Monday, March 31, 2008

Crazy Lance Learns To Take a Punch

Many of you, I know, have been wondering exactly what double fisting entails.

Regular readers of The Neighbors Will Hear will remember my friend Crazy Lance, whom I have talked about on several occasions, including here and, more recently, here. For those of you who don't want to do background research, the important points are that a) the "crazy" in Crazy Lance is meant very literally, b) he's been through some tough times, and c) the last time I saw him, he'd started getting some treatment and was doing much better.

I hadn't seen him in a few weeks, though, and I'd been so busy that I hadn't had much of an opportunity even to chat with him. So when I saw that he was online late last week, I decided to say hello. He said hello back the next morning, and then we chatted in the afternoon. I have changed nothing except the names, so I'm afraid you're going to have to live with the way responses sometimes cross in chat making things a little less sequential than they'd be in an in-person conversation.

LocoLance (8:53 AM): Hey there, TED. Yes. I'm over at Jack's.
TED (12:11 PM): Hi, Lance. How are things?
LocoLance (2:03 PM): hey, TED things're going well, thanks. i'm over at jackie's. just got the bathroom floor wiped up (scrubbing will have to be put off, for now, but I used disinfectant, so any dirt particles that may be hiding in the grout are, at least, free of creepy-crawlies) and a letter written. we're getting ready to run a couple of errands. so today's a good day. how're things, with you?
TED (2:05 PM): Fine. I'm just working lots.
TED (2:06 PM): I worked until almost eleven last night. I'm a little tired.
LocoLance (2:09 PM): sleepy, never tired.
LocoLance (2:11 PM): how're you holding up? you know, folks are depending on you. but that doesn't mean you need to be exhausted. are you able to git 'er done, and still have a mind left?
TED (2:20 PM): Oh, I keep forgetting about the tired thing. Can I be exhausted or fatigued instead?
LocoLance (2:20 PM): fatigued is good.
TED (2:20 PM): I think my mind is still here, more or less. I'll bounce back when it's over.
LocoLance (2:21 PM): i'm so glad, bud.

TED (2:21 PM): What's happening with you?
LocoLance (2:21 PM): dare i tell?
TED (2:21 PM): Sure.
LocoLance (2:21 PM): well...
LocoLance (2:21 PM): you see...
LocoLance (2:21 PM): it's like this...
TED (2:21 PM): You are such a tease.
LocoLance (2:22 PM): i was listening to my loretta lynn cd, the other day, see...
TED (2:22 PM): And now you're proud to be a coal miner's daughter?
LocoLance (2:22 PM): ...and she's got this song on there, see, called "fist city"?
LocoLance (2:23 PM): oh, i was always proud of that. it was just the alchy thing, and the wife-beatING (rather than wife-beatER), that i objected to.
LocoLance (2:24 PM): the thing is that, having heard "fist city", i decided to take a little trip down that way, myself.
TED (2:24 PM): Cool. I love fisting stories.
LocoLance (2:24 PM): i'm going to a fisting party, tomorrow night.
LocoLance (2:25 PM): some guys box (or do "ultimate fighting"); i'm getting into fisting.
TED (2:25 PM): Sounds like a plan.

LocoLance (2:25 PM): my goal is "to the elbow", eventually, but, for tomorrow night, it'll be to be "punch fucked"
TED (2:25 PM): To the elbow is pretty extreme. On the other hand, you're very tall.
LocoLance (2:26 PM): i don't necessarily mean "punch fucked" as in "the fist is already closed, when it's shoved in".
TED (2:26 PM): You don't want the fist to close until the hand is in.
LocoLance (2:27 PM): i just mean that it'll go all the way in, to the wrist, and then be pulled out and pushed back in, RELATIVELY quickly, before the session's over.
LocoLance (2:27 PM): hey, TED, i saw a porno on x-tube where EXACTLY that happened.
LocoLance (2:27 PM): now, you couldn't see the guy's face, so it could have been a corpse, that it was happening to...
LocoLance (2:27 PM): but i doubt it.
TED (2:27 PM): In my experience with fisting, closing the fist once my hand was inside was the most fun part.
LocoLance (2:28 PM): and i saw a guy STICK HIS HAND in some guy WHILE his DICK was in there, and hold his dick and fuck his hand INSIDE THAT GUY'S ASS
TED (2:28 PM): You have to walk before you can run, buddy.
LocoLance (2:28 PM): oh, MAN, i can't wait to fist a guy slow, you know? taking my time, feeling it ALL?

TED (2:29 PM): Do you know these guys already?
TED (2:29 PM): Slow fisting is really where it's at.
LocoLance (2:29 PM): i fisted a guy at the last party, and it was AWESOME (i actually GROANED), when my hand went in, to the wrist...
LocoLance (2:29 PM): ...but it was kind of a quickie.
LocoLance (2:29 PM): yes, i think so.
TED (2:29 PM): Ok. Just be careful.
LocoLance (2:30 PM): how can you be careful? there'll be gloves and crisco, etc...
LocoLance (2:30 PM): ...but any of them could get AIDS tonight, and it wouldn't show up, and he could infect me, tomorrow.
TED (2:30 PM): I just hope you're doing it with people you can trust.
LocoLance (2:30 PM): ...and any of them could be a psycho
TED (2:31 PM): It's not HIV I'm worried about. The gloves will take care of that.
LocoLance (2:31 PM): will it? who knows. i hope so, of course.
LocoLance (2:31 PM): but no, i probably won't know most of these guys.
LocoLance (2:32 PM): all i know is that they're part of a club that gave me (a stranger) a membership card, the night i showed up for my first party.

LocoLance (2:32 PM): i'm going to give my friend a machete, though.
LocoLance (2:32 PM): and it'll be drawn, while anybody but him's fisting me.
TED (2:34 PM): Well, that certainly sounds menacing.
LocoLance (2:34 PM): if he agrees to kill anybody who kills me, i'll let anybody in the club who want's to do it, in there.
TED (2:35 PM): Somehow, I never think that sex should be based on mutually assured destruction.
LocoLance (2:35 PM): yeah, but i won't be relying on him. i've got an old cavalry sabre. i'll be holding that, just in case my friend hesitates.
TED (2:36 PM): So if anyone kills you, you'll be able to kill him yourself. Sounds like a plan that can't fail.
LocoLance (2:36 PM): it's got a dull edge, but a sharp enough point that it'll go through the throat of a guy who rams me.
LocoLance (2:36 PM): my death will have to be instantaneous, or his will predede mine.
LocoLance (2:37 PM): he'll be gurgling blood through a hole in his throat, and drown in it.
TED (2:37 PM): And to think that I hook up with so many guys without having a detailed security plan. Or even weapons. I feel unprepared somehow, now.
LocoLance (2:37 PM): indeed. you are.

TED (2:38 PM): It's a wonder that I've survived as long as I have.
LocoLance (2:38 PM): i feel the same way. somebody's probably looking out for any of us, who're still alive.
LocoLance (2:39 PM): any of us could have died in any number of ways, in any number of moments.
LocoLance (2:40 PM): i can't tell you how many times i've watched a shadow-life veer off to the side, when I bumped something, in the house (a vase, or whatever) and it wobbled, but DIDN'T fall over and shatter.
TED (2:41 PM): How are you doing with your medication?
LocoLance (2:41 PM): how many times (like the time i hit a slick spot, on the road, in that damned Citation, and just did at least one 360 on the exit ramp, one night) i could have died or worse, and a "shadow life" in which i did, went veering off into time-space
LocoLance (2:41 PM): what medication? i don't have medication.
TED (2:42 PM): I thought the doctor put you on some.
LocoLance (2:42 PM): that was over a month ago. almost two. i had a month's medication, in that prescription.
TED (2:43 PM): You said you had gone to see someone about getting into the system and getting some treatment.
LocoLance (2:43 PM): i couldn't sign the agreement. it was a stupid agreement.
TED (2:43 PM): Oh Lance.
LocoLance (2:45 PM): hey, bud. i'd love to chat, but jackie and i have places to go, things to do, people to see. i don't know what's going to happen, either tomorrow or in the next second, but today's a good day, we're together, and we've got errands to run.
LocoLance (2:45 PM): best wishes, and good luck, there, at work. catch ya later.
TED (2:45 PM): Have a good day, Lance.

I did see that Lance was online again late last night, so I presume that the machete was not necessary. I'm pretty sure that I will never host a fisting party (I very much dislike vegetable shortening), but if I did, I'd stipulate that the dress code be nude, no weapons.

Kidding aside, it's not surprising that Lance signed off immediately after I started talking about treatment. I didn't say hello tonight because I just don't know what to say to him. I'm not sure he's safe to be around, but I reckon that I'll find a way to see him after tax season is over. He is usually at least open to listening to what I have to say, so perhaps some gentle remonstrations about the importance of mental health care are in order.

Or at least I can ask him if he got some pics at the fisting party. I mean, I'm concerned, but I'm still curious.

Sunday, March 30, 2008

Quick, Good

One thing I'm struck by as I surf around the net is my lack of visual acumen. That, readers, is why the pictures here are so often so very pedestrian. Thanks to digital cameras and software, I can usually take, or at least produce a passable picture, but, for example, I downloaded a free version of something that's meant to act like photoshop, and I'm utterly lost. I really don't think in visual terms, and it shows. Anyway, this is all by means of explaining that in many cases, I don't make much of an attempt to match the pictures with the words. There are obvious exceptions: when I'm posting about a fetish, I like to have relevant pictures. In some cases, I make an effort to find pictures that aren't relevant. Tomorrow's post will be an example of that. The first picture in that post will be relevant in a visual pun sort of way, but the remainder of the post is, to me, somewhat disheartening, and all of the relevant pictures are things that make me want to turn away, so I went with things that were pretty and maybe a little banal. I would have posted it today, but pretty and banal tends to equate with SFW, and what's the point of posting on a weekend if you can't have pictures that are more lewd than usual?

He obviously thinks it's sexier not to smile.  He's wrong, but let's admit that he looks good in that squarecut.
So, yesterday late afternoon, I was sitting in my office, nearing the end of a bad day, and I had about an hour and a half before I was supposed to pick up the girls, so I clicked on, mostly to run in the background while I reviewed another tax return. And I very quickly got a message from a guy over in Silver Spring. I should probably go ahead and use this guy's screen name because it's obvious that the monosyllabic, four-letter, hyper-masculine name he was using was not something anyone ever has or will call him in real life. But let's continue our practice of further obscuring the identities of my tricks and give him another monosyllabic, four-letter, hyper-masculine name that no one ever calls him in real life.

This is my favorite of the lot.  It's been way too long since I worked a guy's pits properly.
I vaguely knew who Biff was. He'd first appeared in the local rooms of two or three years ago, and he seemed a likely candidate for a shag, so I said hello. He'd indicated some initial interest, but nothing ever panned out, and I'd soon stopped initiating conversations. I was surprised to see him popping up on my screen and complimenting me. I returned the compliment, and then he started talking about how cold it was, and I was thinking, "Oh, how cute. Small talk." It's common to see profiles on where the guy goes on (usually at great length) about how he's looking for a guy who will be happy staying in on Friday nights and helping to polish his snow globe connection, or whatever. These guys usually say that they're not looking to hook up and that if you contact them and say "looking?" they will ignore you. But I am certainly not one of those people -- I appreciate a sense of directness and the feeling that you value my time enough to use it efficiently -- and I was certain that if Biff wanted help polishing his snowglobes, it was only in the most metaphorical use possible of the phrase.

Anyway, it was, despite the small talk, clear what he wanted, and it only took a few minutes before he gave enough of a hint of it for me to come right out and say what I was up for. Then he gave me his address, told me where the best parking was, and said that he'd meet me outside his apartment building. And when I got there, there he was. As I approached, he turned and headed towards the door, and I followed him in, through the lobby, and into an elevator. He didn't say anything, but I didn't care much because his ass looked really good in his jeans. Unfortunately, someone else walked in just before the elevator doors closed, so I couldn't molest him while we were ascending, but it didn't take long to get inside his apartment, and as he opened his mouth to say something, I put my tongue in it. He melted, and as we kept kissing (which, he was pretty good at: I give him an 8), I grabbed his ass and nipples. After half a minute, I broke away and followed him into the bedroom.

I kicked off my shoes, and as he bent down to untie his, I came up behind him and ran my hands up under his t-shirt then around the front to squeeze his nipples. He stopped undoing his shoes and stood up, giving me the chance to kiss the back of his neck and stick my tongue in his ear. Biff, like me, doesn't say much during sex, but it was easy to read the sharp intakes of breath, the various stiffenings, and the switches back and forth between languor and hunger to see how much he was enjoying it. I'd figured he must have been pretty horned up to ask me to come over, and I'd obviously been right.

He stepped away long enough to pull his t-shirt off. Really, that's my job, but I let it pass and tossed him backwards onto the bed, so I could straddle him and go back to kissing him. It would have been easy to get lost in that, but I figured I really only had half an hour to play, so I lay on my side next to him, turned him to me, and began to suck on his nipples while I unzipped his jeans. He was, unsurprisingly, hard. It was a small cock, but I like that, and it was nice and perky, and, oh hell, every cock is interesting, right?

A little something for the dirty feet fetishists.
I left his cock pretty quickly, though, to play with his ass. I was still kissing him, mind. He was showing an alarming tendency to go after my nipples, and since that never does anything to me except hurt when the guy escalates because he's not getting a reaction from gentle play, I had to grab his wrist and pin it down over his head with the hand that wasn't playing with his ass. When I did that, though, I got the acrid odor of unwashed and untreated pits. I love untreated, freshly washed pits, but I've never really been attracted to odors much. I mean, I love it when my bed smells like another guy's been in it, but the strong underarm odor is not, for me, the aphrodisiac that it is for many guys. Still, I wasn't minding it so much with Biff, and it occurred to me that if I were subjected to it often enough, I could probably acquire a taste for it. It also, though, occurred to me that I probably didn't want to acquire a taste for it, so I let his hand go free after a while, and when he finally did get too rough with the nipples (only fair, I'm sure, given how I'd been treating his), I simply told him to ease off, and he did.

Biff very clearly wanted me to be in charge, so I grabbed his hand and put it on my crotch, and he finally got the idea to haul out the reason that he'd invited me over. I stood up for a minute to take my pants and briefs off, and he just lay there as I pulled off his shoes and jeans. Then I got back on the bed and grabbed his hair and shoved his head in the general direction of my crotch, and he went down on me like a guy coming across water in the desert. Hello, Mr. Eager!

Anyway, it went like that for a while, interrupted by bouts of making out, and once I'd determined that his ass was very clean, I rimmed him briefly and then sunk a couple of fingers in him while he was going down on me. I imagine he would have been happy to have me fuck him, but I'd never intended to fuck him, and there really wasn't time. I did go down on him a bit, though. Eventually, I pulled him off me, kissed him a bit more, then pinned him down and started to play with him very gently: ultra-soft kisses, and a single finger barely making contact with his nipples, frenulum, and scrotum. Then I flipped him onto his stomach, wedged my cock between his legs, and bit his shoulders.

Barbershop porn.  How quaint.
Finally, I turned him on his back again and started kissing him again. He grabbed his cock and started pumping, and I did the same. He came quickly and, it seemed, pretty hard. I came not long after, and shot high. He jumped up and soon returned with a damp, warm washcloth, and I cleaned up. We chatted a bit while I was getting dressed, and I was amused to see that the hypermasculinity had melted into a voice and manner that was almost foppish. Either he was experiencing post-coital nerves, or he was relaxed and allowing his true self to come out with another gay man. I don't guess it really matters. He seemed like a very nice guy, and he was good in the sack, but I'm sure it was a one-off Berber. Two stars, for sure. It'd taken fifteen minutes longer than I'd planned, but when you're having a good time, sometimes you're not watching the clock.

And then I went and picked the kids up and we had dinner, some more Mario Kart, and an earl(ish) night. We had to leave the house at 6:30 this morning to be in Hagerstown at 8, so EFU could catch her ride back to Vermont. Four college students and their luggage in a Prius. Youth.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

The Fetishists: Size Queens

Both established and budding sexperts can learn a lot from reading and/or posting on craigslist, but you should be prepared to wade through more than your fair share of the mass of men living their lives of quiet desperation. That's a bit harsh, perhaps, but we'd all do well to keep in mind that the ordinary is, well, ordinary. So if, say, you post an ad on craigslist asking guys about their fetishes and suggesting that you might help make them a reality, you should be prepared to hear mostly from foot lovers. They may want stinky feet or white socks or long toes, but I figure that about two-thirds of self-identified fetishists are fixated on feet. I can only presume that many of these guys played with themselves for the first time while they were hiding under the dining room table, watching the lower extremities of their elders. Actually, I'm sure there are well-researched explanations for foot fetishes, but I don't care to find them.

I have no great interest in the foot, but I certainly don't mind if someone wants to adore mine. I certainly don't think my feet are anything special, but de gustibus non disputandum est, right? Anyway, after you've weeded out all the foot fans, there are a number of other, more interesting fetishes out there. I got an email about one from a guy who was, I believe, a bit misguided, but still amusing:

Saw your's a fetish you may not have heard of...Macrophilia. I'm into the fantasy of shrinking a guy down to 8-12 inches tall and making him into a pet to play with. I realize it's a fantasy and can't be real but have met many folks online into roleplay and making composite pics. Attached are a couple pics to give you an idea of what I'm talking about. I'd love to have someone help me by letting me take some pics to make a series of composites for my own personal use.

It didn't make sense to me that a fascination with a smaller playmate would be called macro- rather than microphilia, so I checked around, and, indeed, my correspondent was mistaken. I suppose I could draw parallels to dominance and submission and speculate about what sort of person is sexually attracted to people of an abnormally larger or smaller size, but why bother? It's not like you're liable to be dating someone and discover that he wants you to be twelve inches tall, and if you ever are, I'm really at a loss as to how you'd accomplish that. (Some guys try to make you feel small, of course, but I believe that to be an independent phenomenon.) Apparently, both microphilia and macrophilia are much better known as heterosexual phenomena, and macrophilia is basically this:

Microphilia makes me think of nothing so much as "Angie Baby," a Helen Reddy song that I'm a bit embarrassed to be old enough to remember. I have to admit that I find it a little lame to have a fetish that only exists in fantasy. At least tighty whities and yellow speedos are real, right?

Still, it's easy enough to figure a way to get the microphiliacs all hot and bothered. And if your microphiliac friend also has a clothing-related fetish, you can go for the double whammy:

All of which, of course, reminds me of part of yet another song:

Once upon a time I used to dress up 'Ken'
But now that I'm a woman, I like bigger men
And i don't need a Barbie doll to show me how
'Cause mama, I'm a big girl now.

By the way, I'm sure at least a few of you saw the post title and were disappointed by the content. Plus, it's the weekend, so NSFW is not so much of a consideration (not that I'm ever SFW), so here are a few pics of really big cocks. I don't know whether they've been photoshopped, or, for that matter, whether -- if they are reall -- they're functional, but have to:

Friday, March 28, 2008

The Fetishists - Tighty Whities

We all know that I missed my calling when I didn't become a sexual anthropologist.(Or maybe the guy who gives change for the booths at an adult bookstore. I've hooked up with a couple of those guys, though. One encounter was maybe five or six years ago at the bookstore, and he was hot. The other was at a guy's apartment, and he was not. Oh well.) But I certainly try to do my best as an amateur. In fact, since I never have posted and never will post pictures of myself, you can imagine that I look however you like, but on a metaphorical level, I want you to imagine me like this:
Taxicab Confessions. What happens in Vegas ends up on HBO.
Anyway, I'm fascinated by fetishes and near fetishes. As I've said before, the technical definition of a fetish is something without which a particular individual cannot achieve climax. The common usage, however, extends to include objects and/or practices that provide powerful sexual excitement for an individual. And while I usually fight tooth and nail against the sort of vocabulary creep that has rendered many of our more interesting words mostly meaningless, in this case, I'm tempted to meet the common usage halfway. I won't go so far as to allow you to say that you have a fetish if you just really like something, but if an object or somewhat unusual practice automatically makes you throw wood, then I guess you can call it a fetish without fear of me calling you out. Probably.

Anyway, a few days ago, the inimitable Father Tony left a comment about a fetishist whom he had encountered in Moncton, New Brunswick. Fr. Tony got cruised by a man with a powerful fascination for yellow bathing suits. Well, you can read the comment yourself. I was, of course, both fascinated and jealous (jealous mainly because when I was twelve or so, my family was vacationing in the Maritime provinces, and we passed through Moncton, and nothing at all interesting happened). It's probably a little annoying to have such a strong and specific fetish if you're the fetishist. I'd guess that Mr. Moncton could only get off with the assistance of yellow swimwear. And the fact that the mention of it made him cum so violently is probably something that he regretted on some level. Trips to the beach would be, well, tricky. But can you imagine being his partner? You could fulfill your conjugal duties by pulling a pair of trunks out from under your pillow. Sure, you'd have to get your own gratification another way, but a guy like that will probably lie there and take a pounding for a half-hour if he knows the banana-colored banana hammock is going to appear at the end of the session. In any case, you'd never have any adequacy issues because you'd always be able to get the guy off. What a deal! Let's hope that guy was married to a woman who'd lost interest in sex and truly appreciated that he would never pester her so long as she was able to produce that yellow squarecut from her purse.

Anyway, I chat or correspond with guys about their fascinations and fetishes whenever I can. I was working late last night, and I thought I'd see if I could strike up a conversation, so I put an ad on craigslist asking guys to tell me about their fetishes and offering to help them out with them if I could. As expected, I didn't get many responses, but I did get a few. I had one guy that I was going to help out, but he backed out at the last minute, which was probably just as well. His fetish was something that I found borderline unappealing, and while I probably would have been intellectually fascinated by watching it make him hard and make him ejaculate, I would likely not have had any visceral enjoyment from the experience. Besides, I got a few more tax returns finished in the time that I would have spent traveling to and playing with him.

I did, though, have a fascinating (to me, anyway) exchange with another guy. I've reproduced it below. His e-mails are in regular typeface; mine are in italics. You would probably have been able to tell who was saying what by the subject matter and the presence or absence of appropriate capitalization anyway, but why take chances? By the way, I haven't changed anything. I have left all of his words and all of my own errors. Nobody's perfect.

got a real bad fetish for white cotton briefs. being restrained, and made to watch a dude rub and play with himself through his briefs. when hard, have my face rubbed into some dudes package. only allowing me to lick and sniff through the briefs untill they are soaking wet. im not allowed to touch with my hands, called really dirty names during the whole process. breifs are taken off and put on my head with the fly opening where my mouth and nose is. after teasing me through the briefs, the fly is opened up and my mouth is fucked through it. I get a load of cum pumped into my thorat.

Had this happen to me several times because I cant stay away from white cotton briefs.

That sounds pretty hot. Do the briefs themselves get you hot if no one is wearing them?

sometimes, if im sniffing them

You mean if they've been worn? Or straight out of the package?


a couple of times Ive gone to the store and purchased a package then driven over to a park and sat in my car while Ive sniffed them and jerked off in my car.

That must be hot. Do you get hard if you see them in the store?

I did once. I thought I wasnt being watched and picked up the package just as i was about to sniff them, a male sales clerk appeared out of know where and asked me if I wanted to try them on. I told him that it wasnt allowed and he said that he would tell anyone as long as i let him watch and i could model them in the dressing room. Never happened to me before, so i wne tback in the dressing room and stripped down put on a pair of white calvins and put on a small show for the sales dude. He ended up forceing me to suck him off in the dressing room, it was hot. I wnet home and beat off into my underwear afterwards.

Wow. That's great. Was he wearing white briefs?

yes he jerked on his cock while he watched. he had his fly open to his dress pants, his cock pulled out through the fly and jerked himself, i could see his white underwear. he forced his cock down my throat. he didnt take dwon his pants. I sucked his cock through his fly. he let me take home the briefs i was modeling

Sounds like a pretty good time for you. Did you ever go back there?

yeah went back one more time, but the sales guy was gone. dont know where he went.

That's too bad. Do you hang out with other guys who share the same fetish? I think tighty whities is a relatively common one.

not really i dont run into many dudes who get into that to much. I have found that its rare. wish there was a group of dudes into it. I dont mind flying solo.... I do get more then my fare share

More than your fair share generally? Or more than your fair share of white brief action? What else are you into? How old are you, etc.?

more then my fare share of the briefs action and cock. I hook up with a 22 year old dude on a regular basis in arlington that wears briefs especially for me. he loves the whole sceen. he's sitting in a chair in his living room watching porn in tight white briefs. he makes me like and sniff the front of the briefs till he's rock hard and they are soaking wet. he's kind of rough with me, and thats a turn on, he talks to me like he's using me and my throat and that im there for his personal pleasure. its a hot sceen. he got a huge cock. I sometime beg for it be cause he doesnt give it to me right away. he forces me to deepthroat him and when he shoots he pulls out and hold me back while he shoots all over himself. by this time im jerking like a fool and will automaticlly cum right in my underwear. i get up and go. i dont know his name but have been doing him for about a year.

Im 48, average build, white, brn/brn buzz cut, 6ft 210.

Damn. That really is a hot scene.

Anyway. I do think that the tighty whities fascination is relatively common. I used to chat with a guy on who was specifically into Stafford white briefs, which, Google confirms, is the JCPenney house brand. I don't know, however, how many people are as strongly excited by it as the guy from last night is. I sent him a few pictures (the ones in this post) after our exchange, and he thanked me. And if anybody knows of a DC area group that gets into white y-fronts, let me know, and I'll pass the information along. I'm all about helping.

Thursday, March 27, 2008


Can we talk about scare quotes, readers? While I don't hate them as much as I hate the greengrocer's plural, I still hate them plenty. I'm thinking about them just now because earlier today, I noticed a spike in traffic. Further investigation revealed that I had been linked to by Durban Bud, who had put my name in quotation marks. To be honest, as long as TJ keeps sucking up to me by calling me a slut, I don't really mind that he puts my nom de net in quotation marks. The real reason for this post is that I was horrified to realize that on the day he linked to me, I had a post up that talked, in a somewhat serious manner, about pornography and medieval literature and that had not a single NSFW picture. How am I ever going to get more Interstate rest stops named after me if people think of me as someone who discusses serious issues, rather than as someone who will write just about anything as an excuse to post dirty pictures? So here are some dirty pictures. This next one, I regret to tell you, has apparently been photoshopped, but since the other pictures are mostly of twinks, I figured I'd better post something more palatable to TJ's fur-loving-submissive-bottom demographic.

Anyway, since we're on the topic of scare quotes, I presume that TJ puts TED inside quotation marks to indicate that it's not my real name. Because, you understand, he legally had his own name changed to Durban Bud: you can probably go to the DC courthouse and find the records yourself. I understand, in fact, that there are at least five or six other bloggers who use a name different from the one that appears on their birth certificates. Scandalous, I know.

By the way, and for the record, I have never had sex at an Interstate rest stop. I am deeply, deeply ashamed of this fact, but I have never been good at having sex in public. If God had meant for us to approach strangers in toilets for sex, he wouldn't have created craigslist or Don't believe me? Look what happened to Larry Craig.

And while I'm pretending that I have logical transitions between totally unrelated topics, what the fuck is it with all of these pictures I see lately of twinks with huge cocks? I presume that they're not all photoshopped. I understand that the camera angles and the relative hairlessness and the trimmed pubes all combine to make the cocks appear larger than they are, but still: WTF?

I have to admit that, in general, I don't think twinks are good for much other than visual appeal, but isn't the whole point of a twink that he has a cute ass that you can eat while he's going down on you until he begs you to fuck him? Maybe not. Maybe I missed the memo. Anyway, visually, I think most of these guys would look better with smaller equipment. But, hey: chacun à son goût, I reckon.

Still, I suspect a more nefarious explanation. We all know that the use of HGH to turn ordinary adolescents into professional athletes is on the rise, so I figure there are conversations like this going on in doctors' offices around the country:

Dr. Hung: I'm sorry Mr. Smith. We can give Timmy another course of growth hormone, but it's unlikely that he'll ever be strong enough to compete in any professional sport.
Mr. Smith: That's unacceptable, doctor. Surely you can do something.
Dr. H: Well, I didn't want to mention it: it's a very controversial therapy.
Mr. Smith: What is it? We'll try it!
Dr. H: Well, there is a treatment involving a combination of herbs, injections, and appliances designed to add an extra two to four inches to Timmy's penis.
Mr. Smith: I don't understand...
Dr. H: Do you know what a gay male porn star can earn during his peak years, Mr. Smith? If we can get him to eight-and-a-half inches and you start him at eighteen, he can easily pull down five figures for each weekend film shoot. To say nothing of the income he can earn escorting and stripping. It's all tax-free, and there are no pesky regulatory authorities to stop you taking all of his earnings for yourself. What do you say? Shall I write the prescriptions?
Mr. Smith: We'll do it, Dr. Hung. Anything to help Timmy realize his dreams.

And then, overcome by the obvious love for his son, Dr. Hung bends Mr. Smith over the examining table and spends half an hour trying to enlarge his prostate. It's no wonder our health care system is in crisis.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

The Consolation of Pornography

As it happens, I was meant to read Boethius' The Consolation of Philosophy in my Medieval Literature class in college. I'm pretty sure, though, that I skipped it. I liked the class just fine, and I read most of what I was supposed to read, but I wasn't the most diligent student in those days. Still, I would likely have read the Boethius if it weren't for the professor. After getting an A on my first paper, I was having some trouble getting the second paper done on time, and he made the mistake of telling the class that he didn't really care if any of the four papers were late so long as he had them all by 5:00 pm on Monday of finals week. As a result, I didn't actually start writing the papers until the Sunday evening before finals week (i.e., the night before they were due), and since I could write the remaining three papers without having to read Boethius, I did. I turned them in at 4:15, a full forty-five minutes earlier than necessary, which proves that even then I was not much of a drama queen. They weren't my best work, though, and I only got an A on one of them, but a life without regrets is a boring life, no? Anyway, if you want to see what I was missing, the e-text is here. Neither Boethius nor my poor collegiate work ethic is the topic of today's post, however.

Did you know that it's relatively difficult to find pictures of attractive man smiling in a natural way? I can find any number of pictures of guys engaging in activities that even I would hesitate to discuss (voting Republican, for example), but most of the pictures of smiling men look like the guy was either looking into the sun or had just been told to say "cheese." The best pictures are of men caught unawares, though clearly there are men who are not afraid of the camera and manage to smile as beautifully as if it were instead someone whom they're very fond of. But the scarcity of good pictures of cute guys smiling isn't today's topic, either.

Towards the end of last week, I came home to find a padded envelope in the mail. I thought that maybe it was the memory card for the smaller digital camera that I had just ordered, so I didn't bother to open it immediately. When I got to it, however, I found two porn DVDs (please note that I have not typed an apostrophe where one does not belong: the greengrocer's plural remains the bane of my existence), including Crossroads, the movie that I sought for a considerable period of time before finding and that I then had to wait for after ordering.

As I mentioned before, I was somewhat apprehensive that Crossroads wouldn't live up to my memory of it, so I didn't watch it right away. I first watched Roommates, another Danny Sommers' flick, which attempted to mix smoking hot mansex with an important message about gay bashing (hint: the director is pro-smoking hot mansex and anti-gay bashing). I was watching it late at night, and I fell asleep partway through. I believe that the sleeping was not so much a reflection on the quality of the acting (abysmal) as it was on the fact that I was exhausted before I started watching and even more exhausted after watching the first sex scene. Anyway, Roommates gets the job done as pornography, and, well, if its attempts at plot and social relevance fall short, we can at least applaud the effort, right?

After Roommates, I was even more doubtful that I'd still enjoy Crossroads, but I need not have worried. I don't know whether it was the attractiveness of the cast or my own sense of nostalgia or, perhaps, the efforts of the film itself towards relevance, but I liked it almost as much as I remembered. I say almost because you have to bear in mind that it was one of the very first porn videos I ever acquired, and I got it at a time when I was still married and still had not had any actual sex with actual men. So I spilled quite a number of loads to the original VHS. And now I've spilled a few loads to the DVD.

Crossroads is the story of a twenty-two-year-old high school auto shop teacher John (Chuck Barron: yummy). At the beginning of the film, you see him proposing to his girlfriend (the two female characters never appear on screen, but you hear their very annoying voices). Soon after their marriage, he meets his wife's former boyfriend, a twenty-eight-year-old gay Army officer named Colin (Danny Sommers: also yum -- looks grrreat in an olive tank, camo pants, and boots). The rest of the plot involves the two men becoming friends, having sex, and falling in love, as John comes to terms with his homosexuality. The acting is, well, weak, but the story is compelling. And the action in the story is pleasantly symmetrical. There are three joint sex scenes: in the first, the guys jerk each other off; in the second, they suck each other off; and in the third, they take turns fucking each other. Each guy also has a solo jerk-off scene, and all of the sex scenes are separated by dialog/plot advancement scenes. In the end, the film comes full circle. The narrative and sexual structure, really, reminds me of The Pearl, which was one of the Medieval Literature works that I actually did read. I don't recall jerking off to Pearl, but I think I was nineteen when I read it, so how could I not have?

Clearly, Crossroads is not a great work of art, except perhaps within the context of other pornography of its day. Still, seeing it ten or so years ago was a transformative experience for me. And it wasn't simply the plot of a married man figuring out that he was gay and finding another man to share his love with: it was also all that sex. Pornographic, yes, but presented in a much more personal and humanizing context than almost any other sex film I know.

It makes me long for better films with better sex. Lots of young men have gotten their first inkling of why they were different by seeing some artistic representation of homosexuality. I can't help thinking how much more quickly many of us would reach full sexual realization if we had cinematic representations of sex that were both dramatically and sexually compelling. I think there are situations where pornography can do great damage, but it also has the potential to educate and enlighten, as well as excite.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Average Bear

I had a fairly quick (75 minutes, door to door) assignation late Saturday afternoon. I was in the office because, well, where else would I be, and I probably should have worked for another couple of hours. I was supposed to pick up EFU later, and we were going to go to a movie and then home. Sunday morning, I was going to take her to church, where I was singing with the choir, and YFU was going to join us there and then we were all going home for Easter dinner and so forth. B&c was in New Jersey with his mother and sister.

So it really wasn't an auspicious moment to hook up, especially since I'd fairly recently gorged myself on the Tex-Mex food they'd brought in for lunch, and I didn't feel like moving, let alone fucking. But I was pretty horny: I'd fucked b&c Friday morning, but I hadn't played with anyone else in maybe a week, so I thought I'd take a quick look at Craigslist.

There followed a brief series of e-mails with a forty-two-year-old who described himself as very hairy and very inexperienced. He wanted to make out some and then go down on me and have me be verbal. Why not? I gave him a call, made arrangements, and I was on my way down to his condo in Kalorama, fairly pricey part of DC. I parked a couple of blocks away, walked to his building, and called him. He came down to get me. As advertised: hairy, with a bit of a belly and looking a little bit nervous. We got in the elevator, and I started to play with one of his nipples. Then he just looked hungry.

We walked through some hallways and a fire door to his condo, which was really big and kind of sparsely furnished. Obviously a guy who works a lot and makes a lot of money and doesn't have time to spend it. When he closed the door, I started to kiss him and he responded vigorously. I pushed him over to the couch and got on top of him and played more with his nipples and kissed him more. I hadn't seen a bedroom on the way in, so I wondered if we were in some sort of giant studio plus kitchen and dining room, but when I let him breathe, he asked whether I wanted to go to the bedroom. The bedroom was big, but the guy had a double bed: I guess he wasn't kidding when he said inexperienced.

Anyway, it was a pretty fun and fairly relaxed session. At some point we started talking while we were playing, and I learned that he was only a year removed from dating women and that he'd never been fucked but that he fantasized about it a lot and that he thought it was weird that he was always in charge professionally but that he liked how I had taken charge sexually. I laughed, "Oh dude. There is nothing less unusual than that."

In fact, I may have been the first person to ever play with his ass. I asked him whether he was okay, and he just kept saying that it felt "weird." If you're playing with a guy's ass and he doesn't hate it and it just feels weird, he's going to be a very hungry bottom some day, but he was very clear that he didn't want to go beyond a certain point, and I wasn't really in a fucking mood, anyway. Besides, he was pretty good with the head, so it was not exactly a chore for me to lie back, enjoy, and tell him what a good job he was doing. I also talked some about him getting fucked, and that really turned him on.

There was really nothing unusual about the session except maybe that he seemed to relax pretty well and enjoy the conversation and the sucking. He wouldn't let me play with his cock much, and he wouldn't let me touch his nuts at all, because he was afraid he'd cum before me. His penis was so small that I would likely have enjoyed sucking it, but he clearly wasn't going to be into that, so I didn't even try. He worked on my cock for maybe half an hour while I casually fingered his ass and squeezed his nipples. Then he said that I'd worn him out, so we made out some more while I finished jerking myself off. I shot pretty spectacularly all over his very hairy chest. He asked whether he could jerk himself off, and, well, of course. It only took him a minute. Then we talked for a bit longer, and I cleaned up and left.

EFU and I ended up seeing Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, which we both liked pretty well. It was funny, but I couldn't help feeling that both Frances McDormand and Amy Adams were significantly more subdued than I'd seen them in other movies. It seems like a bit of a shame to have the set-up for a screwball comedy and to have two such great talents at your disposal and then not let them soar. The music's good, though, and watching Amy Adams sing "If I Didn't Care" is probably worth the price of admission. And some of the boys, including one who's nearly naked for a while, are cute.