Friday, April 30, 2004
I did manage to get back to Cruisetool, update my profile a bit, and OOOPS, made sure to UNCHECK that "into humiliation scenes" tab that perhaps caused the "unfortunateness" last week.
Thursday, April 29, 2004
generous, like, not pointing out that his run-on sentence irriates the crap out of me, or generous like not mentioning that I prefer my whores to at least be old enough to drink legally.....?
Or should i just play dumb and engage him in conversation, keeping him away from his trade, asking questions like
- Do you accept PAYPAL?,
- or I'm not 6'2" but if i pay extra, will you still sleep with me?
- or Last month when you messaged me, you just needed to pay rent, which of course I told you then I couldn't afford to pay the rent of a young man living in a swanky Greenwich Village apartment - have you considered getting a roommate, or moving to a smaller place, and then you wouldn't need to do this every month, bothering complete strangers on line with these soliciations, violating several state and federal laws, not to mention displaying your complete lack of the most rudimentary sense of decorum?
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
box o' porn
Just received this box o' porn this morning. I am quickly (as quickly as one can get thru porno) trying to skim thru and see that these are in good shape, etc. But I must say so far, so very very good! I got these for somewhat different reasons, but primarily because I was hoping they were older, full versions of these films. It's one of my porno pet peeves, videos that have parts of the original film or video missing. Midnite Men is notorious for selling older tapes with anywhere from 10-25 minutes missing from the original. I realize that for a few films, this is done for 'legal' purposes - the films contain a watersports or fisting scene, and distributing these types to some states can cause legal hassles -- so I understand that. But more often it's someone got a copy of a chopped of film or tape, or worse, just don't want to bother with tapes longer than 60 minutes, and reproduced it.
Like Something Wild. I bought this tape a couple years back, actually for a friend who had been searching for years for this, something he remembered fondly from his youth. Alas, it was missing big chunks. Since then, I have scoured eBay, and other sources, looking for this and other titles in their older packaging in the hopes that it would have the full version. Woo-Hoo! I just skimmed thru this one, and it clocks in at about 115 minutes. And I am waiting confirmation of this, but it looks like ------ gosh, those Bijou Video folks are great - I just got an email confirming they indeed have the full version. The wonderful (I say wonderful, not just cuz the answer was quick, and thorough, but if you search around their site, you'll see his pics, too!) customer service guy goes on to say that all their NOVA titles are full, unedited versions (I knew that about Brian's Boys - often sold elsewhere as Brian's Men with 20 minutes missing!). And I'll tell ya, I've emailed Bijou Video before and gotten quick, thorough answers each time.
And I'm rambling, but I guess that's what I do. Anyhoo - the other stuff. Gayracula - this one I discovered was being sold missing parts because I sold a copy on eBay to a young man, who, after viewing it, emailed me that it seems like there's stuff missing. A quick timing of my copy in my collection confirmed he was right - the newer, HIS Video version was missing pieces. The full version (I just timed the one I got in the mail today) should be 82 minutes. Grrrrr. I've found this problem in tons of other stuff from HIS video - Dreamer, 501, El Paso Wrecking Corp, the list goes on... Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, the five tapes I got in the mail today. Daddy Dearest - IMfuckingPOSSIBLE to find, I've only seen it on eBay twice in 3 years (I won't say where those two copies are now, that would be bragging...), and have yet to see it elsewhere. This I remember so distinctly seeing when it came out, sitting in the Jewel Theatre on 3rd Ave in NYC not long after I moved here. ahhhhhh.... OK OK. Trick Time - I had a copy of this Halted/Yale production, but sold it on eBay. I regretted that, but now I have the bigger boxed version, and the reproduction quality seems better, but don't know if there's any real difference between the two. I'm glad to have it now, it's one of the last ones that Halsted filmed, and it also includes brief interviews of Michael Christopher, Tim Kramer (snore), and Johnny Dawes. And it also has a movie trailer for a great early 80's Michael Zen film, Falconhead Two - The Maneaters. Look for that trailer here, soon. I would love a full version of that (yup, HIS has skimmed off 15-20 minutes here, too).
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
But the manner in which he ended it, in such a mean way. "I'm just acting." It's even possible he didn't mean to be hurtful; there are lots of people out there who think 'being honest' is paramount, and don't seem to get that there are all sorts of ways to communicate honest facts and feelings. 'I'm trying, but I can't get into it' followed by a hug, at least that acknowledges the other guy, the warmth of being held softening the blow of sexual rejection. But after 60 seconds of him using the word 'acting' 4 times, - and he probably only shut up because of the stunned and hurt look on my face - it just wiped away all of the fun, and good feeling from the previous 2 times together. 60 seconds may not seem like a long time, but when you're sweaty, bent over, a cock suddenly pulled out of your mouth, it's your 3rd date, and the cock-owner goes on and on and on, while walking backwards away from you, it seems like forever.
And that's the killer. Memory. He robbed me of the good memory of both that first afternoon of quick sex, and the extremely wonderful 20-hour date 2 days later - that started with Simpsons and pizza, and cuddling, and really good kissing and groping and hugging and grabbing and the old-fashioned leading into the bedroom part. And when we walked around the West Village the next day, hanging out in an outdoor cafe, talking, seeming to really talk, it was, well, quite wonderful. No, I wasn't at 'this is the guy' yet - far from it. I'm old and/or wise enough to know better; I even stopped myself from thinking about the little incompatibility stuff - it was too early to worry, but already good enough to just go with it. But if he had found another way to communicate he wasn't into it, a way of expressing something that could have allowed me to keep the memory of meeting a nice guy who I had a nice time with, that's all I really wanted. It's funny, we even talked of our distaste for the 'pnp' scene - party and play. How some of those drugs might heighten the immediate experience, but often you don't remember the experience, or it's hazy and vague afterwards. What's sex without relishing it later? Whether it's his scent on you a few hours later, or the fun of telling a pal about it, or just lying in bed falling asleep alone, but still feeling like you're with someone?
One of the great things about our quick afternoon sex was coming home later, and having the message on my machine from him. You wouldn't believe the calm, beautiful smile that was on my face the rest of the night, and the next day, all day, at work. Remembering his mouth, his hands - great expressive hands, firm and soft at the same time. His smile. It wasn't a great smile, in and of itself; but it became a great smile when it was because of something I did, or said. Seeing it widen, the lips parting, the space between his teeth, his eyes light up, his body move forward, simply because I had called him 'puppy', or licked him in a funny place, or any of the stupid silly things you can do to get that wonderful smile form another person. I wish I could remember those parts as clearly as the ending.
Monday, April 26, 2004
Saturday, April 24, 2004
Friday, April 23, 2004
bad trickI'm still bummed out, the next morning. I stood there last night, across the street from his apartment, unlocking my bike, pausing to look back at the window box with flowers I had helped him plant only Monday afternoon. I thought of going back, to talk. But I felt dismissed, not just rejected. Why invest more emotional energy? Just go home.
Monday night at work I was in a great mood. Unexpectantly I had spent nearly 24 hours with this guy, and the part that just kept putting a smile on my face was just feeling that he's a good guy. Even if he wasn't the guy for me, I was just happy to have spent time with someone so genuinely nice, who seemed relaxed, even letting little vulnerabilities show. Sure, he's handsome, great little cuddly fuzzy body, and the most dizzying crotch aroma I'm sniffed in ages. But it was the easy affection, the pauses walking down the street to kiss, or to grab my head warmly, and the instinctual reaching for my hand, with a warm, firm grip. When I got home that night, a message of how he had enjoyed the day and night with me, giving me his work number, telling me to call so we could arrange seeing each other again. Nice way to end the day, eh?
We talked Tuesday, he had a pretty busy schedule for the week, but when I mentioned I'd be in his neighborhood Thursday evening, we arranged for me to come to his apartment late, for a stay-over. He even said he could go to work late, but couldn't take the day off again, of course. It made the days go by quickly. Mind you, I don't think I was getting carried away, I was just happy to have something to look forward to, and I wanted to just relax and see where this goes. Yesterday afternoon, Thursday, we spoke on the phone, everything set for getting together, and I went on about my day. I got there a little early, locked up my bike, and stared up at the flower boxes on his window sill. Only a minute or two later he gets there, nice hello kiss as he gently takes my hand, and we go inside for a minute. We go for a walk for me to get ice cream, and he's talking about his day, and this and that, and I'll admit I was sorta fading in and out of attentiveness, but still it was nice. The small little streets of the West Village made me feel like I'm on some wonderful spring vacation. We continued the conversation home, on the couch, a bit less clothing on.
We were kind of mindlessly touching and playing with each other's bodies, but eventually I got more aggressive, and pushed my cock into his mouth. He gobbled it up fine, and we're off and running. I don't even want to bother with the details at this point, I'm only writing to get this out of my head so I can move on, but let's just say we were working up a sweat. Parts of my body were getting achy from uncomfortable positions, but other parts were happy, giddy, panting - so it was cool. He was agressively pulling at my beard, and I was trying to hold off cumming so as to do it with him.
We're both standing in his livingroom, he moves away, grabs a bottle of water, takes a few gulps, comes back to me, our arms embraced as we are standing side by side, cocks flopping. I bend off, take a few slurps, and he pulls away. "This isn't working for me," he suddenly says. For a split second I think, OK, long day at work, we probably prolonged this too long, he's tired and can't cum. No problem. But he goes on. "I'm just acting, this is just an act, I'm not enjoying any of this." Ouch.
He moves away. I'm stunned. I'm speechless and stunned. I'm standing there, naked, as this hairy body with a flopping cock moves to the other side of the room, and I can't think what to say. I instinctively reach down for my boxers, and begin to dress. I'm just acting echoes in my head, and I begin to feel rejected, undesireable, out of place. I have to walk closer to him to get my shorts, as he sits on his couch , pull them on over my boxers, and for a moment I consider sitting next to him. But his eyes don't meet mine, he's looking at the floor, and I've seen this "the sex is over, have you left yet?" scenario before. Bad trick - go home. I go to the hall to get my boots, and I just sit there pulling them on, tying my laces. I glance back in his direction, he's still staring down, and while there is a bit of anger in me, it's mostly sadness, and I need to leave. I stand to grab my jacket and Troll cap, he comes over as I reach for the door. Standing behind me, not touching, he softly says "Take care."
On the street, I am tempted to yell something nasty into his open window, but I can't think of anything. And I don't want to be mean, even though I am standing there ready to cry, wondering why he was just so mean to me. Acting? Who asked you to act? I unlock the bike, all the thoughts of getting to know each other, sleepless yet cuddlingly good night together, silly stupid pet names, all that swirl around, and get lost in this growing anger. I turn and see the window boxes of flowers, again I consider going back, asking why he thought he had to do anything he didn't want to, but I figure he's made up his mind, he wanted me gone. So I go.
It's a beautiful night as I cross town riding my bike. The threat of rain, the smell of flowering trees, I think of my options. Various bars, but I know myself well enough that alcohol will only make these feelings worse, I need to get home, and stay there, and never ever go out again. Hell, I had planned on having a crummy summer, and this guy almost ruined that. Now I can get back on schedule.
Of course it won't be that easy. I know me, I'll struggle with this for awhile. What did I do wrong? Why didn't I see it coming? Why had I let my guard down? I don't want to think he's a bad guy, he probably isn't. He probably doesn't realize how hurtful it is to tell someone you're just acting, after 30 minutes of sweaty sex. Later last night, I'm on line, and I check email. A message from him. I hadn't noticed any mail before, I look at the time it was sent - only minutes after I left his apartment. He logged onto the sex website where we found each other, and sent a simple message. He'd given me his cell number, his home number, and his work number, but I guess the email address was too invasive. I'd given him mine before we even met, but he's used the sex website to respond. Something to the effect that he's 'sorry it didn't work out tonight.' Of course I pick apart the language, and get angry again. It wasn't merely that it didn't work out last night, clearly he's decided there's nothing more here for him. He's just talking about the sex, that we weren't compatible sexually; but I was going somewhere else, apparently. I was going to the place where I like someone, and you both figure out how to do the physical stuff that will make both of you happy. I guess he was just looking for the physical stuff first. And maybe only that.
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
So after kissing the two boys goodbye (they asked if I was leaving, but I've done the leave with them, chat outside, then go home alone routine...), I cleaned up a bit in the nearest bathroom. Walked around a bit, enjoying the vibe of the place, then parked my self and watched some guys going at it. Soon I realized the big-dicked Hispanic man was someone I'd goofed around with before, so I got closer, and realized it was my KneelingBoy blowing him, so I got even closer, and GoateedHispanicMan grabbed my face and started kissing. KneelingBoy seemed to like this, slurped my dick for a few seconds, returned to GoateedHispanicMan, and so I bent over to help out. But after only about a minute or two, he pulled away, his cock flopping around, and walked away. I've seen him do this before, and I know he doesn't like to come too fast, so I didn't take it personally. KneelingBoy seemed a bit disappointed, but smiled and got up, walking away.
I stayed in the same vicinity, GoateedHispanicMan returned, spotted me, and started slurping on my cock. Only briefly, which was fine, as he kisses much better than he sucks, so I was happy to have his face in mine. Then I got down, even up under his balls, which seemed to really get him going as he was moaning and groaning, pushed my head in, then suddenly pulled it away. He smiled, slowly turned toward some other guys. Not sure if I was supposed to follow, I just stood, watched, then walked into the dark room in back. Back there, I spotted this beautiful man I'd seen before, and even slurped, but there were 2 or 3 guys already grabbing and poking at him. I just stood nearby, watching.
Minutes later, KneelingBoy comes up, plants himself in front of me, and looks up like a lost puppy. OK, Ok, I thought, have some. Garblegarbleslurpgarble, his own cock was getting very hard. I pushed his head in further, then pulled it out suddenly and gave him a wet, hard kiss. Then he started chanting - cumdownmythroatdaddy, fillupmythroatdaddy, daddypleasegiveittome - in between slurps and licks. I wasn't about to do it, but it sounded appealing; I even lost myself for a bit fantasizing shooting all over his face, then lapping it all up and kissing him. But that's just fantasy. Meanwhile, the chants continued - daddypleasegiveittome fillupmythroatdaddy daddypleasedaddy - while I noticed a handsome man watching us. Stroking his dick, it was full and bouncy, and I made it known he should come over. I realized he was the guy who was watching earlier downstairs (Bench-sitting guy). Once he got close, I pulled KneelingBoy off me, and onto him. He was appropriately grateful, I gave him a few slurps, then he started to back away. Back to the stool he was on, he turned, butt-in-the-air, as if he wanted to get fucked. Not my thing, and definitely not KneelingBoy's, and he didn't stay in that position long. But again, sitting and stroking, watching the two of us. KneelingBoy is pleading by now, but I'm neither ready to cum, nor willing to do it the way he wants - still, his pleading is quite hot. StoolGuy is getting real hard, real sweaty, so I manage to reach over and grab both his balls in one hand, while still holding KneelingBoy's head with my other hand. Only a few more strokes, and he spooges all over himself, and my hand. Smiling, I wipe most of it on his glistening torso, the rest on my own, and reach over and give him a playful kiss. KneelingBoy gets up. He comes up to me, whispers "I just can't cum right now", I kiss him, and he walks away. I leave the room a few seconds later, get some water on my face, and mouthwash in my mouth, and pace around some more.
Monday, April 19, 2004
TV set, and we had pizza and watched both Simpsons episodes. This morning he decided to take the day off from work. And my mouth is sore from kissing. Gotta run to work.
Sunday, April 18, 2004
You know, god forbid CNN treats this like a health issue and assigns someone with some medical or health-related background. No, it's part of the entertainment coverage, and we get an ugly porno star and a stoopid weekend anchor sandwiched between important updates on the winner of "The Apprentice", and a new version of "Spartacus."
Saturday, April 17, 2004
Friday, April 16, 2004
answering machineMy body smells like sex, as does my bed. In fact the whole bedroom has that sweet, sweaty aroma still. I got him in a cab, and the weather being so nice, I decided to peddle over to the park and enjoy the warm sun. Slowly peddling in circles, I started to think a bit about yet another reason the cell-phone "revolution" stinks. You can't leave one of those sweet messages on his answering machine, just a quick 'I had a nice time' that he won't get until he gets home; something you hope will put a smile on his face, like the one you have now. He was sweet, and cuddley, and nicely insistant that we ought to do it again. But he had plans tonight, so he showered up, and dressed, while I just put this morning's clothes over my sweat and cum-glazed body, and left the apartment with him, showing him the best place to get a cab uptown. I didn't spend long in the park, wanting to return to the bed, and his aroma. As I started to undress, I saw the answering machine's light flickering. PLAY. Cell phone distortion, traffic sounds, and a message that ends with "I wanna be able to fall asleep with you, real soon." BEEEP.
Thursday, April 15, 2004
random thoughts on Tax Day(quick note: I am neither a licensed attorney nor an accountant - in fact, I haven't even had enough coffee yet in order to find clean socks - but just got back from the post office and after staring at the backside of some man's faux faded jeans was inspired to write....
- Why are there long lines at the post office today? Just put a stamp on the envelope and drop it in the box. The stamp gets canceled with today's date, and you are on time. Why are people paying money for proof of delivery, certified mailing, etc.? It's a government scam to get more money from you for the Post Office, playing on your fears that somehow they won't get your tax filing.
- If you are expecting a refund, guess what? You don't have to file today. The only reason to worry about filing on time is to avoid a penalty - which doesn't apply to people owed money by the government. You actually have 2-3 years to file if you are expecting a refund before risking not getting the refund - but there is no penalty for late filing if you are owed money.
- If you've put off filing until today, and did it because you wanted to delay as long as possible paying taxes that are due, guess what? You don't have to PAY today, just file. Just make sure you don't calculate on the form what you owe, let the government do it for you, they bill you, and give you a due date.
- If you insist on standing in one of those lines today - please be considerate of your fellow liner-uppers. Dress sexy. Where tight, revealing clothing, plunging necklines, trousers that show off a bulging crotch and aching butthole. Make sure to have a paperback novel to read while passing the time - and make sure the cover says something about you - this is a social event, take advantage and entertain your fellow liner-uppers.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
friday, goodBeautiful sunny day, and I'm sitting at this desk, this machine, my eyes straining, my head aching. I'm getting crabby, and the sun is poking itself through the black blinds trying to get me outside. So I pick some clothes off the floor, stick keys and money in my pocket, and head off on the bike. Just around the neighborhood, and I go into the park, towards the dog run, which always cheers me up. Good Friday, so lots more people off, and out. And the weather is really nice, warm spring day. And as I lean against the fence, looking into the dog run at all the dogs, and people, I get sad.
Not recognizing the feeling right away, but this crumminess washes over me, and I realize that this summer will be like most of the others for the past decade - the longer days, warmer and more inspiring, will fool me into thinking the season will be filled with fun and excitement. But as the days and weeks pass, and the few friends I have spend most of their free time out of town, and with their (sometimes newly acquired) boyfriends, the loneliness of winter returns. But none of those comforting excuses for why winter can be so isolating are there - the short dark days, the snow, cold temperatures, etc. I'm leaning against the fence, and it's like that feeling in a bar when it seems like everyone is involved in a conversation with friends, and you are the only solitary person, standing against the jukebox, nursing your beer.
I head back home, and don't really remember how I filled up the next few hours (I'm sure there were some Simpsons episodes, a highlight of my Friday evenings not working). Sometime after midnight, again sitting here at this desk, this machine, I contemplate going to the sex club. I hadn't been in over 3 months, and while I hadn't pledged any particular time period for staying away, I had decided that I was overdoing it, and needed a break. But Friday night, the break I needed was at least the consolation of pacing around a dark environment watching other men have sex, and if I grabbed some balls, or someone grabbed mine, all the better than to get another aching computer monitor induced headache. I take off the old clothes, head to the shower, scrubbing all the parts I hope get some tongue action, put on some fresh clothes including the lucky jockstrap and favorite cockring, boots, and head out the door. The bike has already unlocked itself in anticipation, and riding a few blocks, turning onto Houston Street, I feel my heart racing - wondering if, or what, might happen - kinda like the old old days when I'd head to the Bijou Theatre after work.
Inside, the door guy teases me about my "Troll" cap; the next guy inside takes my 22 dollars, and the third guy takes my clothes. No glasses, just boots and jockstrap, I part the leather curtain and head directly for the mouthwash (hey, someone might want to kiss me, eh?) After that, I walk purposefully towards the back, the darkest corner, to get my eyes the chance to adjust faster. As I pass by various bodies that I can't quite focus on, I see one out of the corner of my eye that looks familiar, but I keep going. Before he gets up and comes to me, I remember who it is. I can't even remember his nickname (the one I use here, not that I call him that) - something like HairyHispanic, and he pulls me and says 'hi.' Within seconds his better half has arrived, and we are chatting. A few remarks about how dead it is, how no one is here, the usual bar room chatter that usually gets me annoyed, but I don't do the begging-for-attention response, some variation of "and what am I, chopped liver?" Instead, on the 4th or 5th remark about how nothing is happening tonight, I smile and say "You're either part of the problem, or part of the solution" and walk off. As I head towards the basement, some boy gives me a wide smile, I smile back, but keep going.
Downstairs, fairly quiet, two guys loitering outside the bathroom, and one guy on a bench in the small room, I go inside and lean against the wall. Bench-sitting guy is familiar. Nice body, nice face, nice cock. We've done it, and he has since rarely looked interested in me. Then the smiling guy comes in, smiles again, and goes to kneel a few feet from me. He tries to lean against a bench, but it moves with an awful sound, almost leaving him on the floor. Catching himself, he tries to lean again, but staring intently at my crotch. Again, the bench moves with a scraping loud sound, I am about to bust out laughing, and the bench-sitting guy is smiling, holding in his laughter. Third time the guy leans, but by then he's pushed the bench back to the wall, so it doesn't move, and he stares at my crotch with some sort of lip-smacking motion. If he didn't have such a cute, fuckable face, and slim, lightly hairy body, the silliness of the moment might have caused me to stay on the other side of the room. But I slowly moved toward him.
I grab the back of his head, and push his face into my jockstrap. He moans. He tries to get my cock out of the strap, but I just move his head to the side, and back again, and thrust into his face, forcing him to gag on the cloth. I want him to feel it get bigger before he can see it, and he looks up, pleadingly, and I just pull my balls out and feed them to him. Some muffled sound about daddy-something, but I don't give him the chance to clarify. I reach down for his chin, bend over, and kiss him hard and wet; then quickly stuff my cock in his mouth. At this point I notice more guys in the room, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the twosome of previous encounters and the conversation upstairs. In the corner together, they start to fool around, both pairs of eyes on me and my kneeling boy. He's not a particularly good cocksucker, but he's determined, so I keep thrusting away. Noticing we are being watched, not just by the couple, but by other guys, that's what gets me hard, and kneeling-boy likes that. He likes it a lot and the dirtytalk begins again. Daddy this and Daddy that, I don't actually mind. Then the couple move, and get closer. As one of them reaches to kiss me, kneeling-boy gets very excited, and moves to the other wall, and the four of us go at it.
That twosome - one reason I loved sex with them is that they are both great kissers, and they give me plenty. And HairyHispanic, he loves my beard, and as he starts pulling on it, and my cock is rock hard in Kneeling-Boy's face, he seems to remember how much I like him yanking it, and he yanks hard, nice and hard. Then he pushes my face onto his boyfriend's hard dick, pushing my head down, and grabbing my ass. This makes it difficult for kneeling-boy, but he's still trying. Then boyfriend pushes my face onto HairyHispanic's hairy cock, which I love since his sweaty crotch smells and tastes great. He then grabs me ass, gets behind me, and makes thrusting motions. At this point, kneeling-Boy is struggling to find something to do, manages to get a few more licks, but gives up eventually (but not to worry - he latched onto some other guy in another part of the room). Now it's just the three of us.
More hard kissing, more beard yanking, more cocksucking. I struggle to get under HairyHispanic's balls, as he is sitting on one of the benches. He's moaning, reaching for my beard, and I can see him kissing his boyfriend above me. I don't quite get where I want to go, and he suddenly pulls me up by the bead for more kissing. Just then a plop of something hits me on the head, and I realize what it is as the rest of the stuff makes it's intended target - my ass. He should know better, and as his second finger is struggling, he pulls me for a kiss and his smile acknowledges that his cock won't be going in. But it's all lubed up, and he wants to play, so he pushes his dick against my ass and pumps. He pushes my head down into his boyfriend's crotch, and my own dick is hard and bouncing around madly. Moving once again, he kisses me, then his boyfriend, then pulls our heads together. Three-way kissing is fun, but a bit hard to manage, but we try anyway. Sloppy and hard, we give up quickly as boyfriend puts on a condom, and gets behind Hairy Hispanic. His hairy stomach is so sweaty I have to lick it up, and he moans as his boyfriend enters him. He pushes my face onto his hardcock, his thrusts in unison with the man behind him. Now his body is shaking, he pulls my beard and pulls my face off him, shooting all over my chest. I get up, cock in hand, as his boy friend slowly pulls out. HairyHispanic stands, and I go for his boyfriend's balls with only a few seconds to spare - now he's cumming, and laughing, simultaneously. Joining his boyfriend's spunk on my chest, we kiss, then the three of us kiss, and they look down at my dick. I hold off, silently. This was fun, but I've just started.
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
Isn't Mr. Tex Ritter yummy? The pic is from an Athletic Model Guild publication - WILD WEST BOYS - that I'm auctioning. But of course you loyal reader's (Ok, maybe many of you don't really read this page) don't have to sign into eBay to see the other pics listed with the auction - clicking links is more fun than typing passwords, anyway.
Monday, April 12, 2004
DEMOCRATIC PARTY VISA PLATINUM CARD
It's not often that I wish I was a member of the Republican Party - but getting this mailing every three weeks for several months now, promising me low low rates, until November 2004, really reminds you of how stupid the Democrats are, or probably more so - how stupid they think we are.
"LOW LOW 3.99% fixed interest rates until November 2004 - but once we get back in the White House - WATCH OUT! Interest rates - THROUGH THE ROOF! INFLATION? - Can you say JIMMY CARTER? We'll be TAXING and SPENDING you back into double-digit UNEMPLOYMENT LINES!!"
sign me up!
Sunday, April 11, 2004
Rigardo MerloI love this dick. I mean, his dick. Can't remember much more about the man than him doing that BUCKSHOT solo video where he stumbles upon a trunk full of his brother's stuff. He puts his brother's old baseball uniform on, and - well, it's a solo porno clip, so .....
Saturday, April 10, 2004
Some of you may remember that a few weeks back, I managed to snag 2 boxes and a backpack full of various vintage dirty books and magazines (I still owe Barry and Rob a beer, or something - wink, wink (as they shudder in fear, and their boyfriends laugh), in gratitude for telling me about the sale). Anyhoo, while sorting through all the books, and the periodicals, I put some stuff aside - either it wasn't in good enough shape to sell, it looked interesting enough to keep, or it looked like I ought to do some research before deciding to auction off. Well, I still don't know anything about the artist who did this groovy drawing, CAS, but I really dig his style, and his work is featured in one of the magazines I kept. There are a few other artists in the periodical - better known Tom of Finland, Etienne, and Quaintance; and lesser known Orsen, Cyril Jones, and Lowenhaupt; but the issue is dedicated primarily to this guy (I ass-ume he's a guy).
Physique Art Special A brochure of some of the best in recent phyique art by our resident artist CAS and guest artists. Published by Male Classics Limited, London. Printed in England by P.B. Studio Services. I just figured maybe I'd add this bit into Google and the other search engines, and maybe some day I can figure out more on this guy who did these cool drawings in this magazine from the 60's.
Friday, April 09, 2004
"I was flying to Malaga in southern Spain to meet some friends, and then I was returning via Paris to London. I thought I'd like to record the trip in some way, but not in the usual vacation-style movie; instead, why shouldn't I incorporate it into a story of some sort? I had no idea what the story would be, but it seemed to lend itself to a 'chase' theme. So while we were in Spain, I took some footage, I took some footage of them running around various alleyways, mostly in Marbella and a tiny mountian village nearby called Casares. This gave me a clue, the 'MacGuffin' for my movie. The name Casares suggested to me the French actress Maria Casares, and that would be the pivotal clue. So when I went to Paris, I took some shots of my friends there also engaged in a chase with a picture of Maria Casares figuring importantly in the plot. Then on to London, where the final scenes were shot with the same friends in Spain, plus some new ones and the vital link of Casares in the shape of a luggage label falling off a briefcase with this one word printed on it.
When all this footage was assembled in reverse order, it became a chase from London to Paris to Malaga to Marbella to Casares to what? I had no ending. Where were they all running to? What was calling them there? Obviously it had to be something bizarre. It had to be a weird ceremony of some sort. " - Peter de Rome, from his autobiography, The Erotic World of Peter de Rome
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
nuts in my beardThe good news is that when I left work at midnight, I had 17 dollars in my pocket - 2 hours and 3 beers later, going home, I had 27 dollars. The bad news is that this morning, with the sun poking at my eyelids and the horrible sound of snoring somewhere in my bed, I awoke to discover it was me, just me, doing the snoring. At some point in the evening, staring into space and waiting for a bad tune to end and praying for a good tune to begin, my progressive lens eyeglasses gave me something to waste a few minutes on. They're sorta like bifocals, but more complicated. There are these zones of differing prescriptions, so depending on the distance of the thing, or man, or manthing, you are looking at, you need to adjust your head and look thru the correct part of the lens. So I'm busily studying the peanut shells on the floor, the barstools, the men at the bars, the low ceilings, and I spot what looks like paper currency on the floor. Directly between two guys on stools with their backs to each other, there was no way I could walk up and inspect the paper. OK, there is a way, and I've done it, but scooping stuff off the floor, a little wobbley after 2 beers, with your face in someone's crotch, doesn't seem to attract friends. Don't ask me why. I've done it, and even offered the bills to the men in close proximity to the dough, only to get a "what's with this weird guy?" look.
Sometime later, from a distance enjoying the free peanuts generously dispersed around the bar, I notice two guys leave the bar and head to the back, either for sex or drugs, opening up a space near the crumpled paper. Walking over, and looking down, I see it's still there. I don't bother figuring out which part of the glasses to look thru to see what the heck is on the floor, but just bend over and grab what turns out to be a brand new 20. Woo-hoo, as they say.
I go sit back down in the comfy chair, finish my beer, and notice the two men who had headed to the back head into the smaller bathroom. Drugs. For sex, I think the routine is to go in separately, and look non-chalantly, somewhat sheepishly, back and forth before heading in, making sure your friends don't see you. For drugs, you go in together, the one not 'holding' opening the door for the guy with the drugs. Sigh. I didn't really like that one guy anyway. I head to the bar, the bartender who I know comes to serve me, and as he hands me my beer, says "You have nuts in your beard." Indeed. I drink this last one pretty fast, and head home.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
Other stuff: sent out the last of the freeporno videos - so if you're expecting somethign from me, should be there in 4-10 days (plain brown paper wrapping, return address NYC - if you get something matchng this description from Morocco, it's hashish). Hope to be up for BIG LUG tonight; could use some cold beer - and wouldn't mind some warm bear, either! .....or some warm beer from a hot bear, or....
angry. frustrated. confusedListing the top 10 files by the number of failed requests, sorted by the number of failed requests.
Around 6 this morning, I happen to be up - awake probably because I ate too much food just prior to falling asleep at 2. So I go to check my webstats (which I do nearly daily, but rarely at such an ungodly hour) and find this awful news - some godawful site had been hotlinking to my site's images (here and here). Worse yet (much, much much worse), they linked directly to one of my video pages. Scrolling down my stats page, I see that this cost me 1/2 month's bandwidth allowance, in less than one day! Worse, it's the end of my billing month tomorrow, so this puts me way over (way, way way over), and will cost me. And it gets worse. Those stats were as of midnight last night, I discovered the problem at 6 a.m., and while trying to delete the files they linked to, my computer froze, and crashed. Took ne hours to get it back up and operatling again. Oddly enough, the images shouldn't have been able to be hotlinked, as I had those htaccess files uploaded to my site. I mean, 5000 "failed requests" for Eric Stryker's face pic shows it must've been working fine up until yesterday. But perhaps the huge onslaught f*cked things up. Now I can't even get the 'htaccess files" uploaded properly again.
This is very discouraging - these huge websites that can't come up with their own content and host their own images? This sucks.
Monday, April 05, 2004
Three weeks ago I last saw the mourning dove chicks in their nest. It was a Monday, beautiful day, and I managed to take a bunch of photos of the pair, and even some with one of the parents in the nest with them. But the next morning, I awoke around 8 a.m., and they were gone. No sign of them, neither parent in the nest, either. I crawled back into bed, rather sad. They were probably ok, and I figured I was just sad cuz I'd miss my routine of checking up on them, watching them, seeing them either stay perfectly still hoping I wouldn't bother them, or spread their wings and try to look threatening. But then one of the parents returned to the nest, fussy-ing around, and making noises. The other parent returned, and they both stayed for a while. Then the winds picked up, and soon the predicted snow began to fall. Both parents left, but throughout the day, each returned and sat in the nest for a while, as if they were taking turns looking out for the kids.
I had been emailing daily pics to a pal of mine who took great interest in the doves. This is the third year they've nested here, and the previous two ended in tragedy - the chicks, definitely too young for flight, were simply missing early one morning, either from falling out of the nest, or from that crow that lurked in the garden below. He half-jokingly threatened to stake out in my apartment this year to protect them from the crow. But meanwhile, he had been in contact with some "urban bird" website folks, who told him there really wasn't much he could do about the predators, and should just let nature take its course. He also forwarded them the pics I sent. So the day after the birds disappearance, he emailed asking how they were, and I had to confess I didn't know, and that they were gone. The "urban bird" folks assured us that they seemed ready for "fledging" but I just wasn't content with that info - I still worried that these two chicks hadn't made it.
But the bird folks told us that often the parents will return to the nest, and sometimes even the chicks would for roosting. I watched each day, and almost everyday would see one or both parents. I would even hear what sounded like the chirpings of the younger ones, without seeing them (a sort of weak, shorter version of the mourning dove's typical cry). One morning, eight days later, hearing noises, I carefully peaked out the window. I saw two doves in the nest, one clearly younger - who, seeing me, flew off to the fire escape above to join the other parent. Too fast for picture-taking, but at least I could finally relax.
Sunday, April 04, 2004
Saturday, April 03, 2004
It was several hours after arriving that I finally opened one of the boxes. The aroma of old pencils filled the air as the last bit of packing tape was removed. I knew I would be transported back in time, but I was unprepared for this. My Mom had sent me two boxes of miscellaneous stuff - old things of mine from when I was still living with them (20+ years ago) and stuff from my Dad, who died 10 years ago. This box was mostly his stuff, stuff I had asked for in case she ever wanted/needed the room. His tools from his years as an architect - which of course meant lots of old pencils. And that's what hit me, suddenly I was maybe 10 years old, Dad in the den drawing, and me just standing behind watching. The den filled with cigarette smoke, canisters full of pencils, brushes he had to wipe away eraser dust.
I put the box aside for more than a week, but began digging thru the other one last night. This one had more of my stuff, which included a bag of old letters from my college years. Re-reading some of this was fun, and yet much more heart-wrenching than I had imagined. I'm in touch with none of these folks, despite those strong emotions we expressed so freely by mail. A huge surprise was the handful of what can only be viewed as my first love letters. It's not that I had forgotten the furry young man (his friends called us the "two monkeys"), it's just that I hadn't remembered that after I left school for the summer, he sent love notes! I've put them back away, so no quotes for the time being, but his mispellings, and the hetero Hallmark cards that he sent (there weren't exactly any boy-boy cards available in Mobile, Alabama) were quite sweet, and I feel bad that their existance had completed escaped me.
Anyway, as you can see above, my taste in music was still, um, "forming" - first concert, 1976 at the age of 15, Elton John. Egad!
Friday, April 02, 2004
Thursday, April 01, 2004
"a powerful story of love and destruction"
directed by: Francis Ellie (1978?)
Starring: Jack Wrangler, Stan Richards, David King, Guiseppe Welsh, and John Kovacs. With Kurt Mann, Adam Dehaven, Lance Prentis, Snapper Foster and Derek Thurston.
Jack Wrangler discovers that his new lover, Stan Richards, is a serial killer! Apparently he has an "uncontrollable need to kill in order to have an orgasm". Of course, Jack is torn between continuing the relationship and risking death (it's just so friggin' hard to find a top in NYC) or turning in his new lover. Highlights include sex (and murder) on the West Side Piers and the Brooklyn Bridge. Over the top generic musical soundtrack is a hallmark of Francis Ellie's films.