Thursday, March 30, 2006
It's been a long time coming, but the article in the Sunday Times regarding the integration of the Stuyvesant Town Housing Project finally spurred me to relate my experience. If you haven't read the article, it's linked here, and it tells the story of the origin of the development in 1947. The bulk of the article relates what happened in 1949-1952 and the tenant led effort to integrate the project. An action that was strongly resisted by then-landords, Met-Life Insurance. The article in and of itself is a great piece of New York City history, but it was the end of the article that truly caught my eye. Officially, there is no racial profiling or discrimination taking place in the rental of vacant Stuy-Town units. But as you read into the last few paragraphs, it has not gone un-noticed by black residents of the project that their numbers are few and far between.
Which brings us to 4th of July, last summer. The Hellcat and I were still on speaking terms then. We found ourselves with the holiday off and no real plans. It was a sunny summer day and we decided to grab a makeshift picnic lunch and head for the East River waterfront. I knew that the East River/FDR drive would be closed off to vehicles eventually, but we weren't vehicles and it was hours and hours before the sun would go down and the fireworks were due to begin. After hitting a local supermarket for sandwiches, chips and soda we headed for the river. It was closed. Not the river but the promenade. Granted, the closing was currently being enforced by a single female cop, but this being New York, we expressed our disappointment, received a shrug of resigned sympathy in response and with that we turned back.
We decided to try and salvage our picnic and discussed at least finding a bench in Stuyvesant Park. More in an effort to hasten our arrival there we opted to cut through Stuyvesant Town. For those not native to New York, this housing development almost seems like it was dropped whole right on the huge area it encompasses. They have their own security force as well as NYPD. Caretakers and groundskeepers drive golf carts to and fro all day, cutting lawns and doing maintenance and removing garbage. As you can see by this sign at one entrance, bycicle riding and dog walking are prohibited.
So it was quite by accident that we arrived at the center of the entire complex, only to discover an unexpected oasis. There we disovered a beautiful and immaculately maintained fountain. Manicured lawns shaded by leafy oak trees. There was a fenced and gated soccer pitch with regulation grass for the children to play on. We passed basketball courts with intact nets, unused table tennis sets, a kids water park and seperate jungle gym. People were everywhere sprawled out on beach blankets and lawn chairs and park benches devoid of pigeon poop. Some had brought their own recliners. They read, they ate, they listened to music and dozed in the sun. It was idyllic. We eagerly found a shaded spot and set out our picnic provisions.
It would be here that I would report that we were set on by a security force and rousted out of the area. Quite the opposite. We weren't noticed at all. It wasn't until my hunger was satisfied and I sat about digesting my ham & swiss that I took a good look around.
"Have you noticed anything strange?" I asked The Hellcat.
"Not really, what?"
"There's a lot of people in this park."
"It's a holiday. Everyone's off."
"I know. But have you noticed? There's no black people here. Hell, I don't even see any brown people."
"Oh yeah," he said, looking around. "Oh wait, there's a black lady, over there."
And sure enough, off in the distance, across at the edge of the fountain area, was a middle aged black woman. Although it quickly became apparent that she was a health aide to an old white man.
And while on subsequent visits to the park I have spotted the occasional brown body, the observation of a black visitor is a decidedly rare and uncommon occurrence. Thus it came to pass that we dubbed the space The Whites Only Park. With our cell phone conversations going something like this:
"What ya doin'?"
"Working on my tan."
"Where are you? I'm at home."
"I'm in The Whites Only Park."
"How is it?"
"Sunny and white."
"I'll be there in 5."
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
On this night I undressed in the living area and headed into the bedroom already boning up. When I got there I spied the verbal hairy guy, also back for another round. We greeted each other warmly. As I said, I quick counted about 8 bodies, various ages and ethnicities. So far, I couldn’t pick out our host. And unlike the last group, this one seemed to not really care and were a bit more willing to experiment a little, as people paired off to trade blowjobs and kiss. A shorter cute ½ Asian guy immediately grabbed my cock and started jerking me off. He must have liked what he felt as he bent to start sucking me. I returned the favor at some point. Eventually, our host appeared, naked, and seemingly not as high as last time. Although he was the bottom du jour, somebody else was ably handling the overflow. Several guys who couldn’t wait for a turn on the host opted to warm up on that guy. I was content to get my cock sucked and/or jerked. After a couple of guys took their turn, I suddenly found myself cock to hole with our host, and figured it was a sign. I pushed the back of his head down towards the mattress and pushed in slowly but all at once. I could tell already that this wasn’t going to be a quick fuck and go. He felt great and I was in no rush. I eventually worked him back so I was standing beside the bed. I raised up one of his legs and pushed my leg behind his so I could hit him a little deeper. He cursed and swore his appreciation as I got some verbal encouragement from the crowd. After a few minutes of fucking, I pulled out to share. It’s bad form to monopolize the bottom in a gangbang.
I could re-create the blow-by-blow (so to speak) but really, a couple of horny bottoms, 6 or so tops taking turns suckee suckee, fuckee, fuckee, blah blah blah. I got my cock sucked some more, I fucked two bottoms. I overheard someone in the living room make the unmistakable noises of a man cumming. I watched this hot bodied Italian guy with a very pretty cock mount our host. There’s something really hot about watching a man throw another man one hot deep fuck. Right in front of you. Feeling like the night was about to crescendo I decided it was time to go for broke. Besides, I was totally turned on watching the other guy fuck. It didn’t take me long to shoot my load as well. When I got off, the ½ Asian guy replaced me. The bottom was getting what he was after all right. I recovered and cleaned up in the living room, where the other bottom was getting fucked over a chair while he sucked another guy. I dressed and made my way out of the building. It was around 10:15. You’d think a gangbang would be more time consuming but not really as it turns out.
I was halfway home when my phone began to ring. I immediately knew who it was and began to chuckle. I had already decided to forego my coffee date in favor of my porn star gangbang but as it turns out, I was free after all. I walked a couple more blocks, as my intent was just to curl up on the couch and lick my fur clean. But the idea of passing up the one chance to meet a visiting blogger overwhelmed my desire to be all fat and happy at home. I returned the call a couple of minutes later, and after failing at first to connect we finally made plans to meet. I was a little daunted by the fact that in the interim, some other out of town bloggers were added to the mix, but I was having such a why the hell not day I decided to forge ahead. I met Thom along with Bert and his friend Cary outside the W hotel near Times Square. We managed to locate a coffee shop on 8th Ave where we piled into a booth and proceeded to trade stories about travel, blogging and shopping. I gave out my best shoe shopping secret. All three guys couldn’t have been warmer or friendlier. We talked about the upcoming GB:NYC3 in June. If I can duplicate how comfortable and natural and FUN this experience was I’ll have a very good time indeed. After about an hour and a half of some great coffee conversation I hopped on the subway and headed for home. Needless to say I slept very well.
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Saturday, March 25, 2006
Friday, March 24, 2006
Shortly after I got up and went on-line I got a surprise invitation to a gangbang on this HOT poz bottom porn star and well, quite frankly, as pleasant as coffee with an internet buddy sounds, old guys like me can’t afford to pass up offers like that. I decided that I would have to forego my social coffee plans in favor of some dirty gay sex. So right now I am enjoying a cup of peppermint tea as I kill a ½ hour before I’m due to get naked in a room full of strangers and fuck. I know that seems odd for someone who claims to suffer such severe social phobia but a) I’m much improved in that area these days, and b) Even when my condition was at its worst I still managed to get to a sex club or party every now and then. Whatever extreme shyness I manifested in my daily life for some reason never extended to a group sex setting. Either that or my piggy horniness overrode my shyness. Either way, when it comes to a big dirty group, I’m A OK!
-The only line appropriate from last night’s
-Skipped the gym today, as I managed another ½ hour of weights and then another yoga class yesterday. I’m taking a few classes from a few different instructors. Ideally, I’d like to find two classes a week that I like that I can go to. He inspired me to put together a list for you of my gym pet peeves. It’s on a “things to write about” list that is getting so big I’m starting to forget. But for now I want to send a message to the two sauna queens who are currently “working” the branch I go to on the reg:
---Ladies, if I see you in towels working the showers when I piss before a workout, and then I do 1 ½ hours of gym work, only to come back and find you both still in towels looking to get at some man’s, any man’s, noodle well, please, that’s sad and get a life.
Oh my, look at the time. I gotta go have sex with some strangers. See ya!.
And … I’m back. So things didn’t quite work out how I thought they would. It was even better. I made it to the Men’s group at 6:30. There were only about 10 people or so in attendance with two facilitators as well. The group is for men over 40, so that’s who was there, and that in itself sparked an endless discussion about how the groups have been segregated by age and how upset certain people were by that. So much time was spent (wasted) on this subject that I suspect certain people had another agenda entirely. Still, it was fascinating how people arrive with their own pre-conceived notions about gay men, HIV sero-conversion, safe sex, and a whole host of other pre-set agendas. I prefer to approach it as more or less a clean slate. Of course, I have experiences and opinions, but I try not to assume that everyone else is the same or agrees with me. These men seem to be prone to sweeping statements a la “we all went through” or “gay men our age are”. I don’t think they realize that by attempting to put us all in the same box, they end up limiting themselves.
Anyway, the group let out just after 8 pm and I’ve already related to you my peppermint tea break before my next, very different group experience. I arrived at the apartment in the Village just after 9. I’d been here before. I actually have an ongoing gangbang “relationship” with this guy. I get the summons every few weeks, usually on a Thursday. I never have asked why. I was surprised that the party was already in full swing, and I arrived to find about 7 or 8 naked guys in a small back bedroom.
I’ll stop there for now. *snicker* Part 2 tomorrow, in which I have sex and coffee …. with strangers.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Oh and supposedly tomorrow night, those wacky bastards over at South Park are putting the finishing touches on their latest salvo in their battle with the Scientologists. One of the most humorous humor-less "religions" out there. Did you know they enjoy tax-exempt status from our government. Hm? Didja?
I worked out like a fool the last couple of days. Yesterday I did a solid hour of cardio. 20 minutes on three machines with the only rest being the time it took to switch places. Today, I did 20 minutes of cardio followed by an hour of yoga. I earned that 1/2 pint of ice cream, fucker!
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
So yesterday I happened to be walking by close to 10 pm and couldn't resist popping in to check it out. It looked like a scene out of day of the locusts. I swear, most of the shelves were either disheveled, almost empty or picked clean. It reminded me of how the stores in Buffalo used to look when a blizzard would hit and the delivery trucks couldn't get through. After wandering around the store to get a feel for what they'll be eventually carrying when they re-stock I have to say, I was led to believe the store would be good for saving money. I didn't notice anything I looked at as being particularly cheap. At any rate, when I left the store I was further amused to see stacks and stacks of stock lined up on the sidewalk with groceries ready to go in after closing. I imagine it would take hours. If I'm out and about later tonight maybe I'll try and go snap a few pix of the carnage.
In the meantime, if anyone has any Trader Joe's secrets or hot tips on food I should try let me know.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Had a pretty quiet weekend as The Hellcat and the boyfriend decamped to his place after a mini-meltdown by me. In a nutshell, despite my warnings that I wouldn't tolerate it, The Hellcat basically moved the boyfriend in to my apartment. When I last confronted him about the issue he tried to downplay it but this time, after The Hellcat returned from an overnight trip away, he wasn't back in the
And here's the other thing. I totally resent the fact that The Hellcat is forcing me to live and deal with someone who quite frankly I just don't like. That's right folks, it's the dirty little secret I've been keeping. I really, really don't like The Hellcat's boyfriend. I think he's an arrogant, smug, pink little pasty annoying fuck. A fact I can cover up if I need to take him in small doses. I can be civil. My facade starts to crumble as the days go by and he doesn't go home. Eventually I just want to push his face into a wall. And it speaks to how self-involved The Hellcat is that I'm sure he hasn't once stopped to consider that perhaps one or both of the other people he's living with may not think much of his chosen partner. I don't need to like anyone my friends date. But I do if they're going to be in my house for three days or sometimes longer, and I have to accommodate someone's bathroom/shower time, and share refrigerator space, and wait to cook dinner till the kitchen is free.
So I'm leaving. Being the leaseholder I could, I suppose force The Hellcat to go. But he's lived here for almost two years and he could put up a fight in court if he wanted. Besides, I don't have the stomach right now for a fight where the goal is to throw someone out. It's actually simpler, as well as healthier for me in the long run, if I go. As my irritation boiled over about the situation last week I informed The Hellcat that I was moving out as soon as possible, and I would prefer that he just not talk to me and leave me be. He responded by calling me crazy and bi-polar. Which is how he turns on you when he starts to realize he can't use you for housing or money or free dinners. His facade drops too. No matter. It's further incentive to get going. I have a meetin
Saturday, March 18, 2006
On tap for this afternoon:
Go to pharmacy on 8th Ave. where a prescription was mistakenly faxed and filled.
Go to pharmacy on 2nd Ave. to pick up re-fill of a prescription.
Go to gym on Park and do some cardio and maybe some shoulder work.
Go to comic book shop on St Mark's and pick up new releases.
Plans for tonight TBA. Seacrest, out!
Oh, and I'm sure you're all cheeky little monkeys and can find it on your own, but just in case, here's a page where you can download and save the South Park Scientology episode.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
More in the way of good news but it's a secret. I don't believe in jinxes but I'm just gonna whisper it anyway. I may have found a really promising lead for a brownstone in Murray Hill. I would have to share and only use half, but the owner travels a lot and I would have the place alone very often. Wish me luck, as this could lead to me scraping The Hellcat and The Ex and all their fuck-up frat boy rudeness off my sneakers like so much gum. Yay!
More later if there's time. I think I'll go to the grocery store wacked out on drugs and see what I come back with.
Oh, and I finally got around to updating my blogger profile. If you intend to stalk me you need to know these things so study up.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Marvel Comics Night Thrasher #1-4 Complete Series
Marvels #2 Marvel comic mini-series.
DC Comics Millenium #1-8 Complete Series
Havok & Wolverine: Meltdown #1-4 Complete Series
DC Comics Ragman #1
DC Comics The Phantom Stranger #1-4 Complete Series
DC Comics Underworld #1-4 Complete Series
DC Comics Power of The Atom #1
LOT assorted Wonder Man includes issue #1
Mercy DC/Vertigo one-shot
Iron Man 30th Anniversary issue #290
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Once again, I have to say goodbye to a friend.
You know, becoming an adult as I have in the age of AIDS, you find out real fast that good people die young. You would think that learning how to mourn a friend’s passing would get easier. You would think that the shock of having a vibrant, vital light of life suddenly turned out in the blink of an eye would be easier to take. You would be wrong.
One late night last week, I had made plans with Tim and a couple of other people to get up in the morning and go to the beach. It was already after 1 am and I knew at the time that there was no way I was going to have my rapidly aging white ass out of bed at 9 am to go to the beach, but I said yes anyway. I woke up about 12:30 the next day and saw my message light blinking. Sure enough, the little shit was up and ready to go. I didn’t really worry about it though. I figured that summer had just started. I had two whole months of beach plans to make. We can plan a trip to Fire Island. We’ve got all the time in the world. Leave it to my friend Tim to prove me wrong.
We have a skydiving trip coming up. Someone asked me if I planned on going this time. Without a moments hesitation I said no. You see, at an age when a lot of you were figuring out how to start repaying your college loans, I was facing the very real possibility of not seeing 30. And while lately the footsteps of death have thankfully begun to fade (Ed. Note: HA!), the result is it makes you completely aware of how random life can be. The simple act of walking out your front door can result in a fatal case of air conditioner to head disease. Leave it to my friend Tim to prove me right.
I met Tim several years ago, shortly after he moved to New York. He had a really bad haircut and was extremely quiet. About a week later he fixed the hair and was so. not. quiet….. Like so many people do, he left his friends and family behind to start over here and make a new life. Like so many people don’t, he was succeeding.
This can be an unforgiving city. Over the years I have watched Tim struggle to build a life for himself and Mark. On more than one occasion I was awestruck at just how strong he really was. On more than one occasion I thought, well that’s it, the poor thing is gonna crumble. And it never happened. I watched him when he got robbed, when he quit crappy jobs, when Mark drove him nuts. Hell, I watched him party all night on a twenty dollar bill and still go home with six dollars change, Mama! It was, at times, like watching a child build a castle on the beach, and every single time the waves came crashing in or some heartless kid came and kicked it over he would start again. Slowly, methodically, refilling the pail. In all the time I’ve known him, Tim never once told me he was giving up.
There are those that have said we have to accept this loss and take comfort in the fact that Tim is in a better place now. Well I do not accept this loss because Tim never accepted loss, only the struggle to win. I choose instead to celebrate a life too brief. And as to Tim being in a better place, I can tell you as sure as I’m standing here today, wherever that place is, extensive renovations have already begun.
To Tim’s family, who I’ve never met, I offer condolences.
To Mark, our prayers are with you. Please know that Tim’s life touched ours in a way that we had no choice but to gather and mark his passing. He mattered. He will be remembered.
Once again, I have to say goodbye to a friend. With Tim, there is only one way to do it right. I only need two words:
P.S. Everyone please take a moment to send some good thoughts to my internet buddy RJ. He's hit a rough patch and could use some well wishes.
Monday, March 13, 2006
I had posted an ad on Craig's sex section, as The Hellcat was out for the night and The Ex was going to bed. I was hanging at home and horny. Basically, I was offering a blowjob to a nice looking guy. More specifically, I was offering a "quick suck and swallow." As long time readers know my sexual appetites are pretty all over the map so a lot of times I will open the post page and then spend a few minutes deciding what exactly I'm in the mood for. Honestly, it hardly matters as I rarely get what I'm after but sometimes ... well, I guess it's happened enough that I keep at it. In a nutshell, I felt like sucking somebody off. I posted that and a couple of really clear face/jerk off pics. I do that cause as bold as I can be I'm still trying to avoid rejection so I prefer to not send headless pictures or try anything sneaky. It's me. I got a variety of responses from people that obviously hadn't read what I was looking for, and even a guy who claimed to be Russian. Part of his response: "i'm about allow you to make me bj..." I swear, you can't make this stuff up.
As I was working on something else a couple more e-mails came in. All my Craig's responses go directly to junk mail so I have to go get them. One of them got my attention immediately because of the title: (my gym)NYSC (My Branch) It was from one email@example.com And here's what I found inside:
NYSC I##### P####, please stop
cruising us. If we're interested, we'll let you know.
I was stunned for a minute, then I read it again to make sure I understood it. Basically, whoever this guy was he was calling me old and ugly or at the very least "not hot" and my old ugliness at the gym upset him enough that he felt compelled to e-mail me about it. Full disclosure, whether or not you approve, I do have sex at my gym. I've always freely acknowledged that. Realistically, gay men are having sex at gyms all across the country. And I can only speak for myself. I try to avoid offending anyone. I've never followed anyone from room to room trying to have sex. I can tell when someone isn't in to me pretty easily and drop it immediately. It's New York. Another fag will be along shortly. I've certainly never touched anyone without an invitation. Let's face it, I've been an out gay man for over 20 years. I know how to pick up a guy in public. I got mad skillz yo. But here this little shit (and I'm just speculating) took it upon himself to e-mail me a nasty insult. Am I over-reacting or was this pretty mean?
So I did respond, basically calling him some nasty names and telling him to fuck off. He answered by calling me an ugly old troll. So there it was. I had never been called a troll before. I've never used the term either as I've always thought it was hateful. Even when I was young and beautiful. Of course, I responded even more immaturely, challenging him to call me this to my face so I could kick his ass. Of course, he responded by threatening the "gym cops" on me, and when that didn't work he started that lame nonesense about how I was going to get arrested and blah, blah bah. All the bullshit that repressed little hens cluck about when they run out of arguments that don't work. So we've reached another new milestone people. Some nasty faggot thinks I'm ugly and old, and doesn't mind telling me so. At least by e-mail.
P.S. Apparently, the hot Latin 27 yr. old with the 8" cut cock didn't think I was too repulsive either. Mission accomplished.
In Other News ... I told you recently about a book I read. Well, the author and his fish-titties have run afoul of those assholes at PETA, even though he retired his drag persona in 2000. Six years ago. Says the PETA nimrod: "It would be, for you, like living in a covered bathtub that's constantly moving, tossing you around as you defecate in it. It's filthy, painful and terrifying for these animals." Only not, cause they're fish, with tiny little fish brains and it's doubtful they "feel" any emotion or have any thought besides "eat" and "fuck". I swear, these PETA WHORES will say or do anything to get PETA in the papers.
I hate PETA, too.
The Mighty Morphin Power Ranger did not morph into an amateur porn star. No one wishes this were true more than me. But it's not. Here's the straight scoop. Now if anyone can get me the phone number of the new Red Mystic Ranger I'd be very grateful indeed. I need a life. Very badly. HeHe "Magi staff" HeHe.
Mystic Force Red Ranger
Fire & Heat
Red Super Titan Zord
Nick is athletic , brave and headstrong, Like "Indiana Jones", Nick is fearless and a bit of a show-off. He's always the first to rush in a battle. But doesn't always use his head. However his keen instincts and courageous heart usually win the day. He also likes to restore classic motorcycles.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Now I had been many times but if memory serves my other two partners in crime, both managers at the time, had never been. So I was leading the expedition and set about getting us rooms at the Ice Palace and dispensing advice about what to wear and how much cash to bring. ATM's hadn't made it out to Fire Island at this point.
By and large we had 3 1/2 lovely days marred by just the hint of scandale (spelling intentional). On the second drunken night of an admittedly drunken weekend we all retired (passed out) wherever we did, but most definitely alone. I was in a trundle bed while one of my managers was in the larger bed off to the side and a half foot up. Imagine my surprise when I awoke sometime between 4 am and an impending noon headache to his hand down my pants feeling up my half hard cock. Can you be sexually molested in your 30's? Does it count if you're both drunk and gay? I decided at the time to remove his hand from my penis, admonish him not to touch me and then roll over and go back to sleep. I never mentioned it again until now. Here's a picture of me and my molester. Look. I smoked then. And I'm really, really gay.
And here's a picture of me relaxing poolside. I'm probably deciding if a Bloody Mary or a Margarita would be better. Can you believe this whole weekend we were there I was worried about whether or not I was too fat for this bathing suit? What the hell is wrong with me?
And finally, here's a picture of a boy that I most happily allowed to touch, see and otherwise fondle my cock for as long as he wanted. For obvious reasons. God he was yummy.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
It may seem a little odd, but I've been a fan of Balls (HA!) and Ballroom culture ever since I was first exposed to it. That would be from the wonderful documentary Paris Is Burning, which I believe I saw at The Quad in 1990 when it came out. I was enthralled. It speaks to me of the ability of disenfranchised gays and lesbians to take what makes them "other" to the straight world and turn it into a celebration. Or in this case a ball. It shows how we can lose our connection to family, only to recreate and redefine family for ourselves. It's been showing off and on on LOGO so if you get the chance I highly recommend seeing it. Sadly, a lot of the people who were featured in the documentary are no longer alive. But Ballroom culture is still alive and Frank Leon Roberts has posted a photo essay of the Midwest Awards Ball. Men and women from all across the country attended. Take a few minutes to check out the pictures. -via rod 2.0
Speaking of Rod, who I've never met but hope to someday, I would like to commend him and his blog. In addition to his coverage of general interest news of gay and lesbian issues he's a great source for news affecting people of color. Most significantly for me he's done an outstanding job covering issues about HIV/AIDS, both here in the US and worldwide, as well as issues surrounding crystal meth and addiction/treatment. I highly recommend you checking him out and click on the health coverage to see what I mean. If you aren't reading him you really should be. Way better than other (nameless) blogs that cover the same movie every day or just re-post whatever a gay news feed spits out. Good job.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Unfortunately for now, the archive links aren't working. I'm investigating and I've sent a help flare up to the Blog Powers That Be. They used to be very responsive before they got swallowed up by Google. We'll see.
I'm into my 3rd book this year and also just started a 4th. The former is Blackwood Farm, an effort by Anne Rice. I got to page 150 and the next page didn't make any sense at all. That's because that page is 183. 33 pages are missing from inside the book. Fortunately, because it's Rice it's probably 33 pages of descriptions of a room or a house or the smell of a garden that have absolutely nothing to do with the actual plot of the book so no matter. Indeed, page 184 feels like I haven't missed a thing.
I have more to tell you but it's unseasonably warm out and I'm going to get dressed and go play.
Update: Hurrah! The archives be fixed. Just some fucked up settings. Managed to dope it out without any help. Ow! I hurt my shoulder patting myself on the back. If I could kiss my own ass I'd never leave the house.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Most of the pictures were taken by me, and some of them are worthy of their own blog post so I'll be sharing some of them in the future. Here's one that was obviously not taken by me because it is me. Unfortunately, my memory is like Swiss cheese when it comes to my past. I have no idea when exactly this is or why I was clowning around. I'm almost positive this is from my younger days in Buffalo before moving to NYC. I barely remember ever having just a moustache in my cavalcade of facial hair, but I've run across some black and white shots of me that prove it's true. Still, you have to admit it's pretty funny.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
I'm proud of how I've taken on responsibility for my health. As much as I hated going on the HIV meds, as much as it really hit home for me that I was ill, and may remain that way for the rest of my life, as much as I had to confront that part of me that was HIV+ in the abstract sense of it only, I kept plodding forward, sometimes encouraged by people in my everyday life, sometimes by readers I have never met, but I kept all my appointments, I gave all the blood, I drank the Kool-Aid and little by little, it did in fact get easier. And I did in fact get better.
There was one thing I got out of my therapy that I am the most proud of. It came out of one of my earlier sessions. I was really struggling through a very bad depression. I had just started on the medication, and to this day, I would swear that they fucked with my head a bit. I was in about as bad a shape as I had ever been emotionally. Still, or because of that, I kept my appointment. And as I started to talk about what I was feeling I began to cry. And the cries led to sobbing. And the floodgates opened and I confessed how badly I had been feeling and that I wasn't sure what to do or how to fix it, and was never more afraid or felt so alone. She asked me how long I had been feeling like this, and I replied several days.
"Well, why in the world didn't you call me?"
From the simplest of questions I was tossed a lifeline. You see, it hadn't occurred to me to call my therapist about my emotional crisis. I didn't know you could. In retrospect, that seems pretty obvious but not then, and not to me. I was unaccustomed to getting help. And I had absolutely no experience asking for it. And while I never did, outside of our regular sessions, ask for that help, I took comfort in knowing it was there. And I used the lesson when I needed medical help with something that turned out to be minor. I was in pain and I asked for help. I got help. It sounds so simple but asking for help is a skill, and at the ripe old age of 43, now 44, I just learned how. I guess the first step is admitting to yourself that you need it.
As far as the future, my therapist pointed me in the direction of some gay men's discussion groups. I've done those before and we both think it might be good for me to meet a new group of men. Conversing with a group of gay men clothed is another skill I need to re-learn. She has a private practice and expressed interest in seeing me there as well. My intent is to persue that as soon as I go back to work and have a steady income. As I said, I don't think I'm finished. In my opinion it's always helpful if not interesting and a little painful to pick up the box your life comes in and give it a good shake. You never know what might get dislodged when you do.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
In any case, my would be suitor opened with a pithy and oh so sexy "Hey".
To which I responded, "What's up man?"
"Nice pix. You lookin'?"
While this fascinating conversation was going on I was busy filling in the search box on the main page to bring up his profile, as the browser I was working in thought it was a pop-up and blocked it. Before you tell me that I can set the browser to allow the pop-up I know that already, this way works fine and I'm too lazy to set it up. So by now I had pulled up his profile, and found that out of the six pictures he had posted, five of them were blocked and only the picture of his (I presume) hard cock was showing. Not that I presume it was hard, it was, but that I presume it was his. But you never know.
Now, aside from him being audacious enough to think I'll agree to sex with him without seeing what he actually looks like, I also see in his profile his HIV status, listed as negative. Which prompts me to end this dalliance with:
"Sorry man, I prefer to get together with HIV+ guys. Take care and good luck.
Now here's surprise one. I get an answer back almost immediately.
"No, I'm really HIV+."
"I just say I'm neg because I have a very important position in the music industry and I have to be careful."
And that's when it hit me. How could it not given the recent news? Could it be? Was it my turn? Was I about to get GAikened? And more than that, as hard (really really hard) as it is to believe, The GAiken is supposedly a top. Was I about to endure an hour of bareback butt reaming from America's Next Top Idol Survivor? Do they make a Fleet enema for that? I was giddy enough with anticipation that I decided to continue for a bit.
"So what do you do when you get together with a guy? Tell him when he's naked?"
"No. I tell them before if it seems like he's interested."
I got the distinct impression this was a big fat lie. I decided to not even point out that the conversation might not take place at all if you went ahead and let the men know you're HIV+ in the first place. And I also decided to skip the part about how annoyed I would be if someone wasted my time getting into a conversation and e-mailing back and forth, only to reveal the truth down the road at some nebulous point. Instead I tried for a little bit of sympathy. In case, you know, it was The GAiken looking to bare fuck me and leave behind the trick towel, so I could get really, monstrously rich by selling The Enquirer the story of The GAiken spilling his HIV+ seed up my hole. And don't you think for a single second I wouldn't.
"Wow. That's got to be hard, having to keep having that conversation with every guy."
OK, so it was sympathy couched in a dig.
"Whatever. Do you want to hook up or not?"
Clearly, I've annoyed The (possible) GAiken.
"I don't think it would work out man, but thanks."
I had no intention of hooking up with a possibly positive liar. Besides, it occurred to me that the chances that The GAiken had any reason to be in Rutherford, New Jersey were pretty slim.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Former fans of The GAiken are suing his record label calling him a "defective product". Proof that fat women in Ohio can hire lawyers, too.
The Body.com has a fascinating article written by a guy trying (and failing) to end HIV transmission in NYC sex clubs.
Hey, I just finished reading I Am Not Myself These Days by Josh Kilmer-Purcell. He lived through the 90's as a drag queen named Aquadisiac who's claim to "fame" were her fish titties. It features back cover reviews by Clive Barker and recent victim of Oprah's wrath James Frey. It was a good read, like candy. I could have finished it in one night but chose to make it last a week. Didn't learn a thing except that not even the freakiest relationship can survive meth addiction. But I sorta already knew that. Go read it if you're looking for an entertaining diversion.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
There. I feel better.