It seems the wireless needs of me and mine are being met.

Coincidentally, I got some fresh numbers yesterday. I got to meet my new doctor as well. This is my third since I started taking rides on the HIV carousel. They seem to stick around for a year or so before moving on. We don't get much of a choice as to who provides treatment. Although I'm sure if I really couldn't stand someone I would be able to switch off. That hasn't happened yet. All of the people I have encountered along the way, from nurses to vampires to health practitioners to doctors and voodoo priestesses have seemed competent, pleasant if not always friendly, and well-informed. From the horror stories I've been hearing from people in other states, (I'm talking to you, South Carolina!) I've been extremely lucky.

On to the results. On the surface, things are good. Cholesterol, liver function and all the incidentals check out fine. My testosterone levels, which were through the roof when I began the therapy to raise it, have leveled off. I no longer throw a bone while watching the laundry spin. Curiously, I've been semi-hard off and on since I woke up today. I have no idea why.

My T-cell count clocked in this time at 407. Down slightly from February (449). My new doctor says that's not significant. Indeed, I tested below 400 in November of last year. Three months later they were back up. What is noteworthy however is my viral load. It's spiking. My test from November came in at around 41,000. By February it jumped to 170,00. I re-tested then and came in around 83,000. April's test and I'm back around 168,00. I'm not alarmed by this nor is my doctor. In some ways I've been abnormal to date, and a certain amount of viral load spiking is actually par for the course. However the newest treatment guidelines recommend beginning treatment if the patient's viral load remains above 100,00. Maybe. Provided there's also a demonstrable drop in T-cell count as well. In theory, if my viral load count remains high, eventually I will see a drop in my T-cells, as the virus eats away another chunk of my immune system. Significantly, I had a cold or cold symptoms more often than not all winter. It's only lately I've been "feeling fine" for an extended period. So it's possible that's why my numbers have been wonky. The other possibility is my illness is making me ill.

So all we've decided thus far, is a re-test that can wait until late June. No chance I'll be keeling over from anything before that. I'm thinking that if I get similar viral load and T-cell counts as this time, since I feel just fine I would opt for waiting to begin treatment. I think it's time though, that I made peace with the idea that treatment is in the offing.

As an hilarious (to me) aside, my doctor has urged me to get my first anal pap smear. I couldn't be more excited. I haven't had it done yet. Apparently, there's an anal pap specialist I need to see. I wonder if he enters the building through the back door? Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck. I slay me.

Hey, maybe now is a good time to sponsor me in this year's 20th Anniversary AIDS walk. It's possible I will be availing myself of more comprehensive services sooner rather than later.

By Amy Norton

NEW YORK (Reuters Health) - Many young gay and bisexual men who are HIV-positive may not know they have the virus, according to U.S. health officials.

Their study of more than 5,600 men between the ages of 15 and 29 found that more than three-quarters of those who tested positive for HIV were unaware they were infected. Moreover, before being tested, a majority of these men thought themselves at low risk of having the AIDS virus, and half had had unprotected sex with another man during the previous 6 months.

The findings suggest that the HIV epidemic among young gay and bisexual men "continues unabated," in part because many are unaware of their infection, according to the study authors, led by Duncan A. MacKellar of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) in Atlanta.

He and his colleagues report the findings in the Journal of Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndromes.

The high rate of unrecognized HIV infection seems to stem in part from a low rate of regular testing for the virus, MacKellar told Reuters Health.

Though many men in the study had undergone HIV testing in the past, few got themselves tested regularly. And only a minority of those who were unaware they were HIV-positive had been tested in the past year. It's recommended that people at high risk of HIV be tested for the virus and other sexually transmitted diseases at least once a year.

The reason for the lack of regular testing is unclear, but the fact that many men in the study believed they were at low risk for HIV may be one factor, according to MacKellar. However, he added, the findings also suggest that limited access to healthcare and fear of testing positive may be important reasons as well.

The study included gay and bisexual men who were recruited from various venues, including bars, parks, cafes and stores, in 6 U.S. cities. The men were surveyed about their sexual behavior, their perceptions of their own HIV risk and how many times they had been tested for the virus. They also gave blood samples for testing.

Overall, 10 percent were found to be HIV-positive, 77 percent of whom had been unaware they were infected.

Because of the study's recruiting method, the numbers are probably not reflective of gay and bisexual men across the U.S., according to the researchers. Previous household-based studies have, in fact, found lower rates of unrecognized HIV infection.

Still, MacKellar said the fact that so many men in this study were unaware of their infection "underscores the urgency" of increasing HIV testing among young men who have sex with men.

Expanding HIV testing at venues such as clubs and bars may help reach more men with unrecognized infection, the researchers suggest. Health departments and community groups are working to expand such outreach programs and trying to ensure that people actually get their test results by using newer, rapid HIV tests that provide results in 20 minutes.

It is also important for individual doctors to routinely recommend HIV testing to patients who might be at increased risk, according to MacKellar. "CDC is working with providers to make HIV testing a more routine part of healthcare," he said.

SOURCE: Journal of Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndromes, April 15, 2005.

In keeping with the theme of learning to ask for help, I am appealing directly to you, my tens of readers. I have never and I will never ask for money for myself. I won't be adding a Paypal link or be whining ad nauseum about bandwidth costs or any other crap like other bloggers who shall remain nameless. I won't be directing you to my Amazon Wish List or hinting that my birthday is today or coming up. I'm not going to do a series of porn films and travel all across the country and then bitch 'cause my hotel is boring and I have no money. Although, lord knows gay porn in and of itself pays worse than my job, if that's possible. It's the personal appearances and the "very personal" appearances where the real money in paid sex is. Not that I'm offering advice or anything.

What I will do is ask you to donate to charity. Or rather my charitable endeavor. Of course, I'm talking about the upcoming AIDS Walk. If you scroll down a few posts you will see my original memo to my coworkers regarding forming a team to do the walk this year. I got a pretty good response. About 8 to 10 people expressed an interest in participating. It helped that I used non-committal language in the original memo. I was asking for interest not a final say. So I took a few minutes last week to fill out the on-line registration forms and within 24 hours, Shazam! we were a team. I posted all the information at work giving them all detailed instructions of how they could find out team info and register there. I also promised them some mail-in registration forms would be provided shortly. Those arrived over the weekend. To date, four people have registered. It's a start.

The next evening I took a few minutes to create my on-line donation page. Whoever suggested this idea originally, in whatever meeting, this was a brilliant concept and perfect for someone like me. One of the reasons I don't do more charity work is my inherent shyness. While it's always been flat-out out of the question for me to ask for help for myself, it's also always been enormously difficult to ask other people for anything. Even when it wasn't for me. It felt ... I felt, intrusive. It wasn't that I thought whatever charity I was working for was bad, far from it. I never agree to raise money unless I believe the group I'm representing does some good. It was always just incredibly difficult for me to be able to begin the conversation when the sole purpose was to get you to give me something. Like your money. As an example, I composed an e-mail using the AIDS walk template and my own personal message and set it to be delivered to five close friends and family. I deleted it and rewrote it three times before I finally covered my eyes and hit send. I was afraid they would be aggravated at me for askng again after they gave last year. Apparently, it's slightly easier to put the arm on you when I have a firewall and motherboard between us. Yes, I have motherboard issues.

So here goes:

Dear readers,

I am again participating in this years AIDS Walk in Central Park. This is the 20th anniversary of the original AIDS walk and it's one of the largest public fundraising efforts in the country. Your donation will directly benefit men, women and children living and fighting with HIV and AIDS. I know I can be crabby, bawdy, ill-tempered and alternately a hot-head or a curmudgeon. I'm sure I piss people off as much as I make them giggle. Sometimes I'm terribly fearful that I'm just bone-crushingly boring. But this is a worthy cause that is obviously near and dear to my heart. I need your help. I need your money. If you could follow the link at the end of this post and make a donation, any amount you can spare, I would be most grateful.. I've set a modest fundraising goal of only $500. I hope I can raise that much by the day of the walk. 5 or 10 dollars (or more) from a bunch of you will add up. In addition, because I formed a team this year, my group and I will hopefully raise more this year than ever. Again, my only benefit from all this will be indirectly. And hopefully not anytime soon. But you'll be helping a lot of other deserving New Yorkers if you can make a donation. That's it for now. I'll be bugging you about this again before the day of the walk. Unless you (pleasantly) surprise me and meet my goal all quick-like.

Sorry to bother you. Please don't hate me.

And give a little. You can follow this link until I figure out how to add one up top.

I am one draggy saggy old fag. Work on Thursday, I was out around 2:15. Put in an appearance at a staff member's birthday party afterward. I can be socially quite inept and this night was no exception. I was wildly uncomfortable. But the birthday man is one of my favorite employees. He's really, really smart and thinks I'm funny. That's all it takes, actually. Unless you've got a hot basket. That goes a long way with me too. Anyway, home after 4 am. Woke around 1:30 with a serious hangover and a mysterious brushburn on my knee. What the hell did I give that man for his birthday? Friday off. I spent the day repairing and servicing all my gadgets. Everything was finally working. Not perfectly, but at least working. Until tonight when my Palm conked out again. The battery won't hold a charge. I may go backwards to my previous Palm that worked perfectly with batteries, or ahead to another model and hope for the best.

I hit the bed between 3:30 and 4:30. Back up at 8 am. Work at 10 (fine! 10:25) and back home by 2:30 am. My feet hurt. My back hurts. I have a headache. I'm treating that with vodka/soda therapy. Work again tomorrow. Heavy Metal bands. But it's the end of my work week. Only four shifts next week. I'll lose some money but fuck it, The Duchess needs her rest.

We did a party last week and Absolut was one of the sponsors. The party planners hired an ice sculpture company to create this work. I thought it was pretty cool:

My beloved laptop wouldn't hook up to The Internets today. Also, I have been vexed by a tweaky power cord on the damn thing. I had forgotten all about that. Of course, I already ordered a replacement from the fine folks at Ebay. Have I mentioned how much I love EBay? Today, I mean. In any case, after much digging around with my network connections and trial and error regarding my ISP settings, I finally made a semi-educated guess and surmised the problem wasn't with my laptop at all but with my router. This despite the fact that my PC was working just fine. Shortly after that, both the assholes that live here pissed me off (more later) and I bolted. Clearly, I needed to shop. One pair of Michael Kors slacks (with red and white pinstripes) and a three-pack of CK dress socks (in three colors) later, I was ready to head back to the apartment. It was sweet revenge to overhear The Ex in a phone conversation with a friend. Apparently, the connection problems popped up on his PC as well. Rather than ask for my help, as I've probably repaired three separate computer problems for him already, I still can't believe he seeks advice from friends, from Dell, from anyone but the person who always solves the problem. I guess it's typical of where our non-relationship has deteriorated. We barely speak. Or rather, I rarely speak to him. So I took a shameful amount of glee as he reported that between his inexperienced fiddling and some botched advice from friends, his system was completely fragged. Ah well, I'll probably fix it tomorrow.

A brand new refrigerator was delivered today. The old refrigerator first broke around 1990. It was repaired, but never worked well again. The refrigerator didn't really refrigerate well, and the freezer never froze well. Particularly during the humid New York summer. Most summers lately we (or usually I) would buy a couple of bags of ice from the grocery per week. With three of us living here, it became quite difficult dealing with spoiled food and watery ice cube trays. I contacted the landlord by mail and was delighted to learn he would replace it free of charge. I just needed to arrange for the delivery and make sure someone could be home. Typically, this prompted a flurry of research and phone calls by The Hellcat. He wanted a much bigger model. In silver. With an ice-maker. Apparently, the possible limitations on the offer of a free replacement appliance were not being factored in to his plans at all. Of course, that was the extent of his "help".

So as several months had gone by and with summer coming, I resolved to get it done. After contacting the landlord again and contacting the appliance salesman and arranging for the delivery and then of course, being the sap that actually waits for the delivery men to arrive, and then dealing with the doorknob that had to be removed (by me) to get the damn thing in here, you'd think one of them would have at least said "thank you". You would think. But since The Ex didn't even bother to call me but rather The Hellcat, and the only thing they both could talk about was how now they could have ice cream, I guess a thank you would be way too much to hope for. I should have known. I spent an hour dealing with the delivery. I tipped the delivery men with my money. Then I spent over an hour putting all the food back in the refrigerator, sorting out all the spoiled food and creating a system according to what gets used most. Not even five minutes later The Hellcat arrived with fresh groceries as he promptly set about jamming all the new things in wherever he damned well pleased. Apparently, welfare recipients don't say thank you either.

I am officially, totally unhappy with my living situation and I'm not sure what to do. The apartment is mine, but it doesn't feel like mine. Maybe I should just leave.

In other news ... You need to check out this article from The Body and GMHC written by Bob Huff regarding the hoopla and the hype surrounding the supposed "Super Virus" that sent New York City gay men and bloggers everywhere screaming for the exits like clucking grannies. It's well done and nicely researched. I felt both vindicated and angry by the end. I hope whatever anonymous queen that was that engaged me in an all day e-mail exchange telling me how I'm raining destruction down on the gay "community" reads it so I can say "nyeah, nyeah, nyeah".

Connecticut approves civil unions for gays.

The Wendy's chili finger lady has been arrested.

Look at the cool pictures.

I ran across this in the Union Square subway station:



Did it fall out of someone's garment bag? How could you not hear it hit the ground? Who's in that much of a hurry to not retrieve a shoe? I wasn't the only one intrigued. There was someone behind the left pillar taking a picture of the same thing. He laughed when he spotted me. It's not the first time I've run across the abandoned shoe scenario. It always fascinates me.

Looky at what I ate for breakfast on Sunday. Do you want details? It's kind of sordid.

I've been without my beloved laptop for many many months. Huge lie. The damn thing drove me nuts as much as I enjoyed having it. But I did miss being mobile. I could have probably afforded something refurbished or second hand. But I had a lot of accessories that went along with my piece of crap laptop. So when I stumbled across my laptop on EBay for sale as spare parts I jumped at the chance to spend under $150 and make the neccessary repairs. The laptop arrived as advertised. It was missing a hard drive. I popped mine in. My screen needed to be replaced. The new screen worked fine. The battery was missing a face plate. I already have two batteries. Now I have three. The memory in the new machine sucked ass. When I booted yesterday it took over 15 minutes. So I swapped in my memory and problem solved. I am pleased to be the proud owner of a very glitchy laptop, that has a Wi-Fi card so I can lay on the couch and answer e-mail. Or in this case, compose a rudimentary blog post.

We are not amused by this. I spilled a night(day) cap in my bed when I fell asleep sitting up. Oh well, the beauty of vodka is it dries cleanly. I followed a link provided by the lovely and talented Amnesia Sparkles (quite the accomplished artist, if I do say so myself) and found a great T-shirt I ordered. The irony appeals to me.






Elsewhere ... Jake Bronstein tears up the town as Mr. Sparklepants. Hilarious.

"I want to." (I really, really did.) "But it's been a really long time ..." I trailed off, without saying no.

"You can fuck me if you want."

"I like to fuck, too."

"You know what? Let's give it a shot."

"Get over here on all fours. Put your ass up in the air."

Again, I did as I was told. I was hoping when the time came I would just relax enough to take it. I needn't have worried. I was in experienced hands.

I felt his hot tongue back at my hole. Have I mentioned how much having my ass eaten turns me on? More than just about anything. Just about. Being down on all fours and totally exposed was turning my crank as well. Soon the tongue was replaced by a spit lubed finger. Then just some spit. After he had me purring he upped the ante and reached into what turned out to be a well- stocked "toy chest". I saw it was pink, (I am such the lady) and not really big, so whatever it was, I was sure it would be fine. He slipped a small lubed vibrator inside me. It was on. By this point, had you looked into my eyes they would have been white, having long since rolled back in my head.

"Fuck! That feels so fucking good!"

"You like that?"

"Fuck yeah!"

Not real creative with the verbal but we were getting the job done. He started fucking me with the vibrator, making sure my hole was ready for his really big cock. I was just moaning and cursing. Sensing I was loose enough, he grabbed the lube and started to tear open a condom.

"You don't need that if you don't want it."

He put the condom down without a word. That was that. Shorthand between two HIV+ men. And with that, he positioned his cock at my hole and pushed.

"Breathe."

That much I remembered. He went in slowly but deliberately. I felt totally stretched but it didn't hurt. Or I forgot already. In any case he kept going until he was all the way in. I made sure by reaching behind me. He was pressed up against me for sure, I double checked by reaching back between my own legs. The only thing I felt outside my hole was his balls. He was in me. And it felt. So. Fucking. Good. He held himself there for a minute, before slowly starting to piston in and out. The sounds coming out of me were probably hilarious. All I know is I started swearing and grabbing handfuls of blankets and sheets as he began to ride me.

"You got a tight ass."

"Fuck, you feel good."

He pulled me back onto the edge of the bed, my feet on the floor, bent over the mattress. He enetered me again, again watching it all in a mirror. He was some sort of a cross between an exhibitionist and a voyuer. As long as he kept fucking me, I didn't care. He fucked me forcefully, without it feeling violent. I hate when the guy tries to literally pound me. It feels angry and that's not sex to me. The whole time he kept telling me how good it felt and how hot I was. I doubt he knew how much I needed to hear it. He reached between my legs and held my hard cock while he planted his cock in my gut. After a sound fucking, he pulled out.

"You want to fuck me for a while?"

"Hell yeah I do."

I lubed up my cock, and after a comical bit of business where I literally couldn't find his asshole, I returned the fuck. He felt damn good. He had one foot up on the bed, and now I was watching my cock slide in him in a mirror.

"That looks hot" He said.

"And it feels fuckin' great." I say 'fuck' a lot when I have sex.

I fucked him down to the bed. And then for a while on his side. We traded again and he fucked me for a bit. Then I laid back and put my hard on in the air. He sat down on it. Eventually he was laying on his back and somehow I was partially on my back, and my cock was still inside. I could just rock back and forth, slowly seeing my cock fill and stretch his gripping hole. I could have done that for an hour or two but it was getting late. I pulled out and just kissed him a few times.

"Was there anything else you wanted to do?"

"This is good."

"I have a double dildo if you want to try fucking each other."

Ding! Ding! Ding! I literally felt my eyes light up.

"Are you fucking kidding me? I've always wanted to try one."

"Well let me find it, then."

After much digging around in the toy chest, and a quick search of the dishwasher (gay men, go figure) he finally manged to come up with the goods. It's a delicate balance, the latex and the lube, with nothing really solid to grab on to. You have to be careful (I found out) not to jam it all the way into your partner when you're inserting it in yourself. He solved this by starting the dildo on himself, before pushing the other end inside me. It felt fucking great. The comical term "bumpin pussies" came to mind, but I quickly banished it with the wicked sensations being caused in my ass. We rode each other for a while. Check that fantasy wish off the list. Mindful of the clock, I flipped over on my stomach, raising my butt up in the air. I didn't have to say it even once. He enetered me easily now and in one swift push. I had him move me further up the bed so I could see him fuck me from behind in another mirror. Then I forgot all about the mirror as he relly screwed my hole. I was gasping and grabbing the mattress.

"I take it that feels good."

"Oh god, oh fuck. Fuck me. Fuck me."

"I guess so."

"That's it, man. Oh, I'm gonna cum."

"Do it. Shoot for me."

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck."

I shot a load all over his bedspread. Reminding me of me, I didn't get the impression he cared. He did however, slap me on the ass and say ....

"Good boy."

Flash forward to later that night. I have managed to shake off the unpleasantness of the unfortunate encounter in the afternoon. I'm cruising by some profiles on Manhunt and notice a huge (9) amount of my "buddies" on-line. I click the link and spot all the usual suspects. I'm absentmindedly browsing through them when I notice something. The text of the ad for one of my "buddies" (in truth, I just tossed my on-line panties at him one day and he responded) had changed. It was only recently, while trying to decipher the spiritual messages that had partially intrigued me about his profile, that I noticed he was saying he was in love and off the market. Now less than a month later and if I read my spiritual cliche's right. He's single and a little broken hearted. Sensing a chance to chat up some rebound sex, and admittedly, simply responding to blood in the water, I send him a message inquiring if he's single and on the loose again. I guess at this point, I should re-create the e-mail exchange that ensued.

LM (Him): It's true. At least someone's paying attention.

GB (Me): Oh, I assure you, I'm always paying attention to you sexy.

LM: That's a good thing, right?

GB: It's a very good thing.

LM: What is it that you have in mind for the single guy?

LM: Nice pix btw.

GB: Thanks (about the pix). I need more done.
Hmmmm what do I have in mind? Well, I'd definitely like to meet you. I'd definitely like to suck your cock. I'd definitely like you to eat my ass. After that I black out.

LM: Don't black out. You'd miss the best parts. Sounds like a plan that I would be glad to partake of. Not to mention taking more pics of you. Looks like the kind of ass I'd love to dine on.

GB: That would be really cool! ... The pics I mean ... the ass eating would be fuckin' hot. So let me know when.

LM: Would you be available around 1 this am or do you go to bed early?

What follows is your pretty standard time and info exchange. Suffice it to say it was a done deal for 2 am. I know, late by your standards but I run a nightclub remember? I do my best work at 2 am. Tonight would be no exception.

I arrived at an East Village walk-up that felt suspiciously like being home. Fifth floor, no elevator. I imagined most people arrived gasping for air. I defiantly was barely winded. I was greeted at the door. Shirtless. He was exactly what I expected. His profile and stats were honest as I thought. 45, 5'10 170 totally tan Puerto Rican skin, mostly smooth with salt and pepper hair and goatee. He was obviously in great shape as opposed to when he was ten years younger and in really, really good shape. A muscle daddy type? I guess, if you're looking for that. I was looking for a sexy hot fuck. The package it came in didn't matter so much. Although, this was a pretty package. More of a man who is comfortable in his honey-brown skin. We chatted a bit, as I started moving in closer and feeling his chest, running my fingers down his sides. He took the signal and wrapped me in his arms. He started unbuttoning my pants as his other hand ran around to my ass.

"Oooh, nice ass."

He pushed my jeans down around my butt and voiced his approval. It was only then I realized he had positioned me so my back was reflected in a mirror. He was looking over my shoulder at my exposed, white ass-cheeks. We kissed. I worked his jeans and jock/thong thingy he was wearing off him. He was partially hard. We grabbed each other's cocks and gently stroked. I hardened immediately.

"I like a bottom that's hung."

"I like being a hung bottom."

He urges me back on the bed and crawls between my legs. He started sucking my cock. For like a hot minute. Then he folded my legs back and me in half and jammed his tongue in my hole. My brain exploded.

"Oh, FUCK!"

"Is that what you wanted? "

"Fuck, yeah!" I hissed.

He ate my ass for awhile, the whole time with me moaning and cursing, my head thrown back. Eventually, he worked his way back to my cock until climbing up and laying down on the bed.

"That's one thing on your list, care to try for two?"

I half-grinned, half-growled and threw myself across his chest. I kissed him as passionately as I could, jamming my tongue into his mouth and groaning. I think I pleasantly surprised him in my aggression. I wanted to taste myself on him. I explored his mouth, looking for a hint of my scent on his lips. I was on fire. I climbed between his legs and took his rock hard cock in my hand. It was thick. I was a little intimidated. But I dove for it anyway, and at the last second pulled up. Then I barely grazed his balls with my lips and tongue. Another surprise for him and I was rewarded with a soft moan. I continued, lightly caressing him with my lips and tongue, running his cock along my cheeks. The whole time he was watching me grind my cock into the mattress in a mirror. Watching my ass. When I realized he was watching I put on an extra show. I felt some pre-cum leak onto the bedspread.

"That's it. Put my whole cock in your mouth. Now hold it there. Don't move."

I did as I was told and tried to get some air through my nose. I could only stay down for a few seconds. But I kept at it. I finally got tired and climbed back up his chest.

"You ready to get that hot ass fucked?"

Coming up in Pt 3: The epic conclusion

Well it's been no secret that I've been lookin' to get my kitten punched something fierce these last few months.. I swear, it's been over a year if not more that I've had somebody slide his WMD into my underground bunker. I had an abortive miss last week at my local "boothstore" 'round the corner. While I happily proceeded servicing his respectable sized cock though the partition, he saw fit to get me to turn around and press my butt up against it. I was clearly hoping I was in for a little hole eating. Instead, he skipped right to the third act in the film and went straight to fucking my hole. Or should I say trying. Now, I admit that the few times I've ever been seeing somebody on a regular basis that, as the relationship goes on and I'm getting fucked pretty regularly, you can, in fact, lube your cock with some spit and slide it in. And while it's totally un-safe and I would never in this day and age of the big "super-evil-mega-virus 2.0" engage in this kind of behavior, it's actually a lovely way to be awakened.

"Good morrrrnnnnnnnnn oh - fuck!" and we're off. But not in a public sex shop. Not after I haven't had my manhole blown open in over a year. Not without fucking lube, for christ sake!. This only prompted me to remember to put a travel pack of lube and some condoms in my bag. My sex life has been so bleak that I've been neglecting to walk around prepared. Still this near-miss made the kitten wail more insistently. She would not be denied.

I found myself with a day off again last Wednesday. In addition to working on the details of the blog site face-lift, and paying household bills on-line, a part of my processor power went towards cruising for hot top cock. As I've stated before, I'm sexually pretty versatile. I like sucking, getting sucked, eating ass, toys, 69. I even get into the occasional hot j/o scene. But sometimes, a versatile faggot just needs his ass royally screwed. This day was one of those times. I had screens up on Gay.com, Manhunt.net as well as CraigslistNewYork. Around 4:30, I got a bite from Gay.com from someone looking for now. Sounds good. 36, 6' Latin ....keep talkin', 8 cut, nice bod, not huge and not real hairy. Top. Uh-huh. Available now... Hold yer calls please, folks. We have a winner! After a quick debate of the pros and cons I grow a set of nuts and invite him over. 30 minutes later he buzzes the door. I check the peep hole and he looks OK. I open the door and invite him in, searching his face for disappointment or negative surprise. Inconclusive. I bring him through the apartment back to my bedroom. He inquires as to the bathroom which I show him. Upon his return we both begin to strip as he kneads my cock through my jeans. I return the favor. As I get close enough to unbutton his shirt I get a huge, huge whiff of cigarettes. Like he'd smoked a pack in the car across town. Maybe he did. At any rate when we're both naked he starts to massage and tug at my cock. Finally getting down on his knees to swallow my cock down. Nice.

"You have a nice cock." He tells me.
"Thanks, you too." I say.
"It will get harder the more I suck you."

Kind of an odd comment from a top but, what the hell. My cock and my howly kitty are making all the decisions. After a few minutes of getting my cock good and hard, The Cigarette Smoking Man starts signaling me to turn over. Great, I thought. Butt munching in ten seconds, right? I'll be lunch. Alas, yet another "top" that thinks he's going to slap a little spit on his cock and I'll be able to take it on a shove. Surprised, I flipped over and started to explain I wasn't ready yet. He cut me off ...

"I'm sorry, I'm not really feeling this."

WTF??????

"You're really cute...."

I'm not cute! No one over 40 can be called cute (or anything "boy" or "boi"). At best, I'm at an age where handsome works just fine. Mortified, disappointed and feeling fragile, I couldn't wait for him to get dressed and get out.

You would think this would turn me off for the day, at least, slipping into "fags suck" mode, or "I'm a gross middle aged man" syndrome. You would be wrong. That used to be the case. They do say with age comes wisdom. I don't know how true that is, but I do know that I've had enough encounters, both planned and anonymous, hot and not so hot, in my long and storied career, to know they can't all be good. It's a crapshoot. Factor in horny men that make promises they don't end up keeping. Guys see your real picture but project some other layer of expectation onto it that you can't possibly fulfill. I've had guys that I've rejected because they show up so completely tweaked out that they're too high for even me to deal with. It happens. Don't get me wrong, I did feel rejected at first blush. But these days, I concentrate on not getting my validation of myself from without, but rather from within. And as a bit of time passed that day, I decided to be grateful I didn't have to endure a lame fuck from a stinky man. I also reminded myself that in the end (HA!) it was his loss. Because I may not know everything, but I know I'm still one damn fine fuck.

Coming up in Pt 2: I'm one damn fine fuck.

TO: All Staff
From: Tom Tricoli
Re: AIDS Walk New York

As I have for the past several years, I will be attending and raising money for this year's AIDS Walk New York. It occurred to me that there might be some interest in putting together a team under ## ####'s for people that wanted to fundraise and walk together. I have mentioned it to several people and a few expressed an interest in participating. If there is enough interest I will take the time to register us as a team and people can begin registering themselves on-line or by mail as early as next week.

The Walk takes place this year on Sunday, May 15. Before you decide you want to participate you should understand a few things. You need to be awake, dressed and in the park by 8:30 am. (Yes, it's OK to arrive there from a bar, just try not to breathe on anyone.) The Walk can feel more like a death march as it takes longer than you would think. Plan on not being finished before noon. Also, if you normally work on Sunday morning, while you would be doing a nice thing, you would also be giving up some pay. It's understandable if that's a problem.

I'm thinking we need a minimum of around 6 people or so to be a respectable team. If that doesn't happen and only a couple of you end up committing to it, I would be thrilled to meet up with you that morning and we can walk together.

I'm including a sign up sheet below to gauge how many people are interested in participating. Signing the sheet is in no way a final commitment.

Ed Note: I'll keep you posted as to how many responses I get.

Your attention please. In an effort to be a good blog citizen, I need to inform you that the embedded links and possibly the entire subject matter contained in the following post are most definitely NSFW.

I like porn. I like all kinds of porn depending on my mood. The other afternoon I spent over an hour watching a video on-line. The focus of the movie was electro stimulation of the genitals and anus. Even though I have never in my life even come close to having an experience of a similar nature, I was hard the whole time. Sometimes I'm in the mood for more "twink" porn or more "pig" porn. I like reading porn, too. Star baseball player plugs equipment manager. Two 19 yr. old guys gone camping. They get caught in the rain. I love it, I'm right there in my mind.

If I had to pick the most surfire way to get me hard and get me off using porn, it would have to be cumshot pix. And not just any cumshot pic. You show me a closely cropped shot zoomed in on a cock blasting a nice load and I'm like "feh", next. The ones that really get my engine crankin' show the whole guy, mid-orgasm. I love it when their cheeks are flushed right before they start to cum 0327q.jpg. I love shots where the guy throws his head back cumshot007.jpg or his mouth is hanging open CFY1118.jpg. I love to see the cum flying through the air about to hit a shoulder or chin 2e.jpg. I love the shots where the guys balls are all tightened up in mid spew cumshot04.jpg. There is something primal and masculine about a toe curling cum-spraying orgasm. Seeing people get off gets me off everytime. cu88.jpg

Flash back to any number of days the last six months. I pass this guy around the corner as I'm heading for the laundry, or out to pick up lunch. He's 30-something, in pretty good shape, if not a tad stockier than I like. He's shorter than me, which is a plus, about 5'7 or less. He's always tan and well-groomed. Sometimes he's walking his dog. It's a masculine dog. Perfect for him. He always gives me a once-over. Sometimes a twice-over. I know he's interested, or at least thinking about it. It may not be lust but I'll take it. Lately, as I have been walking by and getting scoped-out I couldn't help but think.

"When are we gonna have sex, butch little dog man?"

Flash forward to yesterday afternoon. I'm showering up at the gym after an afternoon cardio session. I innocently pass by a butch hairy man heading away from the shower room. While behind the curtain I notice butch hairy man has doubled back and headed into the steam room. It was then I notice he's got a hot ass. Never one to pass up an opportunity I head in to investigate. It's surprisingly busy for two in the afternoon. There was an obvious sexual vibe in the room. There was also obviously someone there who was either really bad at signaling his intentions or really there (Horrors!) to grab a steam. Either way, there was much shuffling and re-shuffling between the steam room and the sauna as various men picked various partners or none at all, rejected, as gay men do, as being too old, too fat or my own personal deal breaker, too uncontrollably hairy and pink. Blech. In the end, it ended up with me sucking off a nice and hot-ly verbal butch hairy man. Spurred on by his hot talk I added in some moans and a bit of slurping. It seemed very entertaining for the guy I recognized as a local hooker and amateur porn star. He was quite busy with two fingers up another guy's hole and jerking off his own dick. Butch hairy man decided to encourage me even further when I started sucking his nuts. He threw his legs apart which sent me heading right down to his hole. That seemed to push him over the edge as he quickly pushed my face away and shot a nice load that ran down his wrist. The hooker came as well, kind of inappropriately loudly. I loved it. But there are steam room sex protocols after all.

"That was hot." Butch hairy man remarked.

After everyone recovered and pushed four guy's man goo towards the drain, I left to shave and continue my day. My butch hairy man walked by as I was finishing up.

"Have a good day, man."

"I will, you too."

Not a half hour later I'm all suited up and heading to work. Around the corner from my apartment, who should come walking from the other direction but butch little dog man. It was then and only then that I realized that butch little dog man and butch hairy man are one in the same. He is as startled as I am for a second.

"Hey! I just met you." He said, in what I consider a huge understatement. My tongue up your hole hardly qualifies as "met".

"Yes, you most definitely did." I answered, before continuing on to work. Apparently, the answer to when I was going to finally have sex with butch little dog man, was yesterday.

Yes, that's how far behind I am. Anyhoo, I had decided that in addition to working my fucking ass off, I was neglecting to tend to my (non-existent) personal life. I don't really have one. It's not that hard to understand. If your profession calls for spending hours and hours in a loud, dark, crowded nightclub, the last thing you would choose to do most days off is go to a loud, dark crowded nightclub. Even if that is where all the gays hang. So my boyfriend-less status is not that surprising. That and my raging alcoholism. And it's not like I'm looking for a boyfriend. After all, I'm a spinster aunt raising a middle aged man and a meth addicted 30 year old.

So while not "hunting" for a boyfriend, but feeling that I was being a bad gay by not participating in "the scene", I resolved to go out. I settled on attending the festivities at The Slide. It was the one year (two year, whatev...) anniversary of Earl's Weiner Shack. A weekly party featuring DJ Aaron Elvis. They had advertised a big dick contest and *ahem* while I had no plans to participate, I thought it would be fun and funny, and while I'm not a size-queen, any potential boyfriend doesn't need to be huge, but a hot cock is a must.

At any rate, I mentioned that I was planning on attending the party to The Hellcat during a workout at the gym. (He managed to scam another two-week free membership trial at the Mercer St. NYSC.) By the end of the workout, his interest peaked, The Hellcat dropped that he wanted to hit the night as well. OK, a part of me knew that would happen. A part of me wanted company. A part of me wanted The Hellcat to see I wasn't spending my day off making blog entries and cruising on-line for cock that never happens and cleaning the apartment because no one else will. A part of me knew that the potential was there for the night to end badly. Not to worry. It didn't. It was just....

Well first of all, the night was co-hosted by Scotty The Blue Bunny. People outside of New York City are collectively saying WTF?. My answer: I don't know. Apparently, a grown man has figured out a way to dress up in a furry blue bunny suit and make money off it. All I know is he frightened me. He was well over six feet tall. I was afraid of The Bunny.




The Hellcat was another matter. How do I explain what it's like being out with The Hellcat? He's like a walking gland. Depending on how much he's had to drink he's about the most aggressive individual I've ever been around. And I don't mean that in a bad way. I wish I could be that "Fuck it, you're hot". Not a go-go boy or a coat check employee is safe. He's a bartender (when able to work) as was I, and part of the job is a weakness for other bar employees. So stuff like this happens.






Understandable. But somehow, with the help of the Scary Bunny, The Hellcat found himself signed up for the show. As the guy who would spank The Bunny. As it turned out, there was no big dick contest, it was a Mr. Weiner Shack contest. I don't know if the big dick business was wishful thinking on my part, or a last-minute change. In any case, judging from the pictures from previous parties, I was still hopeful for some gratuitous nudity. But I have to say, on the surface, the "show" sucked. Although the $10 all you can drink open bar was a mitigating factor. The scary Bunny introduced a few "acts" that included a 50 yr. old man (in great shape) who's talent consisted of taking off his shirt. (P.S., The Hellcat didn't have sex with him, although he would have. Or at least he made it seem he would have. Which was enough to keep this man sniffing around for an hour or so.)



And then this mess, that seemed to have no defined talent beyond being messy.



But before that, The Hellcat was called to the stage to administer said spanking. It was kind of horrific in a funny/scary way.





Given the dearth of talent on the stage, and the utter lack of gratuitous nudity, will it come as any surprise that The Hellcat ended up winning the title of Mr Weiner Shack for the month of April? No, it wouldn't.




This only seemed to fuel the fire of both The Hellcat and the men at the bar. He ran from one end to the other jumping into the bathroom to grope an uncut cock, lifting up the shirt of a guy who was intrigued and a little stand-offish, sucking face and putting his hands down the pants of one coat-check boy while flirting with the other, as back-up, I guess. And I have to admit, when you have a 30-something horny man basically blatantly offering to eat a 20-something go-go boy's asshole, they tend to respond. I spent my time getting quietly liquored up, even though The Hellcat was being so outrageous he was actually getting me horny. I spied a very cute blond man looking a little drunk and totally needy. I was tempted to cut him from the herd, but to be perfectly honest, all I really wanted to do was grab my coat and get to bed. Alone. Eventually I did just that.

In a rare display of decorum, I will not reveal which Weiner Shack employee The Hellcat had sex with. Oh, and I drunkenly chatted up Aaron (the DJ), he was very nice. Say hello if you get the chance.

Professional bigot and nut job Pat Buchanan gets his salad dressed. View the video.

Fingerprint technology goes horribly wrong.

The Wendy's chili finger mystery has reached the Dept. of Justice.

The pope croaked. Apparently people care. I don't.

It's never going to go above 50 degrees, the sun will never return to New York City, I will never have any free time and will just work, sleep and take the occasional shit. FUCK!

OK you have very little to do with it. My own vanity does. After a horrific rap show that went on and on for over six and a half hours (!) last night, I arrived home tonight just after 1:30 am. Tonight's show was some "old-fashioned" New Orleans Party rock n' roll. I was almost too traumatized by yesterday's bullshit to enjoy it. Almost. When a band works as hard as this one does to spark a "live for today and party like a rock star" vibe, I can't help but throw my hands in the air and howl.

In the meantime, I had a beauty regimen to attend to. I bought some OralB whitestrips. I get a fair amount of compliments on my smile. I'm totally aware that when I genuinely smile, it's a big wide "Julia Robert's like" toothy grin. But lately I've been feeling my teeth aren't as dazzling as they used to be. It's entirely possible I'm just not as dazzling as I used to be. In any case I decided to home bleach my teeth. So considering I had a half hour of downtime already scheduled I also decided to freshen up my hair color. I got a bit sloppy and spilled some Feria on one of the rolling ottomans in the living room. I'll have to see if I can get it out of the fabric or try to work it as an intentional "accent" to the room.

I know I promised you a funny story with pictures. I wasn't counting on the software provided with my new camera to be glitchy. I got caught in a software feedback loop, where I kept getting conflicting error messages. I went to the manufacturer's web site to try and find patches or information. After much trial and even more error I solved, or at least bypassed, the difficulty. So this afternoon I downloaded said pictures. And edited what I think I need for the promised post. While I was at it, I snapped off a series of dick pix. Also for a specific planned future post.

The upshot is I got home from work and proceeded to chemically douse my body. Bleach for the teeth, hair dye and conditioner for my head, testosterone that, by the way, makes me dirtier than I normally am, if that's possible. If I get up in time I will empty my head and my hard drive of the first of much frivolity I have planned for this week. Be patient. She's a busy girl.