The Kansas Court of Appeals will be hearing arguments in Matthew Limon’s appeal on December 2, 2003. I think this is happening as I type this - scheduled for 10 a.m. this morning (Central time), each side was given 30 minutes for oral argument (apparently, the usual time alloted is 15 minutes). I have no idea what the time frame is for what happens next - is there a set time for the Court to issue it's opinion? Remember folks, he's been in prison for 3 years, 9 months; if it was str8 sex under the exact same circumstances, he would have been out of jail 2-1/2 years ago!

It's the fall of 1983. I had only lived here for a few months, but The Bar on 2nd Ave and 4th St was already my favorite hangout. That's where I met Danny, and after talking a bit about music sipping our beers by the jukebox (oh wait, Danny never drank beer), we left and went to my place. We dated for just a couple of months; he's not one of the three "official" boyfriends I've had - I generally count just the ones that have lasted more than 6 months. Anyway, those couple of months was mostly going to movies, listening to music together, smoking pot - fairly laid-back relationship that somehow (miraculously, actually) smoothly went from boyfriendness to friendship rather seamlessly -- just one day we realized we had stopped sleeping together; I was dating someone else, and so was he.

We stayed good friends, but saw each other less, of course. A movie here or there, bumping into each other at the same East Village bars, and of course our shared interest in music (he always had the coolest 12-inch records, and turned me on to THE THE, for example). But as the decade progressed, every once in a while I would get a panicked phone call. An unexplained purplish spot, a cold that wouldn't go away - always common symptoms that could be anything, but somehow he'd work himself up into a panic and freak out. He'd see a doctor a day or two later, all was fine for a few months until another panic hit. Even when the HIV test became available, it was too scary for most of us to even consider taking it. There wasn't anything to actually DO about a positive result, for one; and there were a million reasons to worry about what could happen to you if someone like a landlord or boss found out.

We saw each other less and less, but sometime in the late 80's he called to tell me his brother, who lived in LA, had died of AIDS. Apparently he had been sick for a while, his brother's lover had been quite wonderful to him, even his Mom had flown out to help in the final days. It was quite unlike Danny to share intimate details like that, with me or anyone from what I knew of him. But he needed to talk, and we talked about it for a while, then on to other topics, catching up, and vowing to see each other more often. That didn't happen. We'd still run into each other, I got involved in ACT UP, he moved out of Manhattan (temporarily, he would always say). He no longer had his full-time office job, but several part-time freelance gigs, which seemed fine, but money was always tight. He managed to move back to Manhattan, but we didn't really see each other more - not planned, anyway. But it was good to bump into him when we did, of course. Meanwhile, the mid 90's were tough - my Dad passed away suddenly, then two very good friends got sick, and both died. I had given up on ACT UP for lots of reasons by then, and the day-to-day of seeing Rick get sicker, spend time in the hospital, and finally give up, was just too overwhelming. And only a few months after Rick died, Danny called.

He needed help moving. Since leaving Manhattan a few years back, he'd lived in Brooklyn, Manhattan again (scary Avenue D), and then Queens. He couldn't even afford Queens any longer, and could I help him pack and move? Sure, of course (although I dreaded it - I'd helped him before - he's one of those guys who gets huge boxes and throws everything in them while the moving van is in the street waiting). The shocker was that he was going to Long Island, to live with his mother. That's when he told me. He's sick. He has no money, he has no insurance, he has to sort through his stuff and throw stuff out so he can move into his mother's small Long Island apartment. He was barely working. When I first got there, he looked OK. Not great, but not sick, ya know. Worried, overwhelmed, and in the middle of tons of shit. We busied ourselves with the task at hand, getting his stuff ready, sorting what's going, what has to be thrown away or given away. I don't think we ever talked about him being sick. I did find out that he had no actual way to transport his stuff to his Ma's house, but I knew someone who I figured would work cheap.

I can't remember how long we worked, or if I went out to Queens more than once before moving day to help sort. But the toughest part was as he's pulling stuff to throw away. One of our running "disagreements" in terms of music was the Rolling Stones. He loved them. Absolutely adored Mick Jagger, thought he was sexy, talented, etc., etc. I thought quite the opposite, and would often tease Danny about it. Danny had a couple of huge advertising placards, these huge monstrosities that he somehow finagled from some record store years ago. I couldn't tell you which albums they were from, except that they had huge ugly Mick Jagger all over them. He was bringing them down to the garbage. I stopped him. He argued that he had no room for them - I reminded him that he never had room for them, I'd helped him move them before. His mother would kill him anyway with all this shit he bringing with, there was just no way. I offered to keep them for him, until he got a new place. He thanked me, but calmly said it's better that he just get rid of this stuff. I was getting very upset;, but it was irritating him, so I let it go.

Moving day comes, we somehow managed to get all his stuff in Norman's van, leaving more stuff on the curb of his old apartment building in Queens. We get stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway; I'm in the back seat, and Norman starts to make conversation with Danny. Why is he moving, why Long Island, etc. Danny is evasive at first, but eventually he tells Norman he's sick, no money, no insurance, etc. I can't hear everything that's said, but by the time we get to Danny's Mom's place, Norman is writing down some info, some phone numbers and names to call. Danny's Mom is overwhelmed by the amount of stuff Danny has, and oh-fuck, we brake something of hers while carrying the boxes inside. She has totally not prepared for a grown man to move all his worldly possessions into her home, and we are just stacking boxes of albums, books, art supplies, etc., where ever we can. She offers to take us out to lunch, but Norman needs to get back to the city. I say my good-bye to Danny, he tries to give me money, so we have one last argument before I leave. We hug. I wait until we get in the van before I cry, riding quietly back to Manhattan.

It's the fall of 2003. A pal of mine from North Carolina is sitting shirtless next to me at the upstairs bar at The Eagle. We're buying each other beers, when I notice some hair that I recognize. Danny still has his big 80's hair, the freak. I get his attention, introduce him, he sits down. I hadn't seen him in maybe a year or more at this point, I ask him what's going on. "I'm living in Paris with Jacques, (I'm totally making up the name, as I have no recollection of what his name is, but Danny says it like I'd remember, and Danny would never say "boyfriend") been there since the beginning of the year, learning French. I've sold a few paintings, in fact. And I come back to the States every 3 months to see the doctor, have my meds refilled, he takes a few tests, etc." We talk more about other stuff, he doesn't stay long, we exchange addresses.

I can't explain why this all came back to me this week. Probably those grim statistics, and the numbness. 5 million new infections, 3 million deaths - this year? I sat in bed after reading those numbers, and it was too big. It makes no sense; and worse, it's so huge, it's nearly meaningless. How can this be? And for the past few days, I'm thinking of one person. One person who got his life back. And that was what, 8 years ago; how can it be worse now? We don't know less, we don't have less powerful drugs, we don't know less about prevention. But one thing has stayed the same. The wrong people have it, the wrong people are still getting it, and whogivesafuck?

I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky

BE THANKFUL FOR WHAT YOU GOT

I am thankful that I am not a gay rights leader, gunned down in cold blood, with the killer serving only a 5-year sentence; we don't produce gay rights leaders anymore.

I am thankful that I am single, so I don't have to worry about the costs of hiring a lawyer to make a dent in making some sort of legal/financial arrangement with my partner that a simple wedding would take care of.

I am thankful that I am not a 21-year old Kansan serving a 17-year sentence for having gay sex; still waiting 5 months after the U S Supreme Court vacated the sentence and instructed the Kansas Court of Appeals to relook at the case.

I am thankful that I will never have to serve my country by occupying another country, as my government fears my homosexuality more than it fears terrorism.

I am thankful that the fear, neglect, hate, greed, and indifference of the world that contributed to 5 million new HIV infections this year was not able to count me in this year's record-breaking 3 million AIDS deaths.

Someone please pass the gravy.

A picture, a link to a song, or just babbling about some meaningless bit of sex; just so hard to decide.

The other night I was inspired to pull out my 8

mm film projector and check out one of the EL PASO WRECKING CORP reels I bought a few months back on eBay. I had watched reel #1 way back when, but was somewhat disappointed because it left out the "homophobic" scene (where the homophobe gets thrown thru a plate glass window). But I figured they must have made these silent 8mm with just the sex, and no point wasting footage on dialogue and storyline (as there is no sound). But a few weeks back, a gentleman wrote me wondering if I had any idea how to get a "complete" El Paso - and many of you know I've wrote extensively about the missing pieces from the DVD and latter VHS versions; but this guy was talking about a watersports scene! I had heard that there was one, but apparently those scenes never made it to the commerical videotapes (I found this out from a guy running a film festival, who got Joe Gage to lend his personal copy of the film, plus appear).

And before you get all excited, NO there is no watersports scene in the 8mm that I have. But the guy asking did send me a great B&W still featuring the two from that scene - The Gardener and The Rug Man - hot bearded redhead Lou Davis and another hairy beauty, Guillermo Ricardo. I really didn't think the scene could work without sound, but I was so friggin' turned on watching that scene in the tiny frame on my bedroom wall! If there was a hairy ass anywhere in sight, believe me, it would've gotten plowed (this from an avowed oral bottom). Do you think the chinka chinka chink sound of the projector added - the sort of "this is naughty" feel?

Anyway, Sunday, while posting auctions, I remembered that I had this stray STR8 8mm, and figured as long as the projector was lying on the floor (occasionally getting kicked in this tiny space) I might as well check the film out. SO FUNNY! Late 70's, THE VIXEN - some chick is trying to make you think she's in a castle by staring blankly at a shiney chandelier; then the 2 gardeners come in, and since there's no sound, there's no jazzy music to let you know the action is about to start. But it's got subtitles! "You are so hot" "Let's sit on the couch" --- really imaginative stuff like that. So I'm continuing to work on my auctions as the projector is rolling, so I can make sure the film works OK. I look over at one point and this tongue is in this really weird place I've never seen, and then EWWWWWW I had to run out of the room! Jeez! When I came back, the young lady had jizm on her cheeck, then the subtitle "The End." Hope someone buys it and takes it out of my house.

The trouble with being a porn-dealer when you are a bigtime pornfan, is that you keep way way too much of the stuff you buy. This young man, for example - from the 1st issue of BODY magazine, Feb/Mar 1972 - how can I sell him? Oh sure, you non-porn lovers think, "just scan it, and look at it on your computer screen." HA! Having this magazine in my hands, the high-quality black & white photography, the texture of the page against my hand, his balls waiting patiently for me....

In other semi-related rambling news, I've got lots of stuff up for auction you-know-where, including some clothing like a pair of never-used CK leather pants - check 'em out.

I was home Friday night, wondering if that couple might call. Well, one of them said they'd be downtown for some sort of fundraiser, but hell, they ain't gonna be carrying around my phone number, right? So I figured if I stayed home, I'd just get hornier and grumpier, and I knew that despite my misgivings about going out to localsexclub, it seemed like the right choice. I mean, after having such great sex with those boys last Friday night, it kinda spoiled me (hence me staying in on my usual Sunday night last week) - I knew it would be near impossible to come close to the fun I had that night. Having spoken twice on the phone with those guys, and no definite plans for getting together, I knew holding my breath would only do one thing - kill me. I looked through my emails, and saw it was one of those "specialty nights" - where some sexgroup or another has their party - and it seemed there'd be a bigger crowd. This one encouraged "fetish gear" and forbid white briefs and sneakers (now we're talking) - and I thought, hmmmm, haven't worn those leather pants out in awhile.

Now, if you go out to a sexclub in leather pants and don't have good sex, you need therapy. Fortunately for me and my nonexistent health insurance coverage, I won't be needing to see a therapist (well, not for that reason, anyway). I have to say, it was a fun night. I thought more guys would be "dressed up" but alas, I saw only 3 or 4 other guys with chaps or leather pants (and it made me laugh to myself that these guys in that gear who would never check me out otherwise, were) - most guys were in the usual jockstraps, some leather jockstraps, or completely butt naked. So I really dug walking around being one of the few guys with clothes on. And I was there for less than 10 minutes, and some guy gives me the biggest sweet smile, so of course I have to check him out. Turns out to be this nice guy I slobbered over a few months back, and we immediately started making out. He had some NYPD jockstrap - which normally would be a turnoff (you all know that cops don't wear those things, right?) - but his mustache felt pretty good on my face, and then held down up under my balls, that I didn't give it a second thought. Oddly enough, while it was real fun, at one point, we're both all sweaty, he whispers into my ear "Man, you made me cum twice - first when I was rimming you, and now while you're face was in my ass." Man, I hate when they cum and you don't even realize it! Kinda the downside of buttmunching, seems to really push a lot of guys over the edge, but then your eyes are blocked from seeing him shoot, goshdarnit.

We had a few minutes of petting and stroking, which was good, then we said our goodbyes. After I came out of the bathroom, I see this guy on the floor talking to himself, tying and uniting some ropes; I didn't think much of it at first, as I've seen guys do a bit of that here before. But later, walking by again, I could see he had this huge long leather bodega of sorts - ooh, someone was going in there! I ventured down to the basement, watched some guys diddling for a while, tasted some guy's cock for quite a while, but he didn't want to cum just yet, so we took a break. Back upstairs, the bodybag (don;t ask me if that's the right word, it probably isn't) had a body in it. I moved around the corner, and could hear the guy asking "are you OK in there?" and other questions like that, as he started something that was making all this noise. Now mind you, I don't wear my glasses in this place, and it does have "mood lighting" (i.e. dark), so I rely on either getting close, or relying on my ears. FLUMP, flump, flump - what the hell is that? It sounded like a bicycle pump, but why the hell is he pumping air into the body bag? A few moments later, curiosity got to me, so I walk by real close, and saw that it was taking air out, and the leather (maybe it's vinyl?) was like schlirping tightly around this guy's body. Woah. I know I've seen this, but it was always like one of those pornformances on a stage. Moving back to one of the cell-like areas, suddenly I hear "GRpmf my foot gmffhmpd doesn't mffled glrp tighter gmfpsf" - and this guy next to me gets the giggles, and of course, so do I! The garbled words keep coming out, but in a rather calm, nonchalant way, and eventually you can figure out that the guy's OK, just not comfortable. But I can't stand there giggling like a silly teenager, and being next to this other giggler isn't helping, so I leave this room, and start to go into this other room.

At the entrance to that room two guys are standing and talking, and this guy with a thick thick mustache says in the thickest Longg Eye-land accent "I just can't wrap my mind around this, doing this thing here, it's just so strange; at home, Shoe-rah, but hee-ah?" And I have to run into one of the bathrooms to stifle my laughter.

Sometime later, the guy who needed the break is getting all goo-goo eyes at me (he wasn't doing that before!), and he DOES have a nice cock, so I maneuver my body enough to show interest without going over to him. He moves a bit closer, getting harder, and well, why am I being so coy - slurp slurp garblegobble - as he holds the back of my neck, then I push my face under his balls and he's moaning and I can't help but reach back a bit further with my tongue and his legs are kinda shaking with weakness as I suddenly plunge my face in and he shudders and after only a few seconds more, he pulls away, smiling slyly. He pulls me up, and asks "Are you OK?" I sorta smile but don't know what he's getting at, he asks again, so I tell him I'm fine, he kisses me lightly and walks away. I stand up fully, pull my pants back up from down around my ankles, leaving a few snaps unsnapped, and lean against a wall. I start to check out the other guys in the room, but realize my face is kinda sweaty. As I start to wipe the sweat, I realize, fuck, that's not sweat, that's cum, and I didn't even realize he shot on the side of my head while I was blinded with my face in his ass! Geez!

Link and Think is an observance of World AIDS Day in the personal web publishing communities. The project involves hundreds of webloggers, journalers, diarists and other personal website publishers, each linking to resources about HIV/AIDS or publishing personal stories about how the AIDS pandemic has affected them.

I've signed up, and I hope other bloggers, etc., will do the same. I know it can be difficult for some of us to dig deep into our thoughts and come up with something that may be personal, tough, or hard to articulate. But it is one of the few chances we get, together as this "community" of bloggers to unite around one important notion: that our words can make a difference - can touch someone, can affect how others think or act. That we remember our friends who have left this world much too soon, that we want to help the millions who are affected by this disease now, that we care about preventing the spread of it, as well. Add your 2 cents. Click the banner above and participate.

Sex is a funny thing. At least for me, it's a big motivating factor in many things I do. Like finally replacing that broken answering machine. It's been about 2 months, and not having the blinking red light with some cut-off message from someone trying to refinance my student loans or telling me about my all-paid free vacation to Florida wasn't something I missed at all. My close friends pretty much know if I'm not at work, I'm home on the computer, and email is the fastest way to reach me. But then, Friday night, those two boys who took me up to that crow's nest sorta spot at the sexclub gave me their phone number as we were dressing and getting ready to leave. They thought it was "charming" that I didn't have an answering machine. But those boys really turned me on, and when I called them on Sunday (less than 48-hours later, I know, but the "call-back rules" don't really apply after age 40) and they seemed so genuinely happy to talk, fill my head with a few more compliments, etc., I knew I had to get a machine. The hairy buttboy promised he'd call back Monday afternoon (but didn't) so I went to the local Kmart Tuesday and got the 13 dollar machine. Of course, I didn't install it. But HairyButtBoy called Wednesday afternoon, mentioned he'd tried to reach me Monday night, but couldn't leave a message, so I told him I'd get the machine installed later ("Installed?" he asked. "Don't you just have to plug it in?" - well, no! you have to pick out just the right 10 seconds of music, make sure it sounds just right, not to mention find an available outlet in this tiny room with 84 electrical gadgets, then find a spot to put the machine - it gets very complicated...).

So, yesterday afternoon, just before leaving for work, I recorded a few seconds from Bjork's So Broken, and left. Coming home, of course no messages. But early this morning, I hear the machine click on, Bjork's voice, then a nice lady explaining how she can help me with my credit card debts. I better get a date out of this machine soon, or it's getting unplugged.

As you can see, I'm up early working on some auctions. Some of these are already posted, others I am working on now to get posted today and tomorrow. I wish I could keep these - you'll even notice one "non-porn" adult novel - Wild Oats by famed "sleaze" writer Orrie Hitt. I have a few of his - great adult novels from the late 50's / early 60's. (Have I mentioned that these books make FANTASTIC stocking stuffers for Xmas?)

Meanwhile, thanks to all the folks who wrote in to guess who was in that commerical with Ryan Idol. The first responder already chose his video, and the second-runner up got an email this morning. Amazing how many of you knew Max Grand, but I was very impressed by the guy who correctly identified both Max and Alec Powers - the only guy who did that. I offerred a special prize, but he was sweet and said it might be too hard to get it to his country (who knew they were reading my page in the Philippines??!!)

WOW!

"The question before us is whether, consistent with the Massachusetts Constitution, the Commonwealth may deny the protections, benefits and obligations conferred by civil marriage to two individuals of the same sex who wish to marry.

"We conclude that it may not." - Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts.

Well, this is something to wake up to! Obviously, it's still gonna be a tough fight - the Court ruled that "entry of judgment shall be stayed for 180 days to permit the Legislature to take such action as it may deem appropriate in light of this opinion." Which means that no marriage licenses will be issued (much like what happened in Vermont), and the State Legislature there is already considering a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage. But I've seen no news source explaining the legal rational for this "stay" (I understand it politically - the Court is thinking, sure, this is the right thing, but WOAH! these folks are gonna freak, so let's just give them a chance to digest this). It's scarey and exciting, eh? And it could wind up like Alaska or Hawaii (where the Legislature wound up adopting a Constitutional Amendment banning gay marriage) but for the moment, it's hard not to get excited about language like this:

"Barred access to the protections, benefits, and obligations of civil marriage, a person who enters into an intimate, exclusive union with another of the same sex is arbitrarily deprived of membership in one of our community's most rewarding and cherished institutions. That exclusion is incompatible with the constitutional principles of respect for individual autonomy and equality under law," it stated.

Toiling away at housework, porn auctions, etc., today. Got about an hour before work, and thought I'd share this commerical that I love. And, since so few of you bothered to guess at last week's picture, this opportunity to get one of my duped pornovideos might be easier for y'all. All you have to do is view the clip, and send in a guess as to one of the other men besides Ryan Idol in the clip. The first correct answer wins, but if I get more than five correct answers, I'll draw a name and give a scond person a prize. (It's a small file size, so even you dial-uppers should be able to view) Cool?

"And if you're good, REALLY GOOD, maybe Daddy will let you suck his pretty cock"

You know it took a long time for him to get that line right, but my favorite part is the noises he makes right after that when (porn actor X) goes down on him - he must've gone to school for that (it's rumoured that he had Lee Strasburg's help).

Subj: tank you
Date: 11/14/03 6:21:39 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: kg123free@hotmail.com
To: bjland7820@aol.com

"WELCOE
I WANT TO WORK ON GAY OR MEN FOR FUCK ME,PLEASE.
THANK YOU VERY MUCH."

Gosh this guy sounds like me at this party I went to last night. I had 3 beers, so I think I'll be forgiven (or at least excused). Yes, yes, Sunday morning, 20 minutes before work, only on first cup of coffee, and I need to hop in shower NOW. Subway ride home last night I think was the first time I had ever given a subway musician money. I think he had a tuba (big, brass, and he stuck his mouth on one end), and it sounded beautiful. The platform was crowded, there was one str8 couple being all kissey and huggy, but in a cute way; and another couple, two men in nice suits, doing much the same - kissing, affectionate, so sweet to watch. Odd how I wasn't envious, merely enjoying vicariously their freedom to be so relaxed. And those men from Friday night? What are the rules for getting a phone number from a couple? Do you still have to wait the 4-5 days so as not to seem too anxious, and yet interested enough like you do when it's just a single guy's number? And I guess I will have to finally break down and replace the broken answering machine. Not that I'm looking forward to coming home each night looking at the dam red light indicating no calls; but just in case these boys are serious......

Wow. Got in last night at 4am. Wasn't having such a great time at this sexclub for the first 2 hours. But I wound up having a fantastic time which included some serious intense making out, hairy butt in my face, his big fat dick struggling to get in my ass (and him not caring much that it only got in 1/4 the way, at best), giggling and more making out, and conversation and cuddling after cumming. Best part? The hot couple gave me their phone number and want to have me over. The hairy Hispanic of the pair kept teasing me that he wanted to adopt me like a puppy; his partner insists he will get in all the way next time. And they kept telling me how handsome I am! Boy did my frail lil' ego need this!

MUSCLE RANCH

Directed by: Randy Buck (1980's - some sources say 1991)
Starring: Ed Dinakos and Jake Tanner; plus Wayne Mills (doesn't appear in this scene). This is my favorite scene from this movie - they're out in the desert sharing a beer. Tanner is standing atop some sorta boulder/rock formation as Dinakos is below, slurping from Tanner's sweaty body the beer that is being poured down over his own body as well as Dinakos's. No fucking in the whole film, funny enough, but these men do kiss, and it's very sexy. And the climax really speaks to me - Tanner squatting down hard on Dinakos's mustache. Slurp!

G'morning. Yup we got a winner - after my second cup of coffee I'll send an email to see if he wants one of the pornovideos. So now I can get the videoclip ready for y'all - but while you're waiting, feel free to check out my auctions - I bought about 2 dozen vintage paperbacks yesterday (and I want to keep most, but can't) like Forced Entry from 1975. And I even have some cheap new underwear for auction. Did you know that eBay doesn't have a category for boxer briefs - you are force to pick either boxers, or briefs. Fascinating, eh?