Such Typical New Yorkers

DirtyBoyVideo.com


by Trixie Starr
(all photos courtesy of DirtyBoyVideo.com)

I know what you think about New Yorkers....and you're right. All of it.

We're pushy, we're aggressive, we live in a really expensive city, and in really small spaces. Why? Because we have to have it all and we're never satisfied.

You could walk out your door in Manhattan, pick up some cute boy in the street, have great sex, get bored with him by dinnertime, and then go out and find someone else.

For instance, let's say you find this guy to the left.

You meet him on the corner Korean deli on the street. He's from some country you really don't care about. All you know is that he's hot and in his country, if he fucks a guy, then it really doesn't count that he's gay.

Great!

You take him home (hide the ipod first), and you think you're going to get some Turkish Delight up the ass, but, then what happens? He's a bottom.

Of course! They all are.

But, you know what? It doesn't really matter. Just fuck him up the ass.

It's noon, and you're bored, and he doesn't have a job, because he can't work in this country, and he's actually a nice enough guy, but you have errands to run.


You really don't trust him, I mean, he could find the ipod or the laptop, so, you think, let me just tie him up while I pick up the dry cleaning.

And that's what you do.


He's happy, you're happy, and you get to pick up the dry cleaning. This way, you don't have to look for another trick after lunch, when the both of you are ready to come again.

He's a really good sport about being tied up. And guess what? He cleans apartments, too! How wonderful.

You hand him $20, and he cleans your small apartment.

Now, you're getting your dick sucked AND your toilet cleaned, all for twenty bucks. Life doesn't get any better.

Welcome to Manhattan!

Then, your younger cousin calls from New Jersey. He's bringing over his new boyfriend. Both are kinda hot, in their 'Abercrombie and Fitch' way and he needs a place to crash because they're going out drinking in the East Village.

When you live in New York City, you end up with a lot of random, last-minute house guests.

Now, you're thinking, 'Thank God, I picked up Abdul - or whatever his name is - and your toilet is now clean.'

Your cousin comes over that evening, and it's like a porn film in your tiny living room.

Yeah, he's your cousin, but so what? You can still jerk off watching him fuck his new boyfriend. If your dick is in the boyfriend's mouth and your cousin's dick is in his ass, then it doesn't really count as incest, right?

I mean, you're not touching each other....right?


Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Then, all four of you sleep in the same double bed together and you wake up with someone's ass in your face in the middle of the night, and you don't know who's ass it is, but you eat it anyway.
Why not?

It's Sunday at 11am, and everyone's drunk from last night, but you do brunch together, like the girls from "Sex and the City".

You take your cousin and his boyfriend to the Metropolitan Museum of Art so you can feel like you got some culture, and you weren't just big whores all weekend.

Abdul goes back home to Queens with his wife and two kids. You never hear from him again.

Fine.

Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, tomorrow's another day.
--Trixie

Balls of Fire

Every workforce needs to celebrate what it does. There are expos, conventions, award shows, galas, and balls. And the only way to celebrate the working men of porn and rent, is the most latter (read: balls). And so we have Hustlaball.

From the stories I had heard of the party, and my friends who seem to float around those parties, it was a decently naughty soiree, where nudity was encouraged. So instantly I was attracted to it. Going around midnight, my friend and I weren't too disappointed by the crowd gathering to get in. But it wasn't the crowd I was looking at. It was the boy (behind the fantastic drag queen, mind you) that was going down the will call list. And apparently, I wasn't alone in the soft-light dream sequence. When he looked up my name, he gave me the pick up line, "Oh, ok, we have a new policy where you have to leave your phone number...if I want you to." Which I did. And he told me to wait for him to get off at some point.

So, I knew I was going to stay for a long, long time at this party. Yet my new found love wouldn't stop me from having naked fun.

We got in and the crowds were crowding about like a crowd would. And that seemed to be about that. At midnight, the party hadn't really set off. So I decided to use my powers of nudity to try and sway people to do the right thing. There wasn't a lot of nudity to be had at the party like I had thought, but things eventually started to pick up (and go down....on me).


I ran to see my beau a few times, and he wasn't too intimidated by me and my nakedness. And then, while the party was mostly just all right, things got interesting.

Remember how I said I like to get naked and all these wonderous, joyful things happen? Yeah, sometimes things backfire. And backfire, LITERALLY.

In the back of the club, unbeknowst to most, someone decided to smoke and put their cigarette in the trash. Smart. And thusly, in the back, a fire bagan. As I was cavorting and swinging my cock around, a bouncer came up to me, and not looking down, started to push me out telling everyone to get out of the club because of a fire. I managed to sneak around and stay in the club, and one of the performers gave me some extra underwear to save me from TOO much embarrassment and/or arrest from the group of police and firemen waiting outside the club.

So there I was. Outside, in my underwear, and other than the "special guests", the only one not in clothes. Worst of all, my man was nowhere in sight. When I felt everything was bleak, something happened. A crowd started gathering around the fire truck. And there in front of the trucks, the drag queen began to perform. It was hilariously memorable.

My love came around while people were allowed to go back in, and he stopped to tell me that I should go on without him, because this fire stuff was going to keep him too busy till the morning, and that I should call him soon. And after all that excitement, I was exhausted, so I grabbed my clothes and left.

And the next day, I called him, and there was another fire. *wink*

Carols Morales LIVE at the COCK this Sunday!

Shall We Bath?

There's a fairly long running party that's been switching owners. First started by someone homo I don't know, it wasn't well advertised and was held in the remote location of the South Street Seaport, where most native New Yorkers fear to tread. Thus Baña was saved by the party promoting expertise of Daniel Nardicio. His skillful promotions (promising naked boys and the possibility of gay butt sex) brought the party into the light, and it became quite popular.

However, the light is a bad place to have lewd and perverse acts happen, since police raids are bound to follow. (You'd think he would have learned after what happened at what was formerly The Slide.)

With Baña's popularity way up, it's closing couldn't have come at a worse time. Still, they say the harder to wait, the better to have. Dangling the carrot (penis) in front of the donkey (ass {gay men}) long enough, Michael "Formika" Jones restarted the party once again. And so it's stayed that way for a few months now, and until last week, I had never gone.

It's one of those parties that plays with the idea behind the classic fantasy of what happens in a bath house. Well, not so much as an idea OR a fantasy as much as it makes it happen. Like everyone else there, I checked my civilian clothes (so unlike me ). Having worn my finest square-cut bathing suit, I was ready to partake in the poolside festivities.

In 5 minutes, the suit was around my ankles.

In the middle of my ventures, I found myself in a steam room being yelled at about some show starting. Thinking it to be more sex, I pulled the boys off me like leeches trying to train my blood, and walked to the stage that was set up. To my surprise, it was no sex show.
No, it was Lady Bunny.

Her performance, while long, was a hilarious remix of her own parodies of popular hits (and it was long). Laughter is indeed the best medicine, because after her punchline exit, I found myself a little more energized, and continue my ventures.

So many hot boys, so I can't go into all the details, but needless to say, I haven't stayed out till 6am in a long, long time.

Celeb Watch Tuesdays: Day One: It Takes A Village (Person)

About two years ago, a friend of mine told me a story that changed my life (for like 3 months): There is a famed gay nightclub called Beige, held at the historic East Village bar/restaurant BBar every Tuesday. This club was well known for attracting all varieties of the celebrity community. Now, one night, while he was out gallivanting about the bar with his friends, he came across my teen dream, Danny Roberts, of Real World New Orleans fame. One thing led to another, but my friend ended up having a magical evening of talking, and eventually fucking, with Danny (and his boyfriend Paul).

This began my campaign of going to Beige every week, searching for my piece of the (Danny) pie. I only stopped because I couldn't afford to pay $8 a drink (x4) every freaking Tuesday night.

However, I recently decided to rededicate myself to this cause, not just for Danny, but for all celebs, as I am a bit of a celeb whore. Thus, I begin my campaign once again: CelebWatch '08.

^{Brad Evans and Lars}
Upon my first night, the club was pumping with beats and fashonistas, as it was still Fashion Week. Divas were vogue-ing, designers were giving face, and there I was trying to search out my first victim, $8 beer in hand.

I came across Michael Musto first, whom kept running away every time I was coming close to approaching him with a question. He only got away because the bar was packed shoulder to shoulder. But I wasn't going to sleep with him, oh no.

I found some of my friends hanging around, trying to rub elbows with the fiercest famed fashion faces, but I wasn't up for that bounty of rags. I managed to find my porn-star friend Lars, along with porn starlet, Brad Evans. I hung around with them a bit, until at around 3, I gave up on my quest. Defeated, I asked Brad (Lars had left), if he wanted to go to The Cock with me.

Tuesdays at The Cock, while still sleazy, are not quite as fun. We stuck it out, though, and eventually, I got a celebrity encounter worth writing home about: Randy Jones of the Village People talked to me (and felt me up). Not the most "Macho Man" (lolz!) in the world, but who can say no to him?

^{Randy Jones (the Cowboy) and Yours Truly}
No, of course I didn't go home with him. I decided to go for the porn starlet instead. There's some defense mechanism that keeps me from taking off my clothes for someone my parents had idolized when they were kids...

Is This A Dagger I See Before Me? Nope. It's a Cock.

Living and going out in New York City for 4 years, I’ve found that few people throw a party quite like Daniel Nardicio.

A brief bio: Daniel Nardicio used to throw parties at which one of his idols, Nina Hagen, would perform. Reveling in exposing the dark underside of society (aka the penises and asses), he began throwing parties at The Slide, which gained a reputation in showing people’s undersides in public. After The Slide was closed down (after a police raid for people exposing their dark undersides), he took a hiatus, and started to throw parties once again.
Now he’s back, running parties and the faboo website DList.com, and he’s more infamous than ever.

And, of course, I’ve had the pleasure of getting on his guest lists.

I wasn’t exactly planning on going to this party. It was a “Back to School” theme, and I didn’t need to be reminded that I was, in fact, one of these people being advertised to going back to school. However, one of my friends talked me into going, so I proceeded to his party’s new space, The Woodshop.

It lives up to it’s name. It’s a space that is, in fact, a woodshop. But it works so well for a party space. You have to take a smelly elevator up, and when you get out, you are presented with the clothes check. You don’t have to check anything really, but I have a reputation to live up to, so I checked everything. Well, I kept my shoes on, at least. I’m not particularly fond of splinters in my feet.

We got there at a decent time, but a time where I was the ONLY naked one. Now, I’m used to being the instigator, but I get annoyed when so often asked “Oh, are you working tonight?” It makes me feel like I should be getting some cash. But I didn’t leave anyplace to stuff money.

As you would at any party, much drinking was done. Much flirting was done. And more penises were being pulled as the night went on. My friend Thain (who refused to get naked) preferred to dance, while I preferred to dance with the go-go boys (and porn star Ben Andrews). One of which asked me to jerk him off on the stage, which I did with much vigor. And it certainly was impressive, I have to say.

I went to the back room a few times. While it’s always pretty fun, it tends to be infested with more trolls than a Tolkein novel. There’s always an area, though, that has the hottest guys to counter this, though. And of course, I manage to get myself into trouble in those areas (see below).
_{He's helping me change the channel, I swear.}

Another Another Gay Movie

After being booked with my first week back to school (eh, get it? Book…school…ehhh), I thought it would be good to celebrate the 3 R’s with the 3 B’s: booze, bitches, and boys (comma naked).

After sitting around, thinking of what to do, I received a text from a friend, like an edict from the gay gods, telling me I would be finding the bounty I sought if I went to see a movie. Not just any movie, though: Todd Steven’s Another Gay Sequel (which is the aptly named sequel to Another Gay Movie).

The media blitz (read: what I saw in HX) had apparently brought out many cinemaphiles out to the premier. After seeing the first movie and hearing about the problems with shooting the film (3/4 of the original cast had left the film), I wasn’t jumping at getting a ticket for the movie like everyone else. Which was a problem, as when I did go buy a ticket, I found it to be sold it.

Fate, however, wasn’t going to allow me to get out of it so easily, and my friend Eric presented me with an extra ticket. The gay gods had spoken.

We made our way into the theater, and saw that it was indeed sold out. However, my friend Andy had saved us a few seats, so we planted our asses thusly so. And after having a nip from my friend’s flask (booze!), I was ready to watch the movie. The seat I decided to set my feet on belonged to none other than Barbie-doppelganger Amanda Lepore (bitches!), who explained to me that she was in the cast. Sounded star-studded to me.

As the movie began, we were treated to two boys fucking right on the screen (boys comma naked!). Now I was ready for AGS. And it turned out to be way better than the first movie, and I liked it!
I won’t give too much of the movie away, but there is a fantastic puke scene, and wonderful performances by Scott Thompson, Perez Hilton (surprising, I know), and Dirty Sanchez (you’ll see).


^{Jake Mosser(Andy), Dir. Todd Stevens, and Aaron Michael Davies (Griff)}
Part of the other reason I was summoned to this premiere was also because I’m well acquainted with Todd Stevens (read that as you will). So, being friends with him, I was invited to the after party. We made our way to the Chelsea Hotel where the party was being held (I had the best AND worst sex of my life in that hotel). Some of the cast was there, excitingly. After a few drinks, I gathered the courage to “try my luck” with Jake Mosser (so we share a name, what else I wonder), who played Andy.

Upon approaching him, I congratulated him and made some small talk, as you would with anyone you want to see naked. As I was about to show him what I wanted to do with him using my finger, a girl walked up and grabbed his hand. If I didn’t doubt it then, it was their tongues touching that made me sure I wasn’t going to get him in my bed tonight.

And so, I had to find other things to do with my hand.