot is supposed to be next month. If he gets in touch I’ll do it. As this develops, if it does, I’ll let you know.

Saturday, February 07, 2004

If I Cum, Will They Build It?

So this ad has been appearing on Craigslist and various other sites in New York City. They all say something along the lines of this:

Looking for guys for upcoming video shoot. Hot foul mouthed tops (OK) and cum hungry bottoms (uh, no). Especially looking for big dicked tops for gang bang shoot.

Well, nobody is friendlier in a group than me so I figure, what the hell. I'll just say howdy and I'm interested. So I select an appropriate picture by way of introduction and fire away an e-mail.

mejerking1 copy2.jpg

I get a response immediately that he wants to set up an interview and would I be free Saturday? After haggling back and forth about the time we make it for later this afternoon. I have no idea if he's serious or not although I do know the name of the company he purports to represent and they do exist and they are known for their rather * ahem* uninhibited footage. He also claims that we had sex before in some sort of anonymous group situation and the address does seem familiar so I'm further intrigued. So am I going on the interview? Yes I am. Would I shoot a porn video? Stoopid I already have so I guess I would. The difference being this one would truly get worlwide exposure. I'll try and update later

Thursday, February 05, 2004

A Place For Everything....

Hello kittens,

Wondering where I been, or you don't really give a fuck? I had some sort of manic attack. Not panic, it was manic this time. When Al Coholic moved in with us last year I had to basically take all the crap that I had accumulated over the years that I had been keeping in both my bedroom and the guest room, and try and jam it all into my one room. I took the opportunity at the time to purge a bit and get rid of some things but basically, I crammed it all in. Then Al went into his Caholic meltdown and I purged him, too. And boing! My stuff pretty quickly broke the seams of my bedroom and spilled rapidly back into both rooms. It was clothes, mostly but also pictures, saved magazines, technology resources and guides. You know, stuff. (fun fact about me: I love clothes and shopping for clothes and the shoe thing I have that
as well. I love shoes all kinds of shoes and sneakers and boots. I try to control myself but I have, in fact, on more than one occasion purchased an article of clothing and then put it in the closet and forgotten all about it until three months later when I delightedly discover that it's there, tags intact.) So as you can see two roomfuls of clothes is not that outrageous for someone like me. And you have to figure in that they like me to dress nice for the bar but that clothing is so not me and then I need stuff to knock around in when I'm being the butch lesbian shelf builder, and a whole 'nother wardrobe for when I'm the smartly dressed fag about town. So after contracting my stuff and then expanding my stuff the end result is I didn't really know where half my stuff was. And even if I knew where my stuff was I didn't always have access to it because it was locked away in a cabinet I couldn't reach or on a shelf I needed to break out a stepladder to get at, and let's face it, if you'd like to wear your tan loafers but your black Sketchers are sitting right there in front of you, are you going to break out the stepladder to get the loafers? I'll tell you, no, you won't. I actually have been dressing kind of sloppily at work because I couldn't get at all my clothes and shoes.

But at one point last week the closet rod in the guest bedroom collapsed for the umpteenth time and I'm like, "Fuck! C'mon Helen! You're a homosexual can't you organize a closet?" And I thought, I sure as fuck can! So all weekend long last week I considered the space. Just sort of pondered the set up of the room and how I was utilizing space and how I could do it better. The computer and bed weren't being moved as they were exactly where I liked them but I certainly had some dead space I wasn't using well and that wardrobe I garbage picked at least ten years ago was now no more than a T-shirt and porn cabinet. (fun fact #2. I like porn. A lot.) So plan in mind I headed for that houswares/bathroom/bedding/kitchen/closet space for black women....... yes, I'm talking Bed, Bath and Beyonce. They had a veritable plethora of things for my storage needs. I bought a clothes rack, stackable shoe racks, five-tiered hangars for pants, belt hangars, tie hangars, storage boxes and sticky clear plastic hooks. I woke up on the first day of my weekend (Tuesday) ready to get to work. By Tuesday at midnight it looked like a crazy person had moved in. I had the clothes rack up and the shoes came out of storage but you couldn't see my bed for all the junk on it and the living room contained the (now empty) wardrobe and stacks or piles of socks and gym shorts and accessories and yes, I can say it, a jockstrap and a white thong. I once (briefly) wore a thong. I finally quit about 2:30 am as I had finally managed to at least clear enough space on the bed for me to sleep in it. I took it as a sign.

The next day, more of the same and by around midnight last night, I had successfully compacted two rooms of life into one bedroom. And best of all now everything I need is within easy reach. I threw away two big garbage bags of bad porn I didn't want and outdated (upon arrival) International Male gym apparel. (did I really wear Lycra?) As an aside I brought the trash down around 12:30am or so. I went half a block to the 24 hr. deli to get some milk and club soda. 5 minutes later I return to my building and even though there's almost no one on the street there is, of course, a homeless guy looking at my discarded porn. May the spirits bless him, I hope he sold it for money. Or took it somewhere and jerked off. Now for that guest room. Oy!

Monday, February 02, 2004

Janet Jackson's Boob

Oh Fer God's Sake...

It's just her boob. It's not even the whole boob she managed to put the metallic pastie on her nip. It's skin. I'm not even going to go in to America's wierd obsession with women's exposed breasts. They just titties, people. get over it! You want to obsess about something think about the moans coming out of JT when I flip him over and jam my tongue up his butthole.