Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Stupid kid

I got this on scruff tonight from kyle, a 20 year old, with no stats, no pic.  thanks to him, i got a new song, it goes "I'm gay bitch, i dont gotta pay for it...."
Here's what he sent:

Hey man I'm looking for some help I got a bill looking for some help to pay it off  can you help it's not alot anything I can do back rub anything

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

kinda different guy

"fucking hot dude, bi guy here, love hanging out where the hookers do and getting them to jerk me off while others watch"


I did reply back to him.  


"That's different"  was all I put.

Monday, January 30, 2012

A special place

Was high up on a hill at a graveside service yesterday overlooking Mt Tam.  Was a beautiful location with the sun setting over the coastal range and the bay reflecting the last blue of the sky.  My cousin's father, Dick, had died. The old, the sort of old, the grand kids and all the rest of us gathered around the grave area on this chilly winter evening, solemnly listening to the Rabbi as he spoke.  "And importantly," the Rabbi said, looking around us, "this will forever be a site of pilgrimage for those seeking comfort, and for those who love dick."

The rabbi paused, slightly tilting his head, as if realizing that came out odd.

My lip nearly bled in three places.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

amazing for a bit

I hooked up with a guy a bit ago that was to me, a perfect male specimen, from the size of his biceps to the boldness of his dick, from the beauty of his face to the silkiness of his chest hair.  I felt well, that's it.   I just did amazing I told myself.  Now I could get back to reality and stop wasting time fantasizing about amazing guys. I now knew what it was like.  But I couldn't break myself of the need for that amazing guy to tell me he wanted me again.  For weeks I  would anxiously check my phone, hoping to find Mr Amazing's response to my once a week texts.   I was drunk in my thoughts with him and knew better than to trust myself. When I was in his neighborhood, I forced myself to text others until the need to text him passed.

And then I had my second hook up with him.  While my cum dried on my abs, a little man inside my head jumped out, tore off Mr Amazing's Amazing ribbon.  The little man then jumped back into my head, rolled up the ribbon and I watched as he stashed it in a toy jack-in-the-box he had in his cave that was actually my cave since it was my head he was in.

I had been so eager to enjoy the feeling of being fullfilled by Mr Amazing, yet now that he no longer was wearing my Mr Amazing ribbon, I found an even greater joy: my life back.

Feeling giddy, I left his bedroom, trotted down his stairs and hit the street.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Sexy Sail

"Never.  I would never hook up at work," I said as my friend and I looked across the ropes of the boat and sails.  We were watching one particularly jaw dropping handsome man, dancing naked. "But I might now."  That man dancing had already rubbed his knee in my crotch, and dangled his dick in my mouth.  Three days ago, naked dancer and I had been moved into the same conference room at work.  Three days later we both just happened to be invited on the same sail.  He didn't recognize me nor even know my name this morning.  He was the hot new guy at work, who's chair was 15 feet from mine, who wears custom suits with ties.  I certainly knew his name.

My third sail.

“I'm a bottom,"  naked dancing man said out of nowhere to me, then danced away naked.
Did he over hear something I said that came out rude, I thought.  "Why did he just dance away after saying that?" I asked the other guys sitting with us.

"He was telling you that because he wants you to fuck him," they all responded.
As per standard operating procedures, the boat was filled with hot guys, and the vibe set in part by the host --and the hosts judge of character that got you invited-- was that we were here today and the only thing that mattered was to make this boat a happy place.

An offshore breeze was blowing from the east, which meant this sail was going to feel tropical, and not just by lack of clothing.  A shirtless man in jeans working on his boat caught everyone's eye as we pulled out of the harbor.  The man saw our crew checking him out, and began exaggerating his pumping motion as he pumped air into a dingy.  Our music was blaring gay boy music.  We could have stayed in the harbor the whole day and had a blast.

But odysseys require travel.

As the boat headed into the open water, the sails went up, and dancing man and two other guys went down below to get their loads out. 

Somewhere near Angel Island, dancing guy came back up on deck and sat next to me, smiling satisfied.  Then his hat flew off and as he drunk grabbed it, his elbow swung into my mouth.  His fast moves saved his hat from the shimmering bay, but the direct hit from his elbow to my mouth made my inside lip curl too fast over my front teeth.  Dancing man happily danced off. Sitting there, surrounded by a boat of men I wanted, I looked at the blood my finger had picked up from my mouth.  My clock stopped ticking.  I was jolted into reality while fantasy kept going all around me.


The host came over, smiling as he came in close, possibly to kiss me. “I cut my lip,” I told him, my words paused his movement.  Our eyes met.   The sun made the sky white behind him, he looked angelic.  He knew what I was telling him without me having to say it.  I didn't expect him to say what he did, "Can I just tell you I love you for telling me that," was his reply.

I found a spot on deck, in the sun, and laid down watching the men kiss and blow each other around me and laugh together.  One man passed out 10 white roses; he put the stem down my shorts.  Flower man had earlier instructed me to remove my basketball shorts I came in, in exchange for the shorts he had me put on.  Don’t put my basketball shorts on again was the look he gave me.

Clothing became strewed along the boat; everyone in the warm wind was either naked, or close to it.


We came upon a Tiburon estate that had two private beaches and a yacht with a helicopter on it anchored in front.  There was a crew of people on the yacht, all in uniform looking miserable.  Our music was loud, and our nudity obvious, but the workers paid us no attention.  We discussed how a helicopter could never actually land on that yacht, and got in close to get a better view. The father inside the estate I'm sure was looking at us through a telescope.

And here in the public water 20 yards from a billionaire, our naked crew of jerkoffs and blowjobs and kissing, went for a swim.   Other boaters came near us to confirm what they thought they were seeing, and pairs of kayakers who didn't know what to make of us certainly didn’t go about changing their course.   A short while after the swim, all but two of us took a naked dingy ride to the beach next to the estate.  I stayed on the sailboat with another man.  I turned down the music to hear the water lapping, and he and I slowly settled into the natural movement of the boat on the water and the spectacular scenery.  Every now and then we'd look over at the shoreline where the naked men on the beach in the distance appeared to be prepping for an episode of Homo Survivor.

The wind in our sails took us next to The Gap building off the San Francisco waterfront.  Traffic and pedestrians passing just 50 yards and a world away, our music continued to blast, our men continued to dance naked, share blow jobs, hand jobs and passionate kisses.   Four buff bronze handsome men jumped naked into the dingy and charted off to scout around the Ferry Building.  The Bay Bridge station firemen took their boat out and sailed around us, and waved as they did. We waved our hands not in use back at them.

Final stop, south beach marina.  We pulled in just inside the pier around the harbor. Dancing man was on his second long term blow job .  "Has he cum yet” anyone who came near asked of his recipient.  “Not yet,” was the reply.  At times I held the recipients drink so he could be less inhibited as he seemingly neared orgasm.  I’d hold his cup next to his lips so that he could take short sips of wine.   Maybe the extra booze wasn’t the right thing.   We stroked his legs, and pressed on his abs and chest.  Dancing boy sucked and sucked.  The crew wanted him to cum.  My reason for wanting to speed up the process was not so much to see him ejaculate, but rather because I knew once he came the blow job would finally stop, and all the people walking near us in the harbor, fishing, working on their boat, kayaking etc would no longer matter to me.  I tried building up a site barrier of towels but there was no mistaking the bobbing head.

Sailing across the water back to the home dock in the east bay with the warm eastern wind soothing our necks, one of the gentlest personality, in-shape guys I’ve met in a long time, decided I was going to cum for him.   This handsome man stud led me down below into the cabin.  He laid me on the bed, pulled me out of my shorts and then put his soft gentle hands around my shaft.  He took his time feeling me in his hands, letting his fingers glide on me effortlessly.  His groans matched mine.

After I had spent a few minutes smiling in amazement and statisfaction, we went back up on deck to watch the sunset light the sky on fire behind the San Francisco skyline and the Golden Gate.  With the dark bay in the foreground it looked so sexy I wanted to somehow fuck it.   I imagined myself a giant, lifting the city up to my waist so that market street was right at my crotch.  I'd press Vaseline into the canyon of Market, stick my dick into it, and then fuck it.  The ferry building tower would tickle my balls as I did, and I’d use the Transamerica pyramid as leverage while I lifted my heels to cum.

Back on land, my cut lip reality was joined by two others who hit each other’s cars in the parking lot. These two had earlier slipped away in the dark after we docked, and thus we had gone looking for them to get their keys.  Just as we reached the parking lot we saw a car pull out and scrape the entire side of the car next to it.   There were two onlookers taking down license plates numbers and ready to call the police.  I reparked their car, got both sets of keys and when I did, the onlookers approached me and asked how they could get on the next sail with us.   They were two lesbians, and they ended up taking these two wasted crew members home.

“We’re family” the sweet lesbian said to me when I asked her if she was sure about taking them home.  It didn't resonate at the time.  But after spending a day with beautiful handsome men I hardly knew, and enjoying their company and kindness and willing to live in the moment without ego, and then having it end with two more smiling strangers... I realized what she had said.  I don’t want to know the answer to whether or not gay people live in a parallel universe where being nice to each other is what we do, because for now, I'm just content to enjoy feeling the love.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Guest Post: "Old Habits"

"I suppose we could try Skype sessions" Dan offered, "if the commute is too far for you."


This was the suggestion my shrink made when he decided to move his practice from a cozy office in Santa Cruz to the comparatively crunchy Berkeley, CA. "My wife and I want to be closer to the Buddhist community up there" he explained. 

His name and phone number were given to me on a crumpled piece of paper eight years ago when I was unceremoniously dumped by the man I had moved nearly 2,600 miles across country for. The miserable prick used his last ounce of humanity to put together a small list of psychotherapists I should call when he kicked me to the curb.

The therapy sessions typically started with us sitting down, exchanging polite hellos, then him quietly staring at me with hands clasped in his lap. I quickly learned that the only way to make the uncomfortable silence go away was for me to start talking.
If I were to continue meeting with him on the monthly basis, my ten minute drive to his house down Highway 1 would now become an hour and a half trek.

The decision I made about a year ago has actually worked out pretty well. Driving roughly 73 miles to his office every month became an opportunity for collecting my thoughts, enjoying a cup of coffee and doing some "fishing". I'd fire up Scruff/Grindr when I left home and check the apps after my session in Berkeley was done. Glancing at my iPhone, I'd find all sorts of hot prospects waiting on the hook. If none of them panned out, there was always my fuck buddy in Castro Valley.

This morning, however, even the prospect of a hot, anonymous fuck wasn't enough to get me out of bed. Today was therapy day; my appointment was scheduled for 11am. My drowsy eyes focused on the bedside alarm clock, and the numbers 10:18 am slowly came into focus.

"fuuuck," I groaned, too late to cancel. $150 per session fee if I'm a no-show. 

(grab my phone off the night stand - dial - ring, ring, ring . . . . voicemail)

"Hi Dan," I said into his voicemail, "it's Steven. I'm afraid I won't be able to make it up there in time for my appointment today. I worked a 16 hour shift yesterday, didn't get to bed until 2 am, and I overslept. Perhaps we can try a Skype session instead? Give me a call when you get this message. Thanks."

Rolling over, I crawled back under the warm covers, and humped the mattress for the next 5 minutes. Mmmmm . . . morning wood . . . such a nice surprise to wake up to. Like finding a dollar in your pocket, or the loose french fries in the bottom of a bag of fast food.

After a quick shower and some hot coffee I set about tidying up the stage for my upcoming performance. Made the bed, picked the dirty clothes off the floor, pulled the blinds closed, etc. With the background props set in place, next focus was the foreground. While setting up, I began to reflect on my history with the web camera.

Years ago, on the east coast, the cam was my only access to any sort of gay community.   Hundreds of guys, hundreds of cocks waved in the camera, and god knows how much goo I sprayed all over my desktop.  I wondered how many hours I sat glued to that computer screen, watching and being watched. Jerk-off buddies gradually became good friends, and as that circle of friends grew, the world inside my closet became filled and eventually led me to open the door to get more room.  But even out, the web cam continued to be my link to men all around the country, many of whom lived in the Bay area. One in particular turned my crank like none other, and after about nine months of video dating, I decided to move across country to start a new life with my wonderful guy in Santa Cruz. 

Nineteen months later, I found myself sobbing hysterically in Dan's office, wondering how it all went so wrong.

Now, it's been years since I've experimented with lighting and camera angles to find the perfect image of myself to present to the world. If I put the camera above and to the side, it accentuated my shoulders and pecs, way down low and it  gave the impression that my monster dick is going to crush you from above. So many men, so many fetishes, so many ways to service and be serviced.

Nowadays, I blow the dust off of it on the rare occasions when mom calls needing tech support. "I don't know what happened" she says, "but the email doesn't work anymore and why does my online jigsaw puzzle web site keep freezing up?"

After about ten minutes of fiddling with Skype settings and fashioning a camera stand out of a CD-Rom container and a water bottle, I was ready to start my session with Dan. I actually was pretty impressed with my setup. Lighting was just right, camera angle and position were perfect.  In the preview window, the light scruff on my chin defined the angle of my jaw. I had never appreciated what a fine webcam cinematographer I had become.

(11 am - phone rings)

"Hi Steven, it's Dan," my therapist said into my ear. "I got your message."

Within minutes we were Skyping like pros. 

But I became keenly aware of my lack of connection with him, and how easily I was distracted. I began rearranging the icons on my desktop, and absently let my eyes drift from his video window to the icon of the quicktime file I downloaded of that hot muscle dude on YouTube that I forgot to watch.

I automatically fell into my familiar routine of reporting to him all the significant events from the past month. Changes at work . . . changes at home . . . how I felt about those changes, and then an in-depth discussion of my relationship with my ex who recently had a week long crystal meth bender in an SF hotel that ended with someone biting off the tip of his finger.  

During the hour and fifteen minute long session, I was only marginally aware of a pavlovian response to being on the webcam. Occasionally I'd reach down and fondle my crotch and be instantly grateful that my therapist could only see me from mid-chest and up. At one point I imagined myself absently standing up, yanking down the front of my boxer briefs and jerking a big load onto the keyboard in front of me.  And while my glob of cum congealed across the keys,   I imagined his voice, "Steven, how does that make you feel?"
 


Thursday, October 13, 2011

becuz they look like someone

His pic on SCRUFF looked exactly like my ex.  Could I really have sex with my ex bf's face and body without my ex bf actually being there?  I prob experienced what it feels like to kiss the twin brother of the guy you are dating.  It wasn't the same, but damn close, and even better the second time, when it was so convenient.....

<12:20AM Wed SCRUFF>
ME:   You're still awake!
HIM: Yeh I'm awake :)
ME:  I'm crashn now but turned on by the offer
HIM: you could just kick back and enjoy. let me drain you and put you to sleep
ME:  I'm so tired I worry I might fall asleep
HIM: feed me that big load of yours ;-) thats the idea just relax and enjoy
ME:  you want to come now? you have me hard.
HIM: i'm willing to
ME:  wow. ok. mmmmm.
HIM: can be there in say 10 minutes :-)

And just like that, he arrives before 1AM.  I open the door in the dark, he slips off my shorts, and I get a wonderful way of falling asleep.   Why was I ever straight?