Tuesday, August 28, 2007

20 Hottest Brazilian Men 2007


by Diego

What is effortlessly hot, naturally muscular, absurdly butch and have a penchant for fucking anything that moves? That's right, the Brazilians. Those blessed souls that have a penchant for not discriminating between a pussy and an asshole, a chick and a fag, a tranny and a hen. By the way, the term "hot Brazilian men" may seem like a redundancy. But we'll take it. And one of Brazil's only gay magazine, G, just published a list of the 20 Sexiest Men in Brazil 2007. Unlike American lists of "sexiest people", this is one that features real-looking men you would actually see at any given corner in Brazil, not airbrushed simulacra. They are actors, models, reality TV "stars", musicians and TV reporters. And they carry the raw, organic, gritty, rugged, over-masculine kind of beauty one tends to find below the Equator. Have fun. This is enough masturbation material for a few days. And if you grow specially fond of some of them you can always google-image their names. My faves are numbers 15 (whom I saw in person once in 1996 at a beach in Rio -- most amazing body ever), 26 (starred in "City of God") and 20 (trust me, the best pecs a man can be blessed with). Number 17 is a total faggot by the way.
Click here for the list.

Below you can see photos of Xanddy (pronounced as Shahn-Dji), the Brazilian pop singer, who should have definitely made it to the list. If you are 6 foot 5, have those ginormous biceps, have endured hunger and Brazilian drought and are under the impression that if you top a faggot you are still 100% straight (average Brazilian mentality, by the way) -- you can marry me anytime.



Friday, August 24, 2007

Post-Gangbang Detox: Seeking Celibacy


by Diego

I'm sorry, but if you lived in New York City and could have any kind of man (gay or straight) all up in your butt in less than 6 mouse clicks you would be overdosing too. And, then, after months of little sleep, no time to think and 275 cocks later your body would tell you to stop before it's too late.

That's what happened to little me, so I decided to quit anonymous cock-sucking cold turkey. Like a virgin, bitches. I suppose straight cock is a bottom's cocaine, and in lieu of sex addiction rehab the way to go is: delete your manhunt account, delete your adam4adam account, stay away from Craigslist, re-discover the value of friendship and spend a lot of time with your hag.

The most amazing thing about not having sex is the amount of time you have on your hands. The day just seems to have 48 hours when you are not spending 23 hours looking to stuff some good Latino dick up your ass. Now I can spend time exploring my other passions; like reading, watching "Cops" and searching for Paula Abdul interviews on YouTube. And now when my mom calls I don't have to immediately be mad at her for interrupting my gangbang-planning attempts. And when my roommate gets home I don't wish him dead for ruining my multi-racial gangbang plans. I even save money, not having to wash my sheets every other day (though, I confess, I used to sleep on cum-filled sheets for weeks without changing them -- my hag could have gotten pregnant by dozens of different guys in the nights she slept over).

It's been 3 entire weeks and no cock has entered this body of mine. Not only have I not gotten any, I haven't looked for any either, which is the most gratifying part. It's almost like there is a speck of self-love somewhere inside me. Who knew a faggot could love herself?!

Granted, don't get me wrong, but I have not given up masturbation. I've had enough dick up in me where I have enough material to last me a few decades. I just re-hash and recycle old and not-so-old memories of tatted up Bronx thugs slamming their shit up in my coochie like I was one of their uptown bitch mammas, honey. The possibilities are endless. I suppose a savvy bottom is like a good camel, who builds a reservoir of water inside it and can go for weeks without having to drink water. I have enough gangbang stories to last me through Fall 2027. In the mean time I will save my gay uterus for someone I can get some longevity out of. Someone straight and abusive and ignorant and brutish and blue collar and Brazilian, hopefully. If not, I can keep on jacking off to "Cops", then purge myself watching "Hey, Paula", bitches.


Monday, August 20, 2007

Free Pussy Galore: Gender-Reassignment Surgery For All in Brazil

by Diego

The Health Ministry of Brazil just released a piece of news that will get queens screaming from Rio all the way to No Parking. The country will offer free sex-change operations to any of its citizens that are judged fit to go to the other side. That's like yelling "Free rim jobs" on 8th Avenue. Total pandemonium.

The law passed after federal prosecutors argued that sexual reassignment surgery is covered under the constitution -- which guarantees medical care as a basic right. And here in America all we want is a little paper saying we are married, we can't even get that. Down south they are giving brand new coochies out like chupa chups at the Flag Day parade.

Gay audiences applauded the decision, obviously, but one can smell South American homophobia in the way the Federal Court describes transexuality: "a sexual identity disturbance where individuals need to change their sexual designation or face serious consequences in their lives, including intense suffering, mutilation and suicide.” That's all fun and games, but wording it a "disturbance" reveals a kind of hetero-centric attitude Latin America is known for. If anything, Brazilians may even think gay-ness in general is reduced to a desperate need some men have to become women. Which makes no theoretical sense. On the pragmatic side, however, the more pussy-needy queens will no longer have to move to Europe to be prostitutes in order to save up for their surgery. Bitches can stay right where they are and just get in line. And what a long line it'll be! Next!

Patients must be at least 21 years old and diagnosed as transsexuals with no other personality disorders and must undergo psychological evaluation for at least two years. No word if a rush service is available. So get on it, bitches.



Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Office Cram Sessions: Head-Swapping Interns!

by Diego

Sex at work may not be as ubiquitous as jacking off, but it's just as hot. And DirtyBoyVideo's new Interns video delivers it. See, we at the Big Gay Apple try to keep things professional. But at DirtyBoyVideo's headquarters they seem to take a different approach. Not ones to repress their sudden cock-sucking urges, "Fuck who you want, when you want" is their motto. Even if that means using up their own office space. Good thing the hidden cameras don't leave much to the imagination these days.

It reminded me of my old temping days. You know, when you first move to New York and make $14 an hour stapling Real Estate forms on Madison Ave. for eight hours straight. You about wanna shoot yourself. Or suck off your co-worker. But then you look out the window and see Bryant Park and you realize there are worse fates than stapling for a living -- if it means inhabiting the cock-abundant island of Manhattan.


You can check out "Office Cram Session", DirtyBoyVideo's Interns Fucking on Their Boss's Desk video, by clicking here and also here. While you are at it, make sure you check out some of their extensive list of hot episodes, including "Paul Plugs a Plastic Pussy" (the inanimate version isn't as gross, you guys!), "Penis PuppetShow!" (great for kids), "East Village Backroom" (a.k.a. my average Friday night) and "Jacking Janitor" (blue collar cock, yum!).

Friday, August 10, 2007

Jose from the Bronx: Pussy Only, Maybe a Twink on The Side!


by Diego

So this was my first attempt to making a porno flick. After years of obscure, self-indulgent, self-importantly lofty, experimental, guerilla-style 16mm-film-work-a-la-Stan-Brakhage under my belt it felt like a relief. All you do is hold the camera and try to hide your boner, right?

Given my art school background, this couldn't just be any old porno. It had to be porno with grit. Porno that both entranced the most primal of human urges but also hinted at something higher. Porno that gave one both a carnal and metaphysical orgasms. Or whatever.

First I was told I had to audition the "talent". To make sure he was an actual person and wouldn't be late or absent for the shoot. No problem. I made sure my roommates were gone (straight people actually work), and had the talent hop on a train from the Bronx down to Soho, where this princess calls home.

His voice on the phone alone made me cream my pants. "I ain't gay or nuttin'", he said, in one of his more eloquent sentences. I'm sorry, but if you are so butch you can barely string words together and you have a huge tattoo covering your entire arm you can marry me right anytime.



From the moment I opened the door for him, he was the sweetest and most professional talent I had ever worked with. It's almost like he was giving me the respect he would give a real girl (which will make me automatically wet). I explained to him how things were to go down and he just nodded, as if saying "Anything you want, faggot, as long as I get my cash by the end of the day."

Turns out you give a straight man a browser with pussy videos on it and your directorial skills can pretty much lay low. He needed no direction. Homeboy knows his pussy and his jacking. All I had to ask for was a little more ass. You know how they need to pretend they don't like anything up in there.

I gave him a beer or two. Half because he needed to loosen up, half because there is nothing hotter than a bottom fetching liquor to his mean top! He said "thanks, babe"!!!! So basically he sees a twinky little faggoty chick-like thing when he looks at me. HOT! Then, he proceeded to Google "nasty pussy" and jerk off to me, completely oblivious to the camera. Click here to see the video of Jose, fresh from the Bronx (hollaaa), avid pussy-eater, occasional faggot-banger, in all of his tattooed glory.



Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Paris, Texas?


by Diego

I am not advising anyone to do it like I do. But I have this tendency of going the extra mile for guys who OBVIOUSLY are impossible to last. You can be a perfect guy living a few blocks from me and I probably won't even text you once a day. But tell me you are moving to San Diego in two weeks and I will automatically be head over heels. Tell me you are married, I will be in love instantenously. Tell me you are being drafted to Irak, getting your Master's in Japan or backpacking through the Balkans for the next 5 years and I will immediately think marriage, and kids, and parental introductions and Upper West Side brownstones.

There is something about the impossible that gets my urges for sex and love to peak. So when I met Justin a couple months ago at a local bar (i.e. Manhunt) and he told me he was moving back to Texas for a while, there was no turning back. As much as I tried to be rational about it, something in me knew right away I was about to fall in love. Or at least make myself believe he was the one to have. Simply because I so obviously couldn't have him.

So we made love, drank Dean & Deluca coffee and watched American Idol reruns for three nights and three days. The next day he disappeared and I wanted to die. A day later he turned up saying his phone had died (i.e. he was hooking up with some other hotter Latino bottom) and he had had to go to the emergency room due to a uniranary tract infection (i.e. gonnorhea). If you aren't me you would say "fuck off". But since I am me, I said "ok, fine" and took him back for the remaining 24 hours before he had to fly back to Bushland.

For the next several weeks we texted back and forth and pretended we were ever going to see each other. We pretended we were being monogamous and that our parents would one day meet and he would get me pregnant with a baby as blond as him.

Turns out I actually do believe in crazy love affairs. I am aware that in America people's idea of love is more like a stage or business transaction: something you get over with so you can stop looking. But after living in Europe I also know humans are capable of mad cinematic love stories. So I book a ticket to fucking Houston, Texas to see him. He probably didn't believe someone would be this crazy. Someone in American soil who followed their desires? Who knew.

He lives with his parents so I have to book a hotel too (i.e. Motel 8). When I get there it's awkward for five minutes and then we go back to making love, watching "Hannah Montana" (white people have the worst taste!) and listening to comedy radioon XM (wtf). He eats me out like it's pussy and never even touches my dick -- both major pre-requisites. He is also pretty racist, which is kinda hot if you don't think too much about it. The kind of guy who sees nothing wrong with drinking and driving ("I hold my liquor really well") or domestic violence (hot!). It all feels like a refreshing breather from overwhelming Manhattan. But a fag can only eat so much hash browns and see so many miles of Highways punctuated by Costcos.

While getting to know someone you don't is often a priceless experience, New York does something really perverse to someone's mind. Like fucking opium, you can only go without it for half a weekend. After that it's withdrawal time.

He is white so when we say goodbye there are no tears nor promises of longevity. He basically pushes off of his truck so that he doesn't get a ticket. Which is fine, I guess a faggot likes it like that. An ellusive male figure who rejects them as much as they don't. Like our dads. And all men that came after.

For more Diego blogs, click here.



Monday, August 06, 2007

From Boys to Men: the experienced pound the innocent at MenOver30.com

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.