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08.07.2011

NY NY NY NY NY NY NY

It’s been exactly 7 days since I’ve been back. I figured that rather than posting constantly about every single day, while in New York I’m gonna post once or twice a week, unless something truly exceptional happens. I’m not saying I don’t have quite the exceptional life, I do, I love it, I enjoy it, I don’t want to change it, but I’d hate to sound repetitive and predictive: yes, I went out again tonight and got drunk and crazy… how many times do we want to read that? Without further ado I will try to write a recap on my first week back home to the best of my blurry mind’s abilities.

I landed last Friday. As soon as I did I started texting people. I had dinner plans within minutes, so I took a cab home, and called ‘Freckles’ to let me in to my own apartment. ‘Freckles’ is my friend who’d been house sitting for me. I walked my exceptionally graceful dog who is an amazing traveler to have him pee after holding it in for 6 or 7 hours, and went upstairs. I was in dire need of a shower, so after a brief catching up I did so. Then, we headed to ‘Pulino’s’ to meet up with my other friend ‘Jose Maria’ and one of my coworkers. The whole time I’d been texting with ‘Latin T’ I thought I liked. He was in the neighborhood and decided to meet up with us for a drink.

After Pulino’s we headed for more drinks at a few bars in the East Village. Nothing really different or out of the ordinary. I was ecstatically happy to be back. Summer nights in New York HAVE to be the best place in the world. It’s warm and everybody’s walking around almost naked and enjoying the weather. Us New Yorkers put up with the winters and the summer days for the few hours of summer nights we get. ‘Latin T’ decided to kiss me. It felt nice. He was very forward but in a cute way. I didn’t mind. I felt like I could play the roll of “average fag in love for the night” for the night. We were holding hands, kissing, hugging, basically making my friends wonder who the fuck had gotten back from Europe and what did he do with the real me. ‘Latin T’ asked me to come home with me. I politely declined. I wasn’t feeling it for a couple of reasons. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him but I was intrigued to find out, so I decided not to fuck it up and explore my new found Latinophilia for the next few days. I ended up passing out at around 4 or 5 in the morning, I think.

Saturday was my first day back at work. I was very excited to come back. I was somewhat dreading all the catching up I’d have to do, mostly for my own crazy reasons because I’m sure it wouldn’t be that big of an issue if I just didn’t get up to speed and just started fresh, but that’s not me. I’m obsessive compulsive. It was nice to be welcomed back with open arms and blank stares (the beard was gone). That day was ‘The Cock of the North’s’ birthday. I had gotten him a really nice present that I was sure he’d love. When he opened it, he was happier than a sick child who’d just received news of his new kidney after life riskingly waiting for a transplant. As expected, we went over to his house after work and celebrated his day. We had some cocktails and then went to a bar. It was a nice chill night at first. Then, my other friend ‘Afterline’ suggested we go to an after-party at Le Bain for a quick late night dip in the hot tub. I wanted to loyally stay and hang out with ‘The Cock of the North’, but I also felt guilt tripped into going, and I knew it was gonna be fun regardless, so a posse of about 10 of us ended at the rooftop of The Standard getting even more intoxicated and eventually wetting our underpants. I got home pretty late/early.

Sunday was a chill day. Me, ‘Freckles’, and ‘Jose Maria’ went for a late brunch at a tiny tapas bar in the village. The food was delicious, the sangria was smooth, and the atmosphere was just right. They kept playing old school Shakira and Mana for my nostalgic Mexican ear’s delight. Another friend, ‘Occhio’, joined towards the end. We left and headed back to mine for more drinks and board games. Later that night, we ended up at the Gansevoort rooftop for a gay party. I wanted to see the DJ, he’s an old ‘friend’ who I’ve fooled around a handful of times. He was nice and charming as always and greeted me with a peck. We didn’t stay long. We went to Le Bain to show ‘Freckles’ the view. Again, somehow we all ended up in the pool. She did so topless claiming she didn’t want to get her bra wet, but if you ask me, that’s just her excuse. She’s a flirt, and why not, she’s beautiful. If I was her, I’d be butt naked. I think I kissed a guy while inside the hot tub. They night just got blurrier, but some how I was sober enough to have a very intense conversation with ‘Freckles’ when we got back to mine. We passed out at 7am.

Monday was 4th of July. We didn’t have set plans, but me being the usual leader of the pack decided to have people over, head to the park, get drunk, and then find a rooftop to look at some fireworks. Prior to that tho, I met up with my old roommate from community college and her man. I persuaded them into having a pop burger and hoped they would prefer it over in-n-out. Us New Yorkers desperately try and find a substitute, but sadly there is none. West Coast, you can have this one.

I took them to the highline. We walked for a bit and then headed back to Billyburg. We stopped by my place, picked up my pooch, and headed to ‘Lucky Dog’ for a quick beer before the park. At about 5pm we were finally sitting at McCarren indulging on outlaw vodka, and chips and guac. There were about 10 of us and the group just kept getting bigger. ‘Latin T’ joined us with his friend and so did my fellow Frenchies who are dating each other. More food. More drinks. More boardgames. So far a successful 4th of July.

That evening, we walked to my friend’s apartment further down into Williamsburg to go to his rooftop party and watch the fireworks. I was very drunk by that point, and I’m sure my friends were too. The fireworks were nice, but they would’ve been nicer sober. ‘Latin T’ left without saying goodbye which got me weirded out a bit. I was too drunk to stay out so I stumbled home and passed out before midnight. My dehydrated body woke me up a bit before 3 in the morning. I decided I’d text my friends and see if they were out. They weren’t. Having slept a few hours, I was sleepless and opted to go to ‘Metropolitan’ for last call by myself. I met a random Domincan Republic man who proceeded to hit on me with his unintelligible “Spanish”. I let him buy me my last drink, left the bar, skyped a bit, and went to bed.

Tuesday was wasted on recovering. I had errands to run but was too lazy to do so. ‘Freckles’ went back home. I stayed in and watched a bootleg movie. I met ‘Latin T’ for a drink as we had planned, and then we had dinner. It was supposed to be a date but two of his friends were there. He’d just been fired and needed friendly support. After dinner, he suggested we go back to mine and watch a movie. I agreed, but told him I had to go meet ‘Jose Maria’ who was having some boy issues later that night. To be honest, I am not certain how I feel about him yet so I’m being evasive and taking it slow. We cuddled while laying on my couch. It was nice. He left at about 11:30 and I headed to the east village to meet up with ‘Jose Maria’ and ‘Tiny Narcissus’. We had a couple of drinks and somehow ended up at Le Bain, yet again. Inebriated, I kissed ‘Tiny Narcissus’ and after unsuccessful attempts of getting them in the hot tub, I went in by myself. Nothing new here. Went home drunk.

Wednesday I actually did run my errands although first I met up with ‘Afterline’ and a boy he had just met at school that morning. We did a nice brunch and then a beer and a game of scrabble. I kicked both their asses. How’s that for ESL? Then ‘Latin T’ came over to print some stuff. It was slightly awkward, but I’m not sure why. After he left I finished some of the many things I had to accomplish, and met up with ‘Tiny Narcissus’ and his friend for dinner. I had a bit of Greek overload that night. ‘Jose Maria’, my Greek answer to the common Greeks, caught up with us at Eastern Bloc. I kissed a certain someone I’ve talked about that I hadn’t kissed in a while. It felt good and validating. I still have it. I left horny and went to sleep.

Thursday I worked. We have a new intern, she’s nice but not as obsessive compulsive as I am and hence a bit slow (in my book). I really have to learn to accept the more sane humans I share this planet with. After work I went to the boonies of Brooklyn to meet up with ‘Jose Maria’ for a BBQ. Although I was starving, I politely declined all food passed in front of me because despite the fact that they were courteous enough to think about us sensiblevores (yes, I made that word up), they were not conscious enough to fully separate the meat from the non meat items. I can’t deal with my faux meat touching something that had once a face. His friends were nice. I randomly talked to a guy who went to med school with one of my best friends in junior high. How unbe*fucking*lievable small is this damn planet?! I can never get over that.

We all played Cranium, which was very slow and interesting considering the smorgasbord of racial backgrounds and nationalities we had going. The lesser adept gave up and went home. We continued playing, and my team lost. Me and ‘Jose Maria’ were supposed to go meet ‘Tiny Narcissus’ and some other friends at Le Bain, but I was tired and lazy and did not feel like doing the usual yet another night. Ironically enough, I ended up at Metropolitan. I met some handsome half Spanish half Irish thirtysomething and made out with him for the rest of the night. Two interesting things happened: he left for a second and asked me to take care of his drink, but when he came back, he apologized and said he didn’t trust drinking out of it so he got a new one. The other thing was that he seemed ok and not pushy at all when I let him know I was not going home with him. I think we both enjoyed the slight differences exhibited from the accustomed New York homosexual interaction. I felt a bit bad for ‘Jose Maria’. Whether he admits it or not, I felt he was a bit annoyed, and why not, I probably would too. I left my Spanish conquistador and headed home. You know the rest.

Today I worked. It was a slow day. It took me the whole day, on and off, to finish this entry, but I feel good about it. I like this new approach. My closing thoughts? Like I said, I’m not sure how I feel about ‘Latin T’. He’s very nice and I find myself randomly thinking about him throughout the day and looking at my phone for signs of interest, yet at the same time there’s something slightly off, something missing. I enjoy being single. I also enjoy having a boy around. There’s an interesting dichotomy here, when you have someone circumventing you, you tend to attract more and more suitors. I’d love to know the chemistry behind this, or maybe it’s just pure coincidence. Either way, I’m not stressing about it. Like I’ve stated, I’m taking it slow, exploring my options, enjoying my time. Today was also SF boy’s birthday. I wished him a happy birthday via Facebook, per my religious habits. He hasn’t responded, nor will he. It doesn’t matter, I woke up in such a great mood, and my day has been getting strangely better and better. An old friend, ‘Buck’, is in town. He stopped by the gallery. We’re going for drinks later. I was meant to go to the Chelsea Hotel for ‘Tiny Narcissus’s’ second to last night, but to be honest, it’s been a delightfully atypical day, and I want it to turn into an even more delightfully atypical night. Tonight I’m playing it straight.

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23.06.2011

Last stop, then ‘frisco.

I had talked to ‘The Kid’ about potentially staying with him. He’d said most likely i could but we’d see once I got there. Not a clue what that meant… I also didn’t want to bother Geordie-Mo since I knew he’d be at work by the time I arrived. I had an early flight. I was at the Victoria station by 10:30 a.m. So I decided to book a hostel for the night. Usually I’m quite complacent and I always go far beyond what I should to make sure people feel at home, but I also hate being a nuisance, even if it’s very minimal, so a hostel sounded like a sensible solution. Whether I used the room or not didn’t matter. If anything I was paying for an expensive locker in central London.

I texted both Brits and waited for their response. ‘The Kid’ suggested I just come over and drop my stuff. I did so. It was nice to see him again. Always the good host he offered me water, a cigarette, a shower, and explained that the reason why he’d said we’d see if I could stay was because last time we were a bit too loud for his roommate. Understandable.

I left promptly to do a little shopping. I ended up spending more than I should, but the damn sales had me hooked! Rick Owens for 60-70% off? Yes please! Balmain and Burberry Prorsum for half the price? Why the hell not. I also found some weird aphrodisiac pearl dust that I bought because I thought it’d be a fun novelty to drink with champagne (as the instructions read).

Deciding it was probably not a good idea to continue spending money and being a bit scared that one of my cards got blocked at some point, I headed back towards Shoreditch. Me and ‘The Kid’ had said we’d meet back at his by 1930h. I was a bit early so I went to a small coffee shop/pub with free wifi on the corner of his street and logged on to the usual. He called me to tell me he was near. I saw him walking outside then pub and went after him. We went back to his place and popped open the bottle. We skype’d with our mutual friend. It was nice to see his face, but it would’ve been nicer to actually have a drink in person. I showed ‘The Kid’ the blog, per his request, and at first I felt he was a bit weirded out by the fact that I had written about him. I wasn’t bad, but I’m sure it’s a bit weird. He said it didn’t matter. I fought my own paranoia and chose to believe him. We were supposed to meet his friends for an event at 8 p.m. We lost track of time and showed up closer to 10.

We had a coupe drinks at a really cute, kitschy bar, but left promptly. The staff was being incredibly rude. We all went to Hoxton Bar & Kitchen. I really enjoyed hanging out with all of them, but ‘The Kid’ wanted to go somewhere else, and to be honest, I kind of did to. We devised a strategy, the moment he wanted to leave he’d say the code word ‘rabbit’ and we’d pretend I was tired and I had to leave to get a good night sleep and catch my early flight.

He took me to a bar I’d been with him last time. We drank more and more. Got in stupid arguments with stupid drunks. We drank some more. He kissed me. I kissed back. Had one last drink and walked back to his place for the inevitable.

Just like last time, the details are a bit blurry but there was more kissing, and touching, and cuddling. I don’t think either of us remembers when we passed out. I woke at 6ish in the morning and we kissed and fooled around some more. We went back to sleep and I woke up when my alarm clock went off. It was a bit later than I wanted. We kissed and cuddled more. I briefly packed taking quick breaks to give him another peck. Soft. He suggested I miss my flight. While tempted, it’s also a bitch to miss flights, I should know. I left his apartment slightly hoping I would miss it but not on purpose.

I got to Heathrow, upgraded my seat, and now I’m typing this entry. I’m a bit sad and nostalgic. I still do love Europe, especially London, and I’m sure I’ll end up living there at some point, but I’m far from done in New York. We’re about an hour and a half away from San Francisco. Not sure what to expect. I already had a brief anxiety attack. I hate it, but I hate it even more when it happens on a plane. I’m about to take one last nap. I’m craving a cigarette like nymphomaniac craves a lay. All I really want to think of in terms of San Francisco is: should I get in-n-out or rubio’s first?

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21.06.2011

Grind Date No. 4: Twentyeight.

On my last day in Amsterdam, I woke up somewhat early. I had lots of things to accomplish that day. The previous days I had partied, rested, and dilly dallied and not really gotten anything done that should be done when you first visit a city. I fought my usual hang over the same way I usually do: juice, water, pastry.

The day consisted of the Anne Frank house, Stedelijk Museum (contemporary and modern art), the Van Gogh museum, Rijskmuseum (Dutch history and heritage), a bike ride through the park, and eating some raw herring. I accomplished 66% of my goal. Anne Frank’s house was emotional. Stedelijk Museum was closed for renovation… or so I thought… Later I found the actual museum, not the annex, and it was quite nice. Van Gogh was overpriced, but a must when visiting Amsterdam. Rijskmuseum was educational. Back to the hostel I went. There was no bike ride or raw herring.

I logged onto grindr and started talking to a few boys. I ended up making plans with one who worked really close to my place: ‘Twentyeight’. He suggested I go eat at a place not too far away from where he lived. He said he’d meet me for a drink after I ate and after he got off work. I googled the place and it sounded decent: a nice little vegetarian Indian place.

After my decent dinner (I’d been eating home made Indian food in Birmingham, this place stood no chance), we decided on meeting across the street at a place called ‘mustache bar’. ‘Twentyeight’ arrived promptly. First impression: he’s different and cute. He spoke really good English, unlike my previous encounter. We ordered a few rounds and had a very nice conversation.

After, he suggested we went to a karaoke place since we both didn’t feel like going out raging all night. We walked for about ten minutes to his place of choice. He’d warn me it was quite unique and with a very mixed crowd. This man spoke the truth. Unique is an understatement. Upon entering the bar I spotted two very grungy drag queens behind the bar, a few older drunk straight men, a couple of fags with their respective hags, and some average looking people. The karaoke was hilarious. We ordered drinks and chatted a bit more. It turns out his birthday is the day after mine, and his favorite number is 28. What are the fucking odds! I was starting to like this guy… not in the way that “I want to marry you”, but in the way that “yes, maybe I’ll come home with you”. After a few more rounds, I did.

He’d told me his friend signed him up for one of those “home makeover” shows, so I was intrigued to see the final result. His place was a bit messy. I didn’t mind. It was nice for being my second Dutch apartment I’d ever seen. We listened to music, drank some more wine, and started kissing. The kissing continued downstairs in his bedroom. As i was kissing him I felt bumps on his back. I was a bit concerned, but also a bit drunk and horny. The clothes came off. Another nice (although bent), big Dutch dick. Either I’m lucky or Dutch men are packing. We discussed “gay roles”. Turns out we’re both tops. ‘Twentyeight’ asked if I’d ever done poppers. I said yes. He offered. We sniffed. Smart move. Not. Fooled around some more. Oral sex. This time I did suck. He wanted me to fuck him, he claimed poppers turned him into a bottom, but to be honest, those bumps had my usual paranoia augmented. We ended up just jacking off. He bit my nipple very hard, and then came on my chest. I came on my chest as well. He rubbed my nipple after with the cum. Crazy old me started thinking the worst case scenario: he bit my nipple, I must have a minuscule cut, he rubbed semen on it, I will get HIV. He laid on my chest for a second. He asked if I’d spend the night but both my paranoia and the fact that I was leaving next morning convinced me to leave. I got dressed. We said goodbye and I started walking back.

On my way home, I texted Geordie-mo. He managed to calm me down superbly. To quote him: “unsafe sex is like fear of flying – when I get scared on the plane I just think of the trolly dollies who do it everyday”. I didn’t have unsafe sex, but the thought was comforting. I dozed off with minimal thoughts about the evening and a nice, post orgasm smile on my face.

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21.06.2011

Grind Date No. 3: Silver Fox.

Hung over. Again. My youthful body is starting to betray me. I wasn’t feeling much like doing anything so I laid in bed and went online. I managed to score a date with a 44 year old Dutch man. I didn’t have much time till my rendez vous so I got up, got dressed, bought juice, and walked to Nieuwmarkt to meet him. He asked “how will I know it’s you?”. I said “you’ll notice the beard”. He did.

We had lunch on the ‘tourist side’, as he stated, of Nieuwmarkt. I asked him for some insider tips on Amsterdam. He recommended a few spots to check out and offered to walk with me towards them since it was on the way to his place. Sly silver fox.

First impression: very handsome, despite his slimmy aura which was only enhanced by the mismatched track suit he was wearing.

We finished our food and I followed him as instructed. We got to his door step and he asked if I wanted to see what a Dutch apartment looks like. Despite my slight fear of walking into the unknown and potentially getting gang raped by a few men twice my age, or possibly ending up in a bathtub missing a kidney and having to dial 112 (that’s Dutch for 911), I obliged.

He had a beautiful apartment overlooking a quaint canal. I could tell he had money. He mentioned he had some high position at KLM (that’s Delta Air Lines in Dutch). To my surprise, although I don’t know why, ‘Silver Fox’ played some gaga. He offered a tour of his sleeping quarters. He asked to touch my, and I quote, “hairy chest”. I let him. He kept asking me to relax. I probably looked/acted a bit tense. We kissed. He felt my dick. I felt his. More kissing. Some nipple nibbling. More compliments to my hairy physique.

We got in bed. Through it all he was respectful, constantly asking me if I was ok and only doing what I wanted to do. We jacked off. He had a significantly big dick. We came and laid there for a second. He showered. We got dressed, and walked towards his gym.

He kept mentioning how “good looking” I was and what a “nice hairy body I had”. I told him he was extremely handsome, which he didn’t seem to believe. What is it about older men not being able to take compliments from us twentysomethings? It’s not the first time this has happened to me. I feel as if they think we’re mocking them when, in fact, call me crazy but I find handsome, mature men extremely arousing.

His gym was next to Rembrandthuis. He pointed the way to some photography museum I should check out. I vaguely paid attention because, really, it doesn’t make a difference. I’ll promptly forget the route given. We said goodbye and I slowly started walking towards my destination stalling so that he’d go into his gym. I wanted to take a picture of Rembrandthuis for when I’m older and I actually care about these touristy things, but I didn’t want to seem touristy in front of him (or anyone else for that matter). He dilly dallied as well so I gave up and just left.

I found FOAM (the photography museum). It was under remodelling and only half of it was open, and thus, half price. I saw some photos of an LA artist I briefly met a while ago called Luke Gilford. It was a nice surprise.

I walked back to the hostel and stopped by a tattoo shop for my mandatory ‘coordinates’ ink. I picked up a pita and some wine and ate at the ‘lobby’. That night I did the red light district pub crawl with ‘Finland’. I was supposed to go with some Canadian staying in my room, but he seemed like quite the inferior life form. Later on I discovered my first impression was on point. I had heard not much goes on on Monday nights so I figured the pub crawl would probably be my best bet at drinking myself to sleep that night, and also seeing a part of the city tourists are ‘supposed to see’. I could elaborate on the crawl, but I don’t want to give such things more importance than deserved. It was as much fun as such things can be.

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19.06.2011

Public Displays of A(sex)tion.

Apparently, I do porn now. I ended up on an alley just off Oxford street with my pants down having my dick (and other nether-regions) orally stimulated en plein aire. CCTV and all. Since when did such behaviour became ‘normal’ to me? Let’s back track a bit.

As soon as I got back to London, I stopped by Geordie-Mo’s flat to pick up my luggage. I had left it there because I couldn’t be bothered to drag it all the way to Birmingham and back considering I was barely gonna be there three days. I was also making plans with a friend of a friend to potentially meet up later that evening. I hurried to my hostel, checked in, left my bag in the locker provided, and quickly changed outfits (I was really sweaty and didn’t have time for s shower). I headed towards Shoreditch for my first taste of east London (among other things).

Upon exiting the tube station, I met my tour guide for the soiree: a tall, slender, aptly dresses Greek with a properly sexy British accent. Let’s call him ‘the kid’. He took me to a pizza place in the same building as Shoreditch house. We requested a table, but were told there was a 35 min. wait. We wrote down our name on their list and left to grab a drink at a nearby pub. We clicked right off the bat. Conversation flowed effortlessly. I have to say my friend had been right in stating me and ‘the kid’ would get along.

We finished our drink and headed back to the pizza place for our table. All in all, I had big expectations for the night and, coming from New York, I’d been wanting to try the ‘over the pond’ version of our famous pies. Again, not disappointed.

During dinner, I put ‘the kid’ through my usual boot camp of ‘questioning authority’, being ‘progressive’, and coming out. Basically, trying to break down whatever preconceived notions we have grown up with. He handled it well and long enough for me to notice I was doing it and to tone it down.

After dinner, he took me to a nice bar around the block that reminded me of ‘Apotheke’, a quaint little speak easy in New York with divine drinks. We downed a couple expensive libations and continued bar hopping. All in all, I was very satisfied with the east London nightlife.

We ended up at his place. It was late, we were drunk, and he suggested I spend the night rather than paying a 30+ quid cab ride. My alcohol induced amnesia prevents me from remembering the exact sequence of events, but I ended up sleeping on his bed and we kissed. No sex.

The next morning we payed in bed for a bit over an hour cuddling and kissing some more. He was soft. We got dressed and headed our separated ways. I had lunch with a friend. He had lunch with a client. We decided we’d hang out again upon my return.

Lunch with my friend was nice. I was running ubber late so, sadly, it only lasted half hour. After, I walked west along the Thames doing a bit of exploring, but also looking for the Tate Modern and Hayworth gallery. The Tate was great. Same stuff I’ve seen before, but they also were featuring a fantastic photo exhibit by a woman who’s name I forgot, but I’ll get back to you on that. I was supposed to meet my sister later that day so I skimmed through the rest of the rooms and headed off to the other gallery.

After walking for what seemed like ages (I never imagined London being this vast), I finally found Hayworth gallery. There was a Tracie Emin exhibit. I paid the pricey ticket (12£) despite being a bit reluctant to do so. It was worth every pence! I love this woman. I love her art. I love her pain.

I finally got back to the hostel. I took a shower, went on the internet, and waited for ages for my sister to come. She’d never been to London. I was planning on taking her to a nice dinner and a few bars. Unfortunately, her cheap boyfriend, and his even cheaper brother, who they were gonna stay with, spoiled my evening. We ended at Nando’s just down the road from the Victoria station. The whole time both men were complaining about money and Europe. The brother was married. His wife, a wonderful Polish girl who I connected with, saved my evening.

After being incredibly annoyed by both Neanderthalian siblings, I opted to instigate a bit by talking to the Polish girl in English about topics I was sure would hit soft spots. Being well aware that any primal male will revert to marking his territory when threatened by a more intelligent, better looking, younger specimen, I turned up the volume. He noticed. I ignored.

We finished eating and after a short, very futile attempt at finding an open pub around the area (because God forbid we venture into SoHo!) they left. I was annoyed at the waste of both my and my sister’s time. She didn’t speak up, so whatever, there was not much I could do. I was done feeding pearls to the swine.

I hurried back to the hostel to try and find someone to go out with. I phoned my mom and bitched about the evening. She saw my point. I saw this Korean girl who looked and dresses somewhat cool enough for me to consider her a possible candidate for the night, but to be honest, I was desperate, and I would’ve gone out with a crippled, albino, midget if need be. The Korean girl was with some pseudo, hippie, lezzy from Alaska, and a Korean guy she’d just met.

We took the bus to soho. Grabbed a drink at a Spanish pub and then went to good old ku bar off Leicester square. Ku bar was the first gay bar I ever went to in London the very first time I came and since then it’s always been a safe spot. I started to buy doubles. I wanted to get wasted fast. We met a French guy, a Puerto Rican, and a Brazilian. Hung out with them for a bit. Followed them to “heaven” (the club, not Jesus’s home) and then left them since they weren’t allowed in. They were incoherently drunk. We didn’t go into “heaven” either, instead we went back to hell.

Ku bar was kind of empty. There was this one guy (Coif), however, that I had seen when we first came and had made eye contact with. I bought more drinks, danced myself silly, and hung out with him and his friends. They invited me and my posse to an after party. The Koreans politely declined. The lesbian followed. At some point ‘coif’ asked me if I wanted to go with him to this place off Oxford street where you can rent a room to fuck. By this point we had already kissed. For some reason, I figured it would be fine. We ditched his friends and the lesbian and walk towards my slut closet. The place was closed. Coif grabbed my hand and took me to a nearby entryway. He pulled his pants down and so we began. He knew what he was doing. He’d done this before. We kissed, he sucked me, he rimmed my asshole and asked I return the favour. I have an issue sucking stranger dick. Asshole, on the other hand, not so much. In my head it seems ‘safer’. He wanted me to fuck him, but despite the fact that we didn’t have rubbers, I still wouldn’t have done it. I shot. He swallowed. He shot. The floor swallowed.

We walked over to get some food. Coif kept talking about his relationship with his ‘granny’, which I didn’t mind, and made me think he was a nice guy. He paid for my food. We left and walked to the bus stop. We were going opposite directions so we bid adieu.

On the way back, I didn’t think much about the incident. I think I’m relaxing my ways a bit. Whether this is good or bad I’m not sure, but it is what it is. I definitely need to monitor myself a bit more, but also, I think it’s a good thing that I’m not getting as much anxiety as I used to. There’s a saying in Spanish that goes “un clavo saca otro clavo“, it translates to “one nail takes out another nail”. I haven’t been thinking much about SF boy. I think I’m finally detoxing from his toxic bachelor ways. My newfound sluttyness must be helping. Also, I think I like a Mexican.

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07.06.2011

The head of the south reigns supreme.

By now, it is certainly obvious that both my trip and my new take on this have proven to be quite fruitful to this blog. I’ve been inspired to write more and more, and I try to add an entry almost every other day.

Today, I’m doing a bit of retrospective thinking. Today, I’m talking about my last, long-lasting crush.

It all started a month after my last breakup. A few days after I last saw my ex, I was feeling irreparably crushed on my drive back from my parents, when I got a phone notification that someone was trying to add me on Facebook. He sent a message saying: “it is ridiculous how good looking you are. Just saying”. My initial response was: it’s not like I don’t hear this quite often, whatever.

As soon as I got to my friend’s apartment in San Diego, where I was to stay for the next couple nights, I looked at his profile on facebook and replied: “well if it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black” and accepted his request. And so it began, my 14 month old crush that still lingers…

At first we conversed frequently. AIM, Facebook, E-Mail (no texts because my phone seemed to hate his phone and for some bizarre reason wouldn’t receive his texts… should’ve listened to my phone, huh?). We exchanged music, sent pictures, talked for ages. From the get go, I could tell he wasn’t much of a talker. It was like pulling teeth to try and get a word out. I, on the other hand, can never shut up.

After a month of talking, I was to go to San Francisco with a friend for Bay 2 Breakers, race all through SF that really is just another reason to party and drink in public. I asked if he wanted to meet. He said he’d be busy but he’d try. The trip came, but he didn’t. No biggie. I tried to understand that, although I was making an effort to go visit, he might indeed be swamped with previous engagements, and really couldn’t find time even for coffee.

Two weeks later, I returned with another friend to the bay area. Again, nothing. He claimed he was busy. Seemed somewhat shady to me, but whatever.

Shortly after, I left for my 2.5 month stay in Europe. Throughout this whole thing, we kept in contact, not as much, but still enough to keep me lingering. I saw him flirt with others, something that bugged me a bit, as it would any other human being, but of course, I was doing the same, and I can’t claim ownership over someone I haven’t even met.

When I came back, I got convinced on going to visit (again!), and so I drove north with my dog. He seemed more attentive this time. To make the long story shorter, we met and spent 3 really nice days together. Dinner. Drinks. Grocery shopping. Trips to the vet. Pedicures. Boring, married couple shit. I loved every second of it. We only made out a couple of times. No sex.

I have to state that ever since we started talking my mind was set on moving to New York and he was aware of this. He stated he was moving back to LA (where he is from), and so the possibility of something more serious was almost nonsensical, but I really liked him and, as always, was open to suggestions.

So I moved, and we kept in touch, less and less every time. I teeter tottered between forgetting about him, and fighting my own natural instinct to give up very easily. I felt under appreciated through it all. I sent postcards, presents, cute pictures, witty texts, birthday wishes, merry xmas’, and got minimal reciprocation. It seemed as if he could read my mind and the moment I decided to give up, he’d start being sweet again. The funny thing is, thanks to Facebook and the ever so small gay world, I realized I wasn’t the only one he was doing this to, yet somehow, I felt special.

Fast forward to April this year, I went to visit him again. He invited me to stay at his place for a few days. The week prior to my arrival, he was playing his mind games again, and not really talking to me. I decided that if he didn’t contact me at least the day before, I was gonna go to SF, call my friend, and ignore him for good. Again, Mr. Psychic here messaged me two days before my flight. Hooked one more time.

I landed at SFO and called him straight away. He told me to come over. I did. We hugged. Hung out. Passed out. The next morning, we cuddled for a bit, fooled around, took a shower, went for food. There was a weird chemistry. I have a feeling we’re both shy and expecting the other to make the moves, and so it never really just ‘flows’.

After breakfast, a friend of his met us at his place. It was Easter Sunday and we were gonna go out and get drunk all day. She was a nice girl, she mentioned she’d heard a lot about me (good sign, right?). We had some mimosas and went over to his neighbor’s. Again, nice guy, said the same thing she said. We ate some weed chocolate, drank some more and headed to the bars. I met more friends of his, same thing happened. Once more, being his lovely self, he wasn’t paying much attention to me. Luckily, I’m a big boy and I had fun regardless. At the end of the night. We went back to his neighbor’s. By this point I was somewhat annoyed by him and decided to go to bed.

I woke up next to him, we cuddled a bit more, got up and showered (no fooling around). I made us breakfast, we cleaned his apartment, I hung some art up, we went to west elm. Then I went to visit a friend of mine. When I got back, he’d been smoking weed, I’d been drinking whiskey. We watched a movie and went to sleep. The next morning, we cuddle one last time, took showers, kissed goodbye, and he went to work. I stayed at his place till I had to head to the airport. I tidied up, wrote him a cute note and left.

To this day there’s been no mention of such note. We’ve still talked, but barely anything. I sent him a message a few days ago telling him I’d be in SF by the end of this month asking if he wants to hang out. Despite the fact he’s been on Facebook, no response. I don’t think I’ll get one, and I won’t even bother asking. He is noncomfrontational. I think this might be the end. I don’t want to delete him, I’d look like a psycho, but I’m definitely going to try and forget him… And just like clockwork, he’ll respond saying he does want to see me, and I might be stupid enough to agree.

My thoughts: in the words of rilo kiley – “and the talkin’ leads to touchin’, then touchin’ leads to sex, and then there is no mystery left.” after fooling around my charm dissipated. I also think timing was crucial. He was sort of my emotional rebound. Today, I might not be as easily ready to believe in someone with so many warning signs, but back then I was hurting. Why do I like him? Fuck if I know, he’s certainly not the nicest, or the brightest, but I do find him very attractive. Sorry brain, the head of the south reigns supreme.

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06.06.2011

Grind Date No. 1: Road Head.

In my never ending quest for equal opportunity and the unique, I started my new project. Dating shenanigans indeed.

I arrived to London last Friday evening, and as soon as I got wifi I logged into every gay man’s best friend: grindr. Soon enough, after sifting through all the headless torsos, I saw a picture of a guy who looked very British and very… east London I suppose. He had a catchy headline. I sent him a message and moved on. Later that evening he bit the bait. We started chatting. At this point, I didn’t have an agenda. I wasn’t aware that I would embark of this mission, so I just elusively talked expecting nothing.

*a bit of a side note here… for all of you who have no idea what grindr is, I should explain. It is an app that shows you all the gay men around your area (granted they’re logged on as well), with distance, a picture, some stats, and a short tagline. It is mostly used for sex, but I’ve met a few friends through it.*

After a day of conversation, he told me he was in a wheel chair, and asked if that was a problem. Are you kidding me? It’s a bit odd, but it’s also writer’s jackpot, and like I said, I like to be very equal opportunity. Especially since I don’t think I’ll marry most of these guys. A few more messages and we decided to meet. I was to come to his flat on Sunday evening, we would have some wine and food (except I said I was vegetarian so the food got nixed out of the equation), and see where things went. Again, elusive little me was not thinking about sex or anything of the sort, maybe just a snog.

Yesterday evening, I arrived at my rendez vous, a 15 minute walk east of Geordi-Mo’s. First impression? Very British. Very East London. He had a beautiful black little pug named Vivian (or Viv for short) who I started playing with right away. Anyone who knows me knows that dogs come first, second, and last in my life, and will promptly hypnotise me into ignoring the world and scratching their belly.

The conversation went smooth. He got a bit touchy feely and I giggled my way out of his grasp. His p.a. (personal assistant) came out, cooked some food, and opened up a pack of smokes. I asked her for one, and ‘road head’ insisted I smoked by the window instead of going downstair with her. I obliged.

After a few more sips of my wine, I felt somewhat comfortable with this man. We kissed. He tasted a bit odd, but nothing unfamiliar. I have this theory that meat eaters have a certain ‘taste’. He suggested I smoke by the window as he smoked me. I was slightly hesitant, but again, I obliged. It was definitely a first, to have my dick sucked as I was smoking on a balcony, in plain view of the outside world. Kind of a turn on.

We went back inside and he said he wanted me to fuck him, but stated he usually doesn’t do that (normally I call this bullshit but, for some reason, my intuitive persona didn’t feel he was lying). He suggested we get in his bed and see how things go. I offered a hand, he said he wasn’t comfortable, so he asked his p.a. to help him get into bed and then she summoned me into his room. We got in the bed. Kissed. He asked me to rim him. I obliged. He was a bit reluctant to me touching him in certain areas which I assume is understandable for someone with disabilities. He rimmed me (we agreed this is probably the best part of gay sex), and asked if I could cum in his mouth. Again, I was somewhat reluctant, as I have a somewhat strict ‘no swallowing’ policy, even if I’m not the one doing the swallowing, but I felt ok doing so. I came. He swallowed. We kissed a bit more, passed out for a second, woke up, and I took off. He had a dinner with a girl, I had to get back not too late as I am staying with friends who work the next morning.

As soon as I left I received a text. He cursed his dinner and said he enjoyed the company. I got home and found a similar message on grindr. I told my story to my hosts, and went to bed. I woke up a few hours later and started writing this entry. I feel a bit odd, but to be honest, maybe it’s just a case of PCT (post coitum tristesse) and if anything, this little endeavour I’ve taken will assist with managing that. Today I’m off to Birmingham.

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05.06.2011

Where are my ruby slippers?

The thing about human beings is that, unlike most animals, we have an uncanny ability to adapt to our environment. Beasts, on the other hand, have this defense mechanism that psychologically shuts them down when they feel pain and ‘numbs’ them to cope with whatever is outside their control.

In this regard, I’ve often related to our less intelligent fellow life forms. While I am very adaptable, and it is known that us Pisces are amongst the, if not THE, most adaptable zodiac sign, I’ve also read that we are the most intuitive and pick up on all the energy and mood around us to the point where it can be overwhelming. Hence, the shutdown.

Last night, after some predrinking at my mate’s flat, I was out and about in Vauxhall. It was four of us. One of us, ‘no-boro’, I had just met. Nice guy. Somewhat into me.

Upon arriving at the club (the eagle), we ran into three friends of them. A short, spunky, somewhat attractive half spaniard; a sexy, tattooed, somewhat dirty looking ‘my type’; and a plain, blue-shirt wearing, somewhat forgettable whatshisface. We processed to grab drinks, smoke, and dance when I was made aware ‘no-boro’ was into me. He was a handsome man, however, and not that this changes much of my usual modus operandi, I was also made aware of some info that enhanced my usual m.o. I wasn’t an asshole, I just had a slight freak out, and started to watch my drinking. I wanted to be clear headed enough to act along my m.o. and not against it. Then I was told that ‘my type’, ‘no-socks brit’, was also inquiring about me. Again, not that I strayed from my usual m.o. but I suddenly felt twice as concerned with keeping a quasi-sober mind. And the thing here is that recently, I’d say in the past 3-4 months, I’ve seriously reconsidered what it means to get drunk, go out, and wake up next to a random stranger. I was never very into it, much to the shock of my fellow dick craving homosexuals, but especially in the past few months, after a stupid incident with a bit too much drinking, a stranger, and a ripped condom (I’m completely fine and healthy btw), I’ve just gotten significantly more paranoid/careful, and am not willing to risk another incident like that, because even if it feels ‘right’ and is completely safe, I can’t necessarily deal with the anxiety my own self creates post-coitum.

So I monitored my alcohol intake, something I should be doing regardless, and focused on controlling my anxiety. Tricky thing here is that usually I drink to control it but also drinking makes it worse. Tried to relax and just have fun, which I eventually managed to do, and enjoyed the rest of my night. I talked to ‘no-boro’ about his dogs, two beautiful schnauzers. Again, lovely guy. I had a couple more drinks, and we headed home, me and my two hosts.

On the way home I was asked why I wouldn’t go for either. Like I said, to be honest, despite anything good or bad about them, it’s just not my m.o. I don’t just ‘go home’ with whoever shows me some ‘love’, even if I might be attracted or interested in them. Is that too bizarre to comprehend? The combination of alcohol, anxiety, and my own damn crazy head started to shut me down. I wanted my ruby slippers to tap them three times and wake up back at the corner of Driggs and North 7th next to ‘Toto’ (my dog). Don’t get me wrong, I’m having fun, my friends are pleasant, but us Pisces sometimes just need to retract to our safe haven. We need some time alone. We need to escape the world, and when that can’t be done physically, we create our own little panic room in our head and go there. Sorry if I seem rude, I’m just refueling and trying to keep my sanity. Cheers.

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04.06.2011

it’s a small gay world.

So after a somewhat pleasant flight (other than the landing/takeoff/landing again incident) I’ve arrived to London. I promptly got off the plane and after a scrutinous moment with customs I was legally allowed to enter the Queen’s land (note to self: the beard is coming off soon). I rushed to the exit to smoke a fag, bought a sim card, paid for an hour of internet, contacted my friends, and boarded the train towards Holborn.

As soon as I stepped out of the station I felt the same homey familiar feeling I’m used to feeling whenever I come here. It truly does feel like home, which reiterates my desire to one day live here… possibly as soon as I need a break from New York.

I met my friend Geordie-Mo and walked a few blocks back to his place. His boyfriend (Gina-Ho) greeted me nicely with some food and a nice tub ready for me to bathe in. It felt nice. My social media addiction had me logged in to facebook, grindr, and the like… it’s always good to make new friends. We later headed out to a few pubs for a couple of beers before going out that night. All familiar places my uncanny pigeon-like sense of direction recognised. What I like about London is the ambiance of people just having a drink out in public, something you never see in the US of A.

We walked back to Geordie’s flat to meet up with his beau and his friend, downed a few drinks, smoked a few more ciggys, and headed out to a night called ‘Popstarz’. To be honest, nights like this are not usually my cup of tea. I do enjoy my Britney and my Beyonce, but the selection of meat was too tender for my taste. Regardless, I had fun. I am quite versatile (not in bed), and as long as I have a drink and a friend, I can have a great time anywhere. We ended the night at around 2:30 and returned to their abode. Gina-Ho made us some food, and we chit chatted about boys. About how every single gay man in this world seems to know each other, and how you can play ‘six degrees of separation’ with your friends from across the Atlantic, and still find a connection (sometimes in even less than 6 steps). Also, I was asked about my dating life. I’m starting to become increasingly annoyed at the fact that everyone keeps asking me if there are any boys in my life. Yes. I know. This is a very common question, but what bothers me is not the question itself… I have no qualms answering it. It’s more the fact that society feels the need to keep reminding you that having a partner, or even just some sort of lay, is the norm! What’s wrong with being single and enjoying it? I do like my singleness! I’m not in denial, and it’s not like I can’t get some if I wanted to… which brings me to my last point: the 50 blind dates.

A few months ago, I intended to start the 50 blind date project. You can read my previous entry about it, but to summarise, I planned on going on 50 blind dates and writing about them. The biggest problem I encountered is getting such dates. I thought I had the logistics down, but I obviously can’t set myself up on blind dates. It wouldn’t be technically blind because I would at least have seen a picture of the guy. My friends have mostly failed to help me on my quest. So far I’ve had one date, and while I have a couple more lined up, it’s going very slow, and I don’t think it’s looking very promising. Therefore, I’ve decided to embark on another project: the 50 grind dates. Taking advantage of today’s technology and trends, I’m planning on going on 50 dates with guys off grindr. I’m still figuring out what exactly the terms of these dates, since grindr is mostly used for sex, and I’m not about to go and fuck 50 guys… but I figure it might be interesting. So far, I believe I have one tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes, and if all flows nicely, I might actually go through with this. Let’s call tomorrow evening ‘the pilot’ to my new show. Stay tuned.

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23.03.2011

The Black Party

Slightly intrigued and wanting to check something else off my imaginary bucket list, I decided to look into attending the legendary Black Party, a yearly gathering of NYC’s gay men at the Roseland Ballroom for a night of techno music, dark rooms, and little to no clothes.

I talked to a friend about it, and he was equally, if not more excited than I was. We convinced two more to venture on our adventure. We had our minds set. Come the night of Saturday, March 19th, 2011 we would march our way to West 52nd Street and see what the whole hoopla was about. As the day approached, I heard and read more and more about the event. It was as if I kept getting turned off and on simultaneously. “anonymous sex everywhere”, “people peeing on people”, “ecstasy”, “aggressive groping”, where they for real? I had to check it out.

As soon as I left work, and with the blessing of my coworkers, I rushed home to figure what I was going to wear. Originally, we had planned on wearing nice tuxedos and masks, but with the possibility of getting peed on in the horizon, I decided to ditch the tuxedo and go for something perhaps more “appropriate”. I pointlessly packed a bunch of clothes in my duffle bag, since I already resolved what I was going to wear, and headed to my friend’s apartment.

Earlier that night, I had decided I wasn’t going to get terribly drunk. Instead I would opt for beer here and there and keep it chill. I wanted to both remember the night, and have a fair judgment.

Upon arriving at my friend’s. I had a drink and we got dressed. I wore faux leather pants (as a side note, I had bought these pants a while ago in Paris, and had never worn them but I knew they would come in handy), combat boots, and black suspenders. As a final touch, I chose to wear a white t-shirt with a Robert Mapplethorpe-esque image of a bullwhip. Always better to overdress than underdress right?

At about midnight we headed to the venue. It was only a few blocks away. There was a long line of significantly older men lots of who were dressed in leather gear. I have to admit, I’m a sucker for a mature guy who’s rough around the edges. My eye wondered. The line moved steadily and quickly. We were inside in about 15 minutes. We were instructed to drop off our cellphones, and go downstairs if we needed to check in our garments. Indeed I was overdressed. A leather harness and a jockstrap would’ve sufficed.

We headed straight to the bar, picked up a beer each, and proceeded to explore. It was not very crowded. I had heard the party didn’t really get going till about 2 a.m. There was some contortionist show on one stage, then some slightly unimpressive aerial acrobats, and hideous techno music, which I’m sure I would’ve enjoyed had I not been sober unlike the rest of the attendees.

Earlier that day I had talked to a friend who mentioned he was going to DJ a side room. Since I was getting antsy and needed to pee, I went to relief my bladder and try and find him. Indeed it was a side room, right next to the dark room, through which I had to walk to get to where he was. I said hi, chit chatted for a bit, and told him I’d go find my friends and come back. He was playing way better music anyway.

I journeyed back through the dark room, which was getting more crowded, and loud with moans and grunts, and into the main room. One of my friends decided to leave. The rest of us walked back to where my friend was djing.

From there on, we pretty much stayed in that room, taking quick trips to buy more beer or water. I danced for about 4 hours. Saw men having sex with men having sex with men, porn stars, familiar faces, drugs (both legal and illegal), more sex, buckets and buckets of condoms and lube, even more sex, a light show, people into all kinds of fetishes, and even a room where you could get tested for STDs (because if we’re going to fuck senselessly we have to be responsible, right?).

Towards 4:30 a.m. I was getting tired. I hadn’t slept much the night before, and again, I wasn’t on drugs, or drunk for that matter, and I hadn’t nor was planning on participating in any of the “activities” there. Another one of my friends had already left, and the two of us who were still there decided that maybe it was time for bed. We stayed for about another hour, and then proceeded to pick up our jackets and cellphones. We were asked if we wanted a wristband to come back, as the event kept going till, and I quote the flyer, “Sunday afternoon”. No thank you. I need a few hours of sleep, and maybe some yoga to feel clean again.

I left the place with mixed feelings. Warm yet bitter, much like the alleged urine I was promised to have splashed on my pant leg. Will I be back? It’s not something that I’ll be waiting for next year, but if there are ulterior motives or a specific incentive, why not?

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Category: Sex