smiling faces, show no traces
I was aksed to smile more.....
Starring: Cruze & Jose vs Sean Patrick & Patrick Donovan (1998)
"The Puerto Rican heels relish their opponents: sultry prettyboys in sheer white trunks! The babies infuriate the heels w/leglocks, snapmares, head & bodyscissors. But these heels get tag-revenge with gut punishment and simultaneous submissions. Cruze & Jose batter the prettyboys taking turns holding each boy while the other delivers relentless gutpunishment! Then there's a rowing double legsplit you won't believe!!"
Of course, eBaying this tape.
Let's see, I'm not "bruce" nor is my email address "firstname.lastname@example.org" (exactly how many guys did you send this exact same forwarded message to today, and since it's inception, dated Mon, 10 Jan 2005 11:36:13???), and if you actually READ my BMB profile, you'd see that the only kind of sex I enjoy is FULL OF HASSLE! And another thing you dumbf......
and then WINAMP kicks in, playing one of the songs I was struggling to download this morning, but as it turns out, not this weird electro-remix of Blondie's Sunday Girl (which I now suspect might've been a mash-up) I heard out late last night, but instead, something from the SUNDAY GIRLS, and, listening to Tomoko Takagaki, Aisa Senda, Mai Satou, & Chika Goshima, I stop typing my sarcastic irate email, and delete the whole thing as I begin whistling along (you should try it, it's VERY theraputic).....
Director: Steven Scarborough (1996)
Starring: Mark Baxter, Todd Gibbs, Adriano Marquez, Luc Russell, Hunter Scott, Steve O'Donnell, Kyle Brandon, Rick Mathews, Kurt Houston, and Sean Dickson.
Ahhhhhhh, Todd Gibbs. Not a bear, barely a hair on his body, or even his face ferchrissakes, but, alas, what I wouldn't do to bury my hungry face in his musclebutt! This is a clip from his first movie, Raw Material. One teeny tiny flaw, not his fault, but who-the-fuck thought to trim his pubes??? Beautiful red crotch hairs getting the buzz treatment - GEEzus! Like this guy's few hairs could get in the way of that hugethickmeat! I remember seeing him on the street once, late 90's, walking down Broadway near 23rd. Drool falling out of my mouth onto the pavement, it took me a moment to realize who this pink alabaster (shirtless, even!) god was. Even handsomer in person, I momentarily considered saying something, anything, but his musclelegs carried him away too quickly, as I watched the rhythm of his thighs and ass lull me into a bigger grin. He went on to even better performances (movie-wise, that is) like the starring role in The Road Home, and that hot scene in Descent where he's tied up, along with MyAlmightyGod Aiden Shaw and some other dude. Alas, he seems to have appeared in only a total of 5 movies (the others were Falcon's Code of Conduct and a low-budget one, The Price of Manhattan, under the name Ethan Parks.) But just watch the way his cock bounces up and down while lucky Mark Baxter (no chopped liver himself!) attacks him from behind..... gotta go!
Selling my VHS copy - auction ends Wednesday afternoon
directed by: Marcus Strong, IV (1990)
Starring: David Dean, Danny Brown (aka Dany Brown), Brett Williams, Shannon, Steve Knight, Juan Montoya, Larry Bert, Marc Radcliff, Dexter Hill
Y'all know that by the mid 80's, most porno was being shot on video. Most households had VCR's, and the adult video business was booming. The pressure to churn out as much filth as possible was high, and production values, and costs, went down. By the end of the 80's, there were 10's of thousands of poor quality, shot-in-one-day adult videos, and of course the gay segment of the business was no exception. This little movie might be called "pre-condom" if one were selling it on eBay (and I am, and it is listed that way), despite the fact that it was made in 1990, long after we all knew you should ALWAYS were a condom when fucking. The "pre-condom era" ought to be stuff made no later than 84 or 85, but even Falcon and other major studios were churning out the stuff as late as 1988 and 89.
Blah blah blah.... Meanwhile, back to this little "gem" - if you like bad 80's hair, Casio-keyboard soundtracks, no-condom fucking, and a bit of "roughtrade" I only like girls but your ass will do dirty talk (last scene), you might dig this one.
Time for another give-away. Only this time I won't be so cocky and think y'all tune in every 12 hours - so, if you want my shorts, you have until Friday to tell me why I should give 'em to you. If more than one guy writes in, then I'll have to actually read your email and judge you, er, the email, on creativity, penmanship, humour (but none of that English toilet humour, OK?), patheticness, or whatever just grabs me that day.
Here's the background: these 2 Banana Republic boxers (100% coton, size small) were a Christmas present from some years ago. I loved them. They remind me of what is probably the best Christmas I ever had, and therefore, make me sad and irritable just thinking about it now. Many many years ago, in a land far away, I had a boyfriend. Not just any boyfriend, but a man who's aroma made me weak-kneed, who's patches of shoulder hair stopped my breathing, who's blue eyes and fuzzy face made me forget everything that sucked in the world (except me, of course, since I really really liked suc.... nevermind), in short - I thought he was THE ONE. Like any good relationship, there were problems. I won't go into that, but we were actually getting back together as Christmas was approaching. I was a bit nervous, not knowing what we'd do about the holiday, but he surprised me and suggested I stay in town (I usually went home to my family in Chicago) and we spend Christmas together. Like any romantic fool, I took this as a very very good sign. Meahwhile, i got into an accident with a taxi (it hit my bike, arm in sling...) which I thought might derail our plans to stay in and make a big meal together. No, he insisted on me shopping with him 2 nights before, preparing elaborate lists of ingredients which I never even knew he could cook, and he did all the work. We were to get together the night before, me bringing over the last bits of stuff we needed to make a big dinner and a great day. I baked cookies. I sat on this floor, in my kitchen, my fractured arm securely holding the bowl while the other arm mixed, making a batch of fresh chocolate chip cookies, cookies he always loved. That night he finished putting up lights and pine branches, playing bad Christmas music and dancing and giggling like a little boy. We had great sex, somehow, even with me rather immobile, falling asleep all sticky, furry bodies clinging, his wonderful snoring in my ear, my head on his chest.
In the middle of the night I woke up, and had an idea. I hadn't told him I baked, just stuck the tupperware deep down in my bag. So I got up, put the presents I bought for him under the Christmas display he set up with lights and a huge vase of pine branches, then to the kitchen. I grabbed a small vintage plate from his cupboard, and grabbed a glass and half filled it with milk. Just to be silly, I left the plate of cookies (one half-eaten) and glass of milk on the dining room table, and crawled back into bed.
Christmas morning, he woke up first, and I could feel his body disengage from mine. The sound of him in the bathroom, then in the kitchen, and soon the aroma of coffee made it's way into the bedroom. I could hear him walking around his apartment, then I heard a laugh. He suddenly ran into the bedroom, kissed my face with his scruffy face, and exclaimed with the most adorable boyish giggle: "Santa came! Santa came!"
We lasted a few more months. The boxers were among several gifts from him that day. They are actually more his style - plaid - and therefore made them even more enjoyable to wear. But, after the break-up (another story, another time) they've been sitting at the bottom of the underwear pile, occasionally staring me in the face and taunting me with the wonderful circumstances of how they came into my possession, reminding me of the man who is no longer in my life in any capacity, and, of course, being the last relationship, digging at me a bit harder than most memories. So, I think It's time they found a new home.
Meanwhile, some of the stuff is actually pretty good. There's Cockfight, nicely directed by Michael Zen (Falconhead, Falconhead II, Bear Hug, G.I. Mac, He-Devils, etc.), about some homophobic closeted homoarmy guy (Blue Blake) which actually has both hot sex and an interesting storyline. A TITAN promotional preview/trailer DVD. There's one of those DVD compilations whose names, Bathroom Fantasies, has fuckinnothingwhatsoever to do with the content - in the entire four hours (package says 5 hours!) there is exactly ONE scenario in a bathroom; otherwise it's actually got much more to offer than you'd expect. The ENTIRE Paul Barresi directed STRAIGHT COCKSUCKERS (not to worry, they don't, at all, pretend to be straight. As Director Barresi says to the actors (Paul Carrigan, Peter Wilder, Nic Collins, Cole Reece, Rick Estephan, Anthony Gallo, Eric York, Peter Michaels) in the warm-up by the pool - the title means no bullshit! just go STRAIGHT to the COCK and SUCK! Also, this little compilation has another entire movie, a bi-sexual parody of BEWITCHED called, of course, Biwitched (not to be confused with Bi-Witched) . You can't imagine the torture for me, fastforwarding thru all the um, womanly parts parts, verifying that the whole movie was there, but I'll do anything to accurately describe what I am selling. I will tell you that Paolo Centori, who stars as DARREN #1, is hot, and the first sex scene is, thankfully, just him and another man. Another Bi movie - VALLEY OF THE BI DOLLS has Peter North reurning to his gay porn roots (don't get excited, he doesn't do a gay scene) by using his gay porn name, MATT RAMSEY.
I plan to have more up for auction this weekend, thru next week and beyond, including mostly more porn (even some more bi and - egad! str8 stuff!!!) but also some clothes, and non-porno books.
"And are you getting the heebie-jeebies when buying underwear, concerned that your purchase may have already been worn? A councilman from Queens wants to confront that paranoia by banning the sale of used undergarments." Normally this would be very upsetting news, except for two things. 1) Our mayor, who is a Republican and therefore loathes governmental interference in the flow of commerce, would certainly veto such legislation, wouldn't he? And 2) I gave up selling used under wear
years ago er, months ago, um, er weeks, hours, minutes ago.
But of course, I do on occasion give it away, and just this week, during an email exchange with this hot guy 3000 miles away, I was shocked to learn he doesn't wear underwear! Taking things into my own hands (as I often find I must), I offered to send a jockstrap, which he readily accepted. I'm just hoping he doesn't get the wrong idea by the color of the 'strap I'm sending, as I'm not too sure if the HANKY CODE ("gosh, can someone turn up the lights a bit, is that hanky BLACK, grey, charcoal, black with a stripe...") applies to jockstraps. I suppose I could ask this hot guy or that hot man, but I'm just too bloody shy, ya know?
Not to put the guy on the spot or anything (I erased his name, didn't I?) - after all, the email made me ROCKHARDINAFUNKYPLACE - but the only real problem i have with his response is the "tongue raping" - Something to do with my many many hours watching Law & Order (the second best show on TV) - the whole consent thing takes away the appropriateness of the use of that word.... Meanwhile - "getting seriously tapped" ---- what can I say? After that hot kid did it last week, let's just say Im open to shifting my position on that topic.
p.s. the El Paso disc has been wrapped up for a young man in Canada (shhhhhh, don't tell customs) and should get shipped Monday. Not to worry, I'll be giving more away all month long (OK, so I give it away as often as I can anyway, but you know what I mean.....)
Now, before you go clicking and shit.... you already did? Why I oughta.... Fine, be that way, but you better be laughing WITH me, and not at me. This is ART, ferchrissakes! And throw in a Happy Fuckin' Anniversary while you're at it, too. And, yes, as you probably guessed, the music in the background is the Tom Tom Club's She's a Freak. Lastly, keep in mind this was almost 5 years ago, so my belly is much bigger, my beard is, well, not a goatee but a beard, and my cock is much much smaller (but needs as much, if not more, attention as it needed way back when).
In the weeks and months after 9/11, I listened to Bjork's Vespertine all the time. Late night bike rides, sleepless nights drifting into mornings, the few opportunities to share sex with someone else, staring at the TV, inhaling the fumes from downtown, this album was a constant. The raw sexuality, the emotional-ness of it, the accepting acknowledgment of pain, the stubborn optimism and celebration of life and all it's potentials; all this made the record ideal for the mood(s) I was in. To pick a favorite song from an album that should always be listened to in its entirety seems impossible, although if I were to pick without really thinking, it would be the final song - Unison. I have startled a few friends by confessing that it would be my suicide song. Then I have to backtrack, and assure them I would never do that, but IF I ever knew ahead of time that I had only 6 minutes, 45 seconds to live, I would want that song, on my headphones (or a really big, loud boombox) playing as I rode my bike, faster and faster, until I was going so fast that I would just leap across the FDR drive and into the East River, my last moments, the chorus, the choir, "Embrace you tight, Let's unite tonight". Of course, in reality, that is not my favorite song from the album, it just happens to be one of the BIG ones that stands out, and it makes a great finale to a great album. But it's another tune - smaller, quieter - that sneaks up on me every time I listen. When the first few notes pop out of the stereo, I instinctively reach to turn up the volume, stop what I am doing, sit or lie down, and let it wash over me. Even 3-1/2 years later, I have to look at the booklet to remember the name, Heirloom. It just conjures up HOME; memories of Mom, and warm blankets, and hissing radiator sounds of my many New York apartments; the past and hoped for future boyfriends who smile when I bring them fresh-baked cookies, who wrap their arms around me and hold me tight during rough moments, this song just whispers so reassuringly- "you will be taken care of, don't worry."
Gee, all that, and this live version isn't even as good as the original! But nonetheless, something I found the other night on the internets, Heirloom (live).
directed by: Warren Stephens (1973)
Starring: Jimmy Hughes, Jon Steele, Ted Lee, Rudy Thomas Foley, Ace Angel, Steve Nelson, Joe Daniels, Terry Samson, Dan Bach, Davy, Bob Wright, James Heliton, Gene Drake, Sean Johnson
This one is a keeper. I've been contemplating selling it, but hell no! Great, great soundtrack, chase scenes (cars, on top of trains, and thru the suburbs on what looks like L.A. to me), fanfuckintastic 70's clothes, light bondage, over the top Evil Queen villain, and.... oh yeah, sex! Hot stud Jimmy Hughes (Mr. Gay Universe) stars as a, a, um, spy-type guy - Johnny Acropolis - in this funtastic "sexual thriller" from Jaguar Productions. As the Bijou Video review points out, the opening sequence alone makes this a stand-out.