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Such Typical New Yorkers

2009-08-10T08:14:00.009-04:00

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

2008-10-22T16:11:00.006-04:00

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!

2008-10-03T15:39:00.001-04:00

Shall We Bath?

2008-09-30T20:32:00.003-04:00

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)

2008-09-13T21:15:00.007-04:00

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.

2008-09-04T22:39:00.005-04:00

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

2008-08-31T02:30:00.006-04:00

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.

Küte ünderhosen

2008-08-25T17:38:00.006-04:00

When dealing with party promotions, you have to advertise with something eye catching, catchy, and remain simple. With a name like "Küte," G Lounge not only allures me with simplistic promise of something in the non-ugly category, but it also appeals to my love of all things Germanic, with its clever use of the umlaut. And who better to drag along with me than my German pornstar friend Lars.

Lately, I've been finding it hard to drag me away from my XBox 360 and PC. I've been finding hooking up while playing a round of Team Fortress 2 is about as easy as it is on Manhunt, if you know the right way to ROFL, but my friend John talked me into coming to one of his hot sex parties (and this was no different). There is nothing like a hot gangbang to refresh your taste for shirt staining adventure (which tastes a little sweet and a little salty).

With Lars in tow, we ventured out to G Lounge, no goals in mind, really, except to drink, catch up, and enjoy the thoroughfare as it were. As we walked in, I was given a lesson in German, being told that "Küte" means nothing. After a few minutes of slapstick style humor, it was finally cemented into my head that it means nothing and not "nothing." I also learned to say the useful phrase "Ich have kleine ünderhosen en."

For once, in my eyes, it had lived up to it's name of "lounge." It wasn't too packed at 10:30, and we were able to sit and relax. My prior visits were met with a full bar, long waits for drinks, and cramped moving, which I used to cop feels of hot guys.

After much talking and catching up with Lars, I took a gander around. The general crowd of G is, for some, a bit cliquey, but being generally unafraid of the gay population (isn't that "homophobia?"), I considered getting up to talk to a cute boy I saw from across the room. I looked over at a white guy who had corn rows, so instantly I thought of my homelands Iowa. While definitely looking strange, he had an air about him. He looked, like many of the people in the bar, important.

So I got up and puffed up my chest, looking confident, and strode across the room to strike up a conversation with the boy. In retrospect, puffing up my chest while wearing a Superman t-shirt might look a little on the geeky side. Needless, as I approached the boy, another came up to him, and excitedly, they kissed. Not just a friendly "Oh, I'm so excited to see you!," a long, tongue licking, love of my life kiss.

I made a B-line for the bathroom directly behind them. Upon my return, when Lars said he was tired, I concurred and followed him out. And truly, in an un-disappointing ironic way, Küte lived up to it's name: there were cute boys, good drinks, I went home with some German sausage still.

I'm ready for my close up.

2008-06-26T15:06:00.002-04:00

If you want to see this guy naked, just click on this LINK.

Don't say I didn't "warn" you....

I Went To New Jersey and Lived to Tell

2008-01-28T21:52:00.000-05:00

by Diego

Oh, the metal structures, the outlet malls, the vast stretches of asphalt, the Versailles-esque gardens. You just gotta love the place Jersey occupies in America's collective unconscious. So I just had to go there and see it for myself. This is the premise: spoiled Manhattan boy who had never ventured out of the civilized borough decides to visit infamous New Jersey. It was the post-colonial bottom in me lusting after some fresh blue collar meat. So I called my friend Brian, a Jersey native, to show me around. If the guys weren't that hot, at least they would be less plastic than Manhattan queens -- and the whole thing would make it for a memorable anthropological survey. Like field work.

Brian decided to take me to Feathers, the most happening bar west of the Meatpacking District, apparently. The minute we left the city the cultural differences became apparent in Jersey's architecture: it's all long stretches of highway with huge department stores and gas stations sprinkled along the way. Did you know it's illegal to pump your own gas in Jersey? You can marry a fag but you can't pump your own gas.

Anyway, they have a lot of asphalt in Jersey, and nothingness. But it's a peaceful kind of nothingness, surrounded by trucks, dogs and big homes that would cost 10 grand a month in Manhattan but probably rent for $200 in Hackensack or whatever. The size can be very alluring. Coming from my $5,000-a-month tiny loft in TriBeCa and staring at so much couch space makes one wonder if it's worth leaving the first world to save a few thousand dollars a month. "Don't even think about it", says my hag.

But Jersey is much more than spacious duplexes and all-you-can-eat Chinese restaurants. It does have an amazing view of Manhattan. But who needs a view of paradise if you can actually live inside of it?

Feathers, however, was a big disappointment. Think Wisconsin lesbian bar meets Utah mining furnace meets Iowa outhouse. Where have all the hot brick-layer tops gone? I was imagining inked-up truck drivers with killer bods and cigarette breath calling me babydoll and professional movers with coarse hands begging to feel up the Manhattan princess. That's definitely not what I got . That and they don't carry Smirnoff Ice -- it hasn't arrived there yet.

Not that I didn't blow some nasty old fuck in the bathroom, just to get my 4-dollars of cover charge worth. But still, I was hoping to come back married, or at least engaged. I guess there's always Queens.

Is Watching a Guy Dump Considered Scat?

2007-12-18T01:31:00.000-05:00

by Diego

I said watching only, not eating the dump. I ask because, as of late, I have been dealing with the urge to have a straight guy over, watch him take a shit in my toilet (not on me), then wipe his ass a little bit (like 90% clean) then eat him out. I know I can't be the only bottom with this desire.

While rimming is, really, a top's job, I do not mind doing it if I am sure the guy is straight. But I don't think I could ever have a guy who likes to be rimmed as my boyfriend. I would always be suspicious that if he likes a lil' tongue up in there, he will also like a little dick. But for hook-ups I think it's hot to rim a butch ass out. And, unless they are Latino, they ALWAYS love the idea.

So one of my core set of questions when setting up a Craigslist-enabled hook-up is: "Do you like being rimmed? Can you leave your ass a bit smelly, sweaty for me? Matter of fact, can you take a dump in front of me?"

I would say about 30% of guys get totally freaked out and stop responding, or respond: "Sorry, not into scat". But the rest totally dig the idea. But it doesn't seem that watching a guy dump would count as scat since you are not ingesting the dump, right? I have no interest in tasting the turd, I just wanna witness its coming out. Maybe because it's not a very well documented nor well experienced sight, maybe because I can give visual proof to their top-ness (as long as there is something coming out of the ass, there ain't nothing going in the ass).

The last guy who came over to do this "scat light" scene said he was gonna surely dump and do this and that, but all he was able to shit was tiny little pieces of shit. Like little bird droppings or whatever. So I wasn't satisfied. The second guy dropped a small (I'd say about 4-inch long) turd, but at least it made a lot of noise when it came out of his asshole, so that was hot. The third guy said he got "shit shy" and just had me eat his ass for, literally, an hour and a half. At that point even pussy would have tasted great.

My fag hag tells me that "shit watching" may be a gateway to "actual scat", like they say marijuana is an entry drug for other hard drugs. But if it is so, then so be it. I mean, it's not like I can't brush my teeth after. I just need to get a doctor's confirmation that it won't give me cavities or leprosy or whatever. But I have found that the smell alone enhances the sexual experience. An organic kind of poppers, if you will.

By the way, for those interested, this is a fun little website: www.adventuresindefecation.com

Question of The Week: Is White Sex Less Boring Than Watching Paint Dry?

2007-12-03T03:55:00.000-05:00

by Diego

There comes a time when you've been to Urge (33 2nd Ave.) so many times in a week you are embarrassed to face the bartender. So you stay home and, shocker, post on Craigslist! Except that this time it was 3 in the morning and I had zero hope of getting good non-tweaking dick. But it's New York, so if you are still up someone is bound to be up too.

I got a few replies, you know, the usual suspects. Guys who refuse to give out their stats (you know they are 5foot4), guys who say they are 39 (i.e. 54), "generous" guys, "partying" guys, "bareback only" guys, etc. I filtered all the losers out and there were two left: this white guy with model looks from Soho and this Mexican from the Financial District.

If you asked my fag hag she'd have seen no dilemma. You tell her you've got a Latino she will sign the marriage license with her eyes closed, no questions asked. But this white guy was reaaally hot. Rationally I know that that won't matter. That when they are waspy white they are like Starbucks food: looks yummy but tastes like shit. That and the fact that they seem so afraid to be sued they will ask permission to lift your right leg. When all you want them to do is spit on you and smack you across the face.

So I couldn't decide which one to invite over: bisexual Mexican with a heavy accent or model-esque blond jock with a coke habit? You know those white people looove their coke. Must be that feeling of invincibility that comes with being part of the hegemony for a few thousand years.

Anyway when the Mexican guy told me his name was Jesus and that he was raised in the Bronx I was ready to make the decision. Fuck the white guy, he'd probably pump me at 1 mile per hour anyway. Except that when I told Jesus to come over he said it got too late. Don't you hate it when they do that? They totally use you for masturbation material, then they cum and leave you dry. So I think, great, I'll just invite the white guy over: better than nothing. Too bad white guy is long gone, probably on his way to some Meth party in Hell's Kitchen.

So I go to www.SheGods.com and pretend I'm one of them SheMale bitches getting gangbanged, fingerbang myself till I fall asleep and call it a night. At least I know I got no STDs tonight!

5 Reasons to Visit Brazil This Holiday Season

2007-11-29T03:55:00.000-05:00

by Diego

1. Anyone who's done -- or, rather, who has been done by a Brazilian knows that they are a different breed of men altogether. And you thought it was after the blacks that you couldn't come back! Look at those biceps. And the thing about it is, they don't even work out! They just haul rocks all day and surf. Oh, and they never wear any sunblock either, it's "gay".

2. Don't be fooled by the skimpy underwear: they usually don't wear any. That's gay too, down there. Can you just imagine the damage those hands could do to your pretty little American ass?

3. Don't be getting no ideas now, even getting rimmed is out of the question for straight Brazilians. They may fuck anything that walks, but they'd be rather caught dead than have anyone even touch their butts.

4. Did anyone say 'the perfect pillow'? All organically sculpted by hanging out at the beach playing soccer shirtless 6 hours a day, trying to score some pussy (don't worry, their definition of pussy is pretty broad).

5. Oh, his name is Marcos, if you really needed to know. And he is not even out of the ordinary for straight Brazilian men. They are a dime a dozen like that. So, you on Travelocity yet?

NoWayAmIGay.com Shocker: Some Straight Men Don't Go Gay!

2007-11-28T01:09:00.000-05:00

by Diego

NoWayAmIGay.com has the best idea ever. And it is so simple I can't believe no one had thought of it before. Or maybe they had, but were too ashamed to admit it and make a site out of it. The premise is: get real straight men to jerk off for gay men, have them talk trash about gays to the camera admitting they don't like "fags" but love the money.

Gay men get the most out of it: not only do we get to stare at hot, butch, straight men, we also get to hear them humiliate our existences! We all know that, unless you are a top (not very likely), you looove to be called a bitch or a "faggot" while getting fucked. Just like women would wanna be called "whores" if they weren't so sexually repressed. I don't know about you, but last time I had a real anal orgasm was when I asked this welder from Park Slope if he was almost done fucking me and he responded "I'm done when I'm done, bitch" and slapped me across the face! I replay that scene in my mind every day to this day. Oh, and did I mention he had a neck tattoo?

There is just something so satisfying about being smacked, being belittled. Probably because it equates us with the place women is placed in patriarchic society. Whatever the reason, keep the slapping and the spitting and the insulting on coming, boys!

At NoWayAmIGay.com you can download QuickTime trailers for free. Pay special attention to Trent Long, a shaved headed straight white guy with a word in Arabic tattooed across his chest. "Fucking fags, you ain't getting any of this", he says. And we love it! It makes the satisfaction of our desire even more of an impossibility!

The site-makers are smart and put a girl behind the camera, that makes the straight men real comfortable and they open up to say the nastiest things: homophobic slurs never sounded this good!

The great thing about the site is that it offers a bit of every straight male breed: thuggish black guys, all-American white jocks, blond twinks and even salt-and-pepper in-shape daddies.

But another white guy warns us, after shooting his load: "Cum you will never taste: there is no way am I gay". Which you know there is a bit of "well, if you are saying it so adamantly there must be some gay in you, straight-o". And that can be reassuring, you know, to realize the butchest of all straight men will always let us blow him if no one is looking. Click here to check it all out, "fags".

Down With Blowing Married Guys with Condoms!

2007-11-13T00:50:00.000-05:00

by Diego

I understand they are trying to safeguard their wives' pussies, but that shouldn't mean I have to taste nasty latex oil crap when I give head. It is totally anti-climactic, anti-hedonist, anti-desire, basically fascist to expect me to feel the taste of slimy latex when I give blow jobs. HE gets all the pleasure (you know "them", it takes them very little to get pleasure) while I/WE are left pleasure-less just so they can CHEAT on their wives and yet not give them gonorrhea. In the mean time the motherfuckers wanna shoot the cum down our throats! I don't think so.

I'm gonna have to start including "Do you get head with a condom on or without?" in my list of things to ask before inviting straight guys over. I already have to go through a barrage of them without sounding too inquisitive: age, stats, location? How hung? Top, vers or bottom? Hit ass raw or rubbers? Suck or just get sucked? (if they say they suck immediately hit delete) Eat ass or like yours eaten? Into gangbangs, tagteams? You smack ass, slap face, spit on me? And my fave: would you mind taking a shit so that I can watch and then wipe you?

No, I'm not into scat. There's a difference between watching someone dump and eat what he is dumping. I suppose it's the excitement, the reassurance of seeing something come out of the ass meaning nothing will be going INSIDE the ass. That way I tell myself, with visual proof, that the guy is actually straight, not a bottom in disguise.

Anyway, my last trick of the day came over and he was like 5 inches shorter than expected (in height) and pulled out a condom as he unzipped his pants for me to suck. Bitch, please, why even bother? Fuck your dog's mouth instead, or the little gap between your mattress and the bed frame, idiot. You wanna use a dental dam to eat my ass out too? Or maybe some aluminum foil? A nice thick fabric swatch perhaps? Bitch, if you don't want your wife to get syphilis stop fucking around with other bitches in the first place. But if you are gonna do it, actually do it. Anyways, I was horny and it was either blowing plastic slime off his dick or going to class without having sucked dick all day long, so I blew plastic. It could have been worse, it could have been pussy.

I Am So Post-Gay

2007-10-30T00:32:00.000-04:00

by Diego Costa

I finally went to B Bar (40 E. 4th Street) after several months of limiting my social/sexual life to Craigslist postings. And what a strange feeling. Wandering human eyes laid on you; actual bodies brushing against yours; strangers approaching you before you get their cock pics; engaging in conversation before even a blow job is consummated -- the whole bit. Quite bizarre. And after all this theater ("Oh, I love your jeans!"), still no cock. AND you have to pay $9 per drink to even just be there. Honey, Craigslist is free and you get to find out people's dick sizes (and get a pictorial sense of what they look like) even before they ask your name, bitches.

Not that I'm advocating for the complete boycotting of public queer spaces. But one can actually be way more pragmatic staying home, waiting for one's roommates to go to bed, dressing up in drag and posting as a tranny. The amount of straight guys you get trying to come "fake-rape" you is not even funny. You can even be as picky as deciding whether you wanna have Puerto Rican or Dominican dick tonight. No more settling for second best. No more settling for the least faggie one, for the least bottom one. These are real men whose jobs consist of hauling heavy metal structures and eating pussy. And they often have done time! And have the tattoos to prove it.

I was at B Bar because this old, old trick of mine happened to be in Manhattan and invited me over. He is one of those left-over tricks from back in the day when I was gay. Gay in the sense that I lived for working out Monday thru Friday and going to the club Friday thru Sunday to show the body off and suck as much half-decent/half-masculine dick as possible. No longer, honey: it's all about the intelligently managed Craigslist hetero-dick from the Bronx, honey. I'm talking big, black, uncut married Brazilian cock who doesn't even know what SoHo is, bitches. The kind of dick who doesn't even care if it hits ass with condoms or raw cause it's so straight it thinks that the worst it can happen is a woman might get pregnant. And what are the odds of that!

Anyway, once in a while you do get a few duds, like the last response I got. He was Latin and everything but, "Never married, No kids" (bad), "Loves pets, kids" (who cares), "masters degree" (faggot), "I love dancing, film, live music, cooking and eating" (and you think you're not a bottom because...), "Looking for a friend that could lead to LTR" (what are you, me?).

But most of the time I get: "Whassup, ma, that shit looks good enough to eat, when can I hit that pussy? -- one", which is too priceless for fucking words.

At B Bar the most action I got was a "you have the most gorgeous eyes" from old trick. And, honey, I wear contacts, and last time I checked there was no such thing as ocular sex, so shove it.

For more Diego blogs, click here.

StraightGuysFondled.com: Look And Even Touch!

2007-10-21T00:57:00.000-04:00

by Diego

StraightGuysFondled.com: Who hasn't feel tempted to sneakily grab a hot cousin's or straight buddy's dick while they slept? Last time I had the urge to clandestinely blowing a half-sleep straight guy was when my sister's boyfriend slept in my room. We are at my parents house so they didn't want her to sleep with her boyfriend in the same room so they wouldn't have sex. But if I had sex with him, it would be okay, I suppose. I had to weigh in the pros and cons of blowing him while he slept. If he woke up would he not mind and pretend nothing happened the next day or would he create scene?

Anyway, Straightguysfondled.com makes it easier to take advantage of sleeping straight cock. The guys are hot and ridiculously straight (no flaming bottoms posing as straight, like in most sites). And here they don't wake up to smack you and put an end to the fun. And one gets a sense that even if they did wake up they wouldn't mind what they saw. They even cum while half-asleep, which is a site I'd never fantasized of but now seems like one of the hottest little fetishes ever: to see a straight guy with his eyes closed, totally oblivious to what or who caused him to cum, letting all that milk out.

They get their asses fondled too by the cameraman, and we also get a peak of them showering at times, through a peephole of sorts. This is gay voyeurism at its best, with a tad of realism too. You may even feel a kind of deja vu: how often do we not attempt to stare at straight men, lusting after what we could never have, hoping we won't get caught. But StraightGuysFondled.com makes it safe to gawk at the prohibited, and to jack off to it too. Knock yourselves out! Highlight videos include Lance, Grant and Jerome. I love me some straight hairy ass, total "no no" zone but you know they want it eaten just as much as we do!
Click here to visit the site.

CRAIGSLIST Posting of The Week

2007-10-18T03:53:00.000-04:00

A "Grace" Looking For Her "Will" - w4mm - 21

Reply to: pers-451643049@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-10-17, 12:38PM EDT

fair warning: I'M A GIRL. (i could hear it now, "hisss ooo girl cooties!' lol) i posted in m4m cuz i figured id get the most responses this way. im a constant lurker here and after many attempts to make girl friends i decided to revisit my 'fag hag' roots. i used to have more gay guy friends but they somehow evaporated :[. im a sweet & quirky jewish girl, kinda like 'Grace Adler' lol. i love fashion & 'bazaar' & that Skinny Bitch book. i love makeup & sehpora & all that great stuff. i just want a normal, not TOO conceited person i can confide in about random life stresses, living nyc, the usual & etc. no one over 25 please, hope to chat xoxox.

Location: nyc
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

So, apparently even my fag hag cheats on me!!! This has her written ALL over it. The things you find out when you type in "fag" on the search engine of Craigslist just hoping to find a full-fledged total top who refers to his bottoms as "fags". Instead you find this. Bitch.

I saw Blondie walking out of a deli with a six pack

2007-10-07T10:21:00.000-04:00

I’m a rock star? Oh you didn’t know that? Don’t you think I look like a rock star? Don’t you think I walk like a rock star, smoke like a rock star, party like a rock star, fuck like a rock star? Oh yeah, I’m a rock star and I want to get pissed with you in the East Village. Come with me or I’m going to bash my electric guitar over your head and then pass out. Oh yes, I’m a rock star indeed…

The East Village is by far the dirtiest, craziest, sleaziest, and most fun of all the gayborhoods in the great city of New York. There’s something about walking down St. Marks and seeing those hot strung out sixties throwbacks that makes me want to chug a bottle of Jack, get something pierced, and then go find a sex club so I can show everyone what I just had pierced, have crazy sex in a sling, and then pass out.

The East Village makes me want to be British. The East Village makes me want to take a pool cue, break it over my knee, grab that hot homeless looking boy standing with his hands in his pocket (He’s actually a freshman at NYU) and say, “Lets get the fuck out of this fucking city you sweet bitch.” And I don’t even swear.

Okay so’s if you wanna be a rock star too, come with me on this magic carpet ride I call life…

The best thing about the East village is the people watching. The boys in the East Village claim an anything goes style that makes each bar hotter than the next.

I like to start my night at Nowhere Bar on 14th Street. Not only does the two-for-one make NowWhere one of the cheapest places drink, it also brings a hot crowd. A great mix of the oh-so-experimental college boys and uptown working stiffs who are both looking to find someone to rub out the tensions of last week.
My favorite place to chill in Nowhere Bar is this little corner sofa area across from the pool table. It’s a perfect place to sit, see and be scene. Also the low sofas makes it really easy to get an out of site hand-job, so’s I’d look before I sat down if I were you, especially if it’s later in the evening.

Nowhere Bar
322 East 14th Street

After happy hour, you have a myriad of choices when hanging in the E.V.

Remember, the East Village is teaming with college boys. And where there are beautiful financially strapped twinks, there are also great drinking deals. For a cool and consistent good time I love to swing by Phoenix on Wednesdays for their dollar draft night. Starting at 10:00pm this is one of the biggest nights at the bar. By 10:30pm the place is usually balls to the wall full of hot eighties porn doubles. The crowd is always cute and friendly and the music is second to none; important if you’re a rock star like me.

The Phoenix
447 E 13th Street

If you’re itching for a pool game, or to act out a scene from The Accused hit up the Boiler Room. This bar is a trashy good time. It reminds me of my days in the Midwest; underage, drunk, and horny. And you can look ohhh so hot pressed up against the pinball machine in the corner. Much like the Hanger in the West Village, there’s something wonderfully sleazy about the Boiler Room. What can I say; the place perks me (by me, I mean my wang) up every time. This is probably my favorite place in the city for a drunken make out. Swing on by I may just might shove my tongue down your throat…And then pass out. …

The Boiler Room
86 E 4th Street

When you’re ready to get super nasty make your way down to Boys Room.
This on again off again club has never failed to make my jaw drop. From sweaty go go boys to live acts that will make your jaw go down and your dick go up, Boy’s Room is the primary spot when it comes to a dirty night out.

Boys Room
211 Avenue A

And where oh where after all of this could we possibly end our night? The Cock of course! Just to let you know how quickly this city changes, I knew the Cock when it used to be the Hole…How’s that for fucking with those tourist heads. The cock was, is, and always will be the best, funkiest, darkest, and most sexually charged bar in the East Village. It’s a great place to people watch while someone is grabbing your crotch. Whatever it may be, if ya want to do it, you can do it at the cock. See ya there rock star!

The Cock
29 2nd Avenue

So now we’ve ended out night, but who will we be going home with. In the East village it’s anyone’s guess, but you can guess it will be with someone.

Chance of getting laid: 99.9%
Who you’re going home with: NYU Twink, hot musician, suckable vampire, leather top, or all of em’ combined.

Attack of The Oversexed Fag Hag

2007-10-05T00:15:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Gay tip of the week: do not get gangbanged with your fag hag. Seriously, kids, don't do it. They will get more addicted to it than you will. And you girls' relationship will never be the same. It's kind of like sucking off your uncle when you're 10. Thanksgiving dinner is always a bit more nerve-wrecking ever after.

Anyway, it all started when I introduced Craigslist personals to my main fag hag, who after that night I don't think has slept, really. She is up at any given hour posting and reposting after her shit gets flagged. And after she is done with one guy she is already planning the next post. Actually, as she is getting fucked by one guy she's already wishing he leaves so that she can get another guy -- or several of them -- to come bang her out of her miserable St. Mark's Place studio-living existence. If that all sounds familiar, I understand. She really is a fag trapped in a fag hag's body. But a real unhealthy fag at that.

So in the beginning of her addiction we started having straight guys over to fuck us both at the same time. I was taking classes at NYU, she was studying for the bar exam, we didn't have the time to devote to each other. So we figured at least if we got gangfucked together we would stick together. But by the 5th or 6th gangbang I got sick of the whole thing. It just seemed very unlikely that I'd find a boyfriend from a gangbang in which everyone was just plugging my ass so they would be able to get some of her pussy. So I told her I couldn't do it anymore.

She about cried. "But I can't have sex without my fag!". What? Are you psycho? "I'm serious, I can't think of sex unless it's with you". I told her that was pretty unhealthy and that she should see a therapist. To which she said "But YOU're my therapist!". To which I said "No, I'm not, I'm your fag, not your husband!". To which she said "You're my GAY husband". To which I said "What-the-fuck".

So it's been a few weeks and she still says she can't bring herself to get fucked without the presence of her fag. She recently passed out at Grand Central and was taken to St. Vincent's Hospital by ambulance. They called me up and said she'd written my name for emergency contact and under "relation to patient" she wrote in "fag". They labeled her "mental" and I didn't disagree. This bitch needs some meds. And I need some time off. No hags for at least a month. But then I'm afraid she will take her life. So, kids, don't start something you can't continue. Especially if they involve women. We are gay for a fucking reason.

For more Diego blogs, click here.

Go West Young Man

2007-10-04T08:26:00.000-04:00

For my first few posts, I thought It would be the good and decent thing to do to delve into the underbelly of the four gayest neighborhoods (Has anyone used the term gayborhood before?) of the city. If you’ve had a chance to spend some time New York, you’ll know I’m referring to The West Village, The East Village, Chelsea, and lately Hell’s Kitchen. I have made it my duty, to hurl myself into every hole-in-the-wall, get icky and sticky at every club, and find just how sordid and different boys from the hoods can be. We’ve got it all here! Every fetish, perversion, build, and body part that you can think of has found a home somewhere in one of these four different gay niches…

We’re starting at the beginning.

Picture it. Judy Garland is dead. A one Ms. Sing Hallelujah Come On Get Happy has swallowed her last gin and codeine mixer and the gay fella’s in the West Village are mourning one of the few women that that actually gave them an erection. Judy Judy Judy…What are we gonna do without you girl? Just as the trolley dings for the fiftieth time, the doors of the gay bar The Stone Wall is forced open, and the scantily clad police chief with all of his strong arms bust through. It’s another raid.

But this time the queens of Christopher Street have had enough and they ain’t gonna take it anymore.

“Not today!” One screams “

All of the sudden the sky turns black. All of Gay New York flies into the streets. The Lollypop League appears to your right, Liza with a Z slides down the sidewalk sporting her black leotard , and a plethora of uppers and downers fall from the sky. The gay civil rights movement is in full swing.

Actually this never happened, but it makes a great story. Here's the real skinny.

The West Village is where the gay rights movement began!

In 1969 after a raid at Stone Wall Inn, the gays took to the streets in protest of their inequality. It was a dramatic scene indeed. Cops getting crazy with their nightsticks, trannies chucking beer bottles in rebellion…The riots went on for three nights, eventually turning into a more civilized protest land marking the gay rights movement…History lesson over, now I’ll tell ya where you can get shitfaced and laid.

Honestly, when you’re cruising the Village I think you should always start at Stonewall Inn. Yep it’s still there. Stop off a little after 4:00pm, have a couple of beers and give thanks to the pioneers who had the balls, tits or both to step up to the man so you can now walk hand in hand with the trick of your choice on Christopher Street any time of day.

Stonewall Inn
53 Christopher Street

After you’ve tossed a couple back at Stonewall, ya GOTTA check out the Hanger. This may be the oddest gay bar I’ve ever been too. It has this dive-bar vibe that personally kinda gets me all horned up. You’ll read on line that this is not the place to meet hot guys but I beg to differ. Though this is not a spot for high fashion (nor does it want to be) I have felt up three different absofuckinglutly hot hot guys at the Hanger. This place just does something to me…

The Hanger
115 Christopher Street

So now you’re buzzed, (I hope) and ya need some food. Before you hit a hotdog cart off the street, why don’t you consolidate your time and continue to drink while eating a fabulous homo burger topped with with special homo secret sauce...

At Julius’ (Arguably the oldest gay bar in the city) they usually have the grill going so’s the adorable studs can soak up the booze with a bun and keep the night going. While at Julius, ask one of the patrons about the place. They’ll be happy to give you a play by play of the celebrity cruising that has occurred over the years. (These are the worst/best gossips I’ve ever met…

Julius
159 West 10th Street

Alright fella’s it’s piano bar time. Oh Yes. The Duplex, Marie’s Crisis and Roses Turn are all in a quaint little triangle right off of Christopher Street. Get out your sheet music and get ready to see some off the wall shit. I’m talking Jersey girls screaming Billy Joel lyrics while almost weeping on their bar stools

The talented staff at these places will take your breath away when they hit those high notes and shake their, well whatever they choose to shake on a given night.

The shit-faced Broadway boys bellied up to the bar trying desperately to remember lyrics to songs that they have just performed in an audition that same afternoon is another site entirely.
Oh yeah, and if you stand close enough to the Piano at Marie’s Crisis you might luck out with some of your own ebony or ivory to tickle after the set.

The Duplex
61 Christopher Street

Rose’s Turn
55 Grove Street

Marie’s Crisis
59 Grove Street

As we wind up our night there are a couple of options in the West Village. If the vibe is low key with a twist of cute trashy fun I recommend that you stop off an avenue over and hit Pieces.

This place is great. The bartenders are easy going and cute, there’s a pool table, and the off the Avenue entrance makes it the perfect spot to find some sinister fun. Maybe if you're lucky you'll hook up with a serial killer.

Pieces
8 Christopher Street

Now, if you were planning on cutting loose on the dance Flo (not a typo…It’s how I say floor) There is no better place in the West Village than The Monster. The bar upstairs reminds me of a sort of indoor Tiki Bar. There’s plenty of space, it’s well lit, and there are windows on all sides for classic and tragic late night West Village street ogling. The dance floor downstairs is dark, loud, and kinda stinky in that sexy eighties porn sorta way.
I promise you three things if you end your night at the Monster.

1.) Someone will grab your ass and or crotch

2.) You will see a lesbian couple break up and make up again with in a half hour time span.
3.) Someone will call you Papi.

The Monster
80 Grove Street

That about raps up my tour of the West Village. At the end of each of my posts I’ll let you know a couple of things:

Who you’re most likely to hook up with: Hot daddies, Sexy chorus boys, or maybe a Papi of your own.
Chances of getting laid: 90%. If you’re too caught up in the history of the West Village or too drunk ya might just opt to collapse by yourself. Though this is not likely.

CRAIGSLIST Posting of The Week

2007-10-02T19:20:00.000-04:00

Top seeks young Wet & Messy Food/Gunge boy!- 28

Reply to: pers-438358726@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-10-02, 6:47PM EDT

Seeking young guy who wants to get messy with whipped cream, syrup, chocolate, pies and other stuff from the frig! I want to get you slimey and sticky from head to toe, jack off, get kinky etc!

Looking for younger guy 18 to 30, slim or muscular build. I host.

Reply with your pic.

Popping my Bloggin Cherry...

2007-10-02T06:55:00.000-04:00

What a lucky boy am I! Boy Oh boy won't my mama be proud. Me, that goofy kid from the Midwest has been asked by the good people at Big Gay Apple to bear my ummmm soul to the five or so guys who actually go to this site...I've done it daddy! I'm on top. (This time)

From now on, tucked away between the Military cum shots and those wacky brothers wackin it, you'll find me, Sammy, sharing the escapades that have happened to me in this hot crazy nasty New York...It truly is one big gay apple, and I'm taking a juicy bite, all in search of that long thick worm near the core. And fuck it fellas I'm doing it all for you!

So's since this is kind of like our first date, I thought it would be fun to play a little game. Imagine if you will, that we are meeting for the first time after months of one hand typing on the internet hookup site of your choice. You walk into Barracuda, scan the bar and pray to God, that I'm the muscle stud with the giant package sucking down the beer at the bar and not the dude face down in his own grenadine tinted drool. So here are the pics. If you guess correctly we may just finish this date with the proper hand-job that you deserve...I am a gentleman after all!

Get to Pickin....

Is this me???

Could this be me??? (Please Lord!!!)

Oh...Here's me. Stoned!

Did you guess right? Good for you...unzip that fly!

Yeppers that's me. But don't let those boyish looks fool you. There's a lot about this sleazy city that I can learn ya...Behind those innocent blue eyes is the mind of that eighty year old guy at the gym who stares at you in the locker room while he plays with his wiener-Diddle Diddle Diddle...

"Tell me more," you must bethinking right now..."For God Sakes Tell Me More!!!"

While in the city I've made it my business to have the strangest and craziest experiences possible. I've lived, worked, and played anywhere I could. The experiences I've had along the way have been an absolute blast (In one way or another)

Some highlights thus far...

Getting a BJ in the bathroom at the Cock- I'm pretty sure this has happened more than once.
Having a guy pass out mid-tongue kiss

Getting a BJ in the bathroom at XL
Taking my pants off at Opaline
Getting a BJ in the bathroom at the gym
Doing it with a priest
Getting a BJ by a hobo in Hoboken. (Just kiddin! I would NEVER write about Jersey)

In between these oh so memorable occasions I've met some really great people (like face to face) Slurped some phenomenal cocktails, and saw some sites that would make you wanna slap your mother.

Now mind you, I'm just getting started. Five years in New York went by like a week and I'm not quite ready to reclaim my innocence. So come on back to my little blog, and I'll fill ya in on where I eat, where I play, and who I lay along the way... (Rhyming is fun!)

Next On The To Do List: The Garbage Man

2007-09-30T20:48:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Let's see, I've done homeless men in Brazil, random construction workers off the street and married white men whose wives were 8-months pregnant. Just when my hags had thought I couldn't stoop any lower, I come to realize I have the finest motherfucking garbage man working on my street weekdays. If you wanna watch, join me Monday thru Fridays on my fire escape around 1 a.m.

This is not your average garbage man from the Bronx. This is a man who hauls heavy bags of trash all night long shirtless, wearing a Yankees cap and his pants hanging low. Even in a chilly autumnal night he has no shirt on and throws those black bags onto the back of that garbage truck like they were bitches he had just been done pounding, and it was now time to chuck 'em.

He has the kind of body that only a straight man could have: organically muscular without having to go to the gym a single day of the week. I stop jacking off to Shemale porn every night around 12:45 a.m. and go to the fire escape wait for him to pass by. He has never noticed me. I suppose he may be used to the staring by now. Even my straight roommate is aware of his hotness ("That guy, I have to admit, is very good looking".)

Last time my main fag hag was over I showed him to her and she just had to have him too. So we both went downstairs pretending to just be chilling in front of the apartment at two in the morning. We gawked without a hint of shyness. We wanted him to make eye contact so we could offer him a bath upstairs, a nice fluffy towel and then an infinite amount of unforgettable blow jobs.

But he never paid attention to our staring, to our creaming our pants as he spat on the ground, burped and hauled 40-pound garbage bags onto a moving vehicle. So next time we decided I'm gonna dress up as a girl and we will holla at him from the fire escape, like Rapunzel, hoping he will hold on to our braids and climb onto our apartment to pound both of our asses until sunrise. Honey, I won't even mind the smell. Eating ass doesn't smell exactly nice anyway. And that's what I've been doing all Sunday afternoon.

I Basically Fucked A Locksmith

2007-09-07T16:31:00.000-04:00

by Diego

So much for trying to stay celibate in New York for two weeks. Next thing you know you meet a charming young locksmith at your job and that's it. You're back to your wild Craigslist-esque ways. Except this trick was spawn by the real world, imagine that.

He came in to fix the lock to the storage, which was stuck. And since everyone at my work place is a bottom we had to call to get the thing fixed. I never had a thing for locksmiths. As a matter of fact, when I think of them I picture an old guy or some Korean immigrant who ignores everything you say and then charges you $500 for a key. But this locksmith surprised me. He was in his early 20s and had a thick Israeli accent. He wore glasses, was a bit scrawny and in dire need for a haircut. But I decided to flirt anyway, because it's fun to risk losing your job over Jewish cock, I suppose.

The thing is, he flirted back. He wasn't feminine at all, despite the intellectual/hipster look. Which kept me interested. Plus, my fag hag is Jewish and has told me that most straight men in Israel fuck fags because unlike America, they have this thing where they try to enjoy their sexuality.

So I watched him hammer a screwdriver onto the broken lock so hard it almost made me cum. He unscrewed things and slammed things with such mastery and dexterity I just wanted to reward him with the best blow job a Manhattanite could give him before he went back to Bed-Stuy.

When the new lock was up and running he decided to test it with both of us inside the storage space. I asked him if he had watched "Yasser and Jagger". He said no. "So you likes the Israeli gay films, huh?", he said. Yes, and I likes your Israeli straight dick too, so do me already!

Anyway, he wasn't druze or Brazilian or anything so of course I had to work for my meat, honey. When he said the service was done, I asked him: "Really? So you will never be back to visit us?". And he said: "No. Why I come back and visit? What else do you need me do?". And I smiled. The kind of universal smile only a fag can give a straight guy -- as if saying: honey, consider your dick sucked already.

He pulled it out of his pants, I sucked that motherfucker like it was the Intifada, honey. He came quickly in my mouth as he pinched my nipples (human contact, also a perk one can indulge in when on non-American soil). We came out of storage, I paid him for his services with my boss's credit card and he kissed me on the cheek. Like he wasn't ashamed. Like he wanted more. So hopefully I will accidentally be locked out of my apartment sometime soon.

20 Hottest Brazilian Men 2007

2007-08-28T02:12:00.000-04:00

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.

Post-Gangbang Detox: Seeking Celibacy

2007-08-24T18:28:00.000-04:00

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.

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

2007-08-20T18:12:00.000-04:00

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.

Office Cram Sessions: Head-Swapping Interns!

2007-08-15T20:43:00.000-04:00

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!).

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

2007-08-10T09:15:00.000-04:00

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.

CLICK HERE for the video clip,
"Jose from the Bronx"

Paris, Texas?

2007-08-08T20:57:00.000-04:00

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.

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

2007-08-06T23:43:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Any guy who says "I was married to a transsexual, and I pretty much only date transsexuals" can sign the dotted line and marry me right a way! And that's exactly what one of the "guys over 30" (Chevelle, an inked up God) tells us at MenOver30.com

The site focuses on that age rage where guys aren't too old where the pedophilia fantasy would be too obvious nor are they too young where you KNOW they can't be anything but total fucking bottoms.

I am not sure what it is (maybe life jades us into top-ness?), but there is something edgier, butcher, more menacing about a man between 30 and 40. They can still be in great shape, no grays, healthy bank account and reliable erection. And very little of that early 20s narcissist fag attitude.

MenOver30.com explores the allure of these recently-matured guys fucking the hell out of innocent twinky fags. These guys have lived enough to know to hit it good. They've head their share of sexual partners, they've had their gonorrhea, their Meth binges, their teethy rim jobs, their tranny orgies at Park Slope, their Rio de Janeiro sex binges. And they've learned. They've learned that what bottoms what is to get fucked, and to get fucked hard, like bitches, like women, like whores, like full-fledged fucking prostitutes. No mercy.

Some of the highlights are solos from guys named Diego (a hairless, dark-haired Brazilian hunk), Slater Reed (hairy chested tattooed guy) and flawless white boys Mark and Jarrett. Even if your name is Jarrett you KNOW you are a fucking faggot. The trio Magnus, Miguel and Diego also do a hot little number wearing red speedos. Naked swimming with 6-pack Brazilian boys anyone? I mean, men, not boys.

Click here to visit the site and check it out.

For more Diego blogs click here.

Girls Who Like Boys Who Are Girls?

2007-07-26T22:13:00.000-04:00

by Diego

McNally Robinson Bookstore (on Prince St., between Mulberry and Mott St. in NoLiTa) hosted a reading of "Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys: True Tales of Love, Lust, and Friendship Between Straight Women and Gay Men" on Thursday, July 26. The collection includes anecdotes by both fags and hags from various generations. Four of the many authors read part of their essays, which ranged from obtuse observations of awkward High School existence (yawn) to melancholy tales of being young and lost and ridiculously in love in the 90s (remember that?). One highlight when it comes to hilarious lines coming from a hag's mouth was: "I didn't wanna, like, swallow it, so I had to transfer it to the mattress."

Another highlight of the evening was one of the stories read by a fashionista fag hag (the co-founder of Gawker.com). Her piece, overflowing with David Sedaris-esque wit, explored life "before the gays", when she grew up in rural Alabama and without a fag to call her own.

But the truth is, it's hard to even remember exactly what these people read. As much as one must appreciate the fact that the relationship between hags and fags is being explored, it's also inevitable to notice the degree of superficiality with which the issue is being treated. Yes, gay men make for great shopping alibis, and hags are funny and insecure and just as slutty as gay men are -- which may give them all a little solace. But whatever happened to thinking about what really lays underneath the fun and glitter? Who can handle one more coming-out story set in rural Iowa, involving a laundry-folding mother and a truck-driving father? And "Will and Grace" comments just aren't funny anymore. The show has been as dead as dial-up for a good five years.

The whole "coming out struggle" and "having a gay best friend is so cute" thing had it's rise in the 90s. A decade later, it really seems obsolete to be regurgitating the cliches. What we need is a deeper philosophical curiosity, instead of being caught up in the "fun-obsessed" flatness of celebrity-hetero-ism. If one doesn't have fundamental metaphysical questions to investigate, maybe one can grant oneself the right to check PerezHilton all day and rehash drunken stupor anecdotes over happy hour five days a week. But if one's gay -- and, thefore, has a deformed and incomplete sense of identity -- then one should be devoted to more meaningful literary pursuits.

I'm not really sure what we gain as individuals or as a community by consuming stories of how much fun it is to hang out at the mall flaming out together. I am sure "Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys" has much more than just these anecdotes of hollow gay fun, but from the reading, it also showed little interest in finding out the whys and becauses. It seemed more invested in the celebration of the masking of our problems (via "fabulousness"), than in what really moves us, disturbs us and defines us.

I understand everybody needs to make their buck, but it may be wise to leave that kind of entertainment for cyberspace and safeguard literature as a place for nobler pursuits.

Either way, you can click here to buy the book.

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Week in Review: The Construction Worker Is Mine!

2007-07-24T21:51:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Uh, so I just got this phone call -- blocked number, of course -- from a girl. Which is
strange enough. If it's past 10pm and my hag is asleep, ain't no girl about to call me, trust me. I pick up and first thing I hear is: "So tell me, Diego, are you gay, bi, trans?"

What?

If this was a guy's voice, I'd answer it. Even if I had no idea who the guy was. I mean, most likely it would have been a long-lost trick. And if, at the time, I gave him my number, then, I'm sure he'd passed my litmus test (which is basically "Are you mostly straight? Cool, bring it on").

But a girl's voice? Honey, you ain't getting nothing from me. I asked "Who is this?". Twice. Until I realized "The fuck do I care?". She isn't fucking me, so there is no reason for me to waste my time with her illusive ghost-like presence on the other line. I hang up on her and she calls right back. Are you stupid? You block your number again and you think I'm still gonna pick up?

Now I realize it is most likely the girlfriend of one of my straight tricks from the Bronx, who sneaked into their email account or phone book and is trying to make justice with her own hands. Honey, I'm sorry, I am not responsible for your lack of cock-sucking skills. Deal with your man, leave his crossdressing Manhattan fags alone.

It would be funny though if she found my address and came knocking on my door asking for explanations, like only a hot-headed Dominican girl would. Catfight! Hot! Specially because my Pakistani roommate's entire family is currently visiting. They are devout Muslims who told me that "this thing that I do" (being a faggot) is "big sin in Pakistan, we punish with throwing little stone". Ouch.

Anyway, they would certainly be rather befuddled if some random mami from Queens stormed into the apartment accusing me of stealing her 6-foot-4, inked up, construction working Puerto Rican man from her.

But then again, maybe the Pakistanis wouldn't be that shocked. They were telling me about this tribe in the northwestern part of the country, by the Himalayans, the Pathans, where the men are known for being gay. "I mean, not gay, they do it to small boy". Oh, okay, so like tops. Or any given straight Brazilian guy.

For more blogs by Diego, click right here.

StraightBoysFucking.com: Hetero Cock for Gay Boys to Watch!

2007-07-19T23:36:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Is there anything hotter than a straight boy's look on his face as he fucks something he reaaally wants to fuck? The object of their desire changes, or rather, adapts to availability. Female pussy, for instance, ranks very high on the list of things they wanna bone. Tranny ass would come a close second. And, say, a faggot's tight asshole wouldn't be that far behind, given the right circumstances (say prison, or a lonely late-night in the East Harlem -- come on down, boys!).

So StraightBoysFucking.com gives us what we want, without having to wait and pray that the cameraman actually got a shot of the guy's dick (big problem with watching pussy-centric straight porn). Here the focus is on the guys: the girls are mere props, just the way we like them. Barely more than blow-up dolls. They could be anything with a couple of orifices, really, even any given faggot -- which makes it easy to vicariously get fucked through them.

Let's face it, gay men fucking gay men doesn't come close to the excitement of watching a truly masculine straight guy bang a pussy. In gay porn it always seems like someone is faking it -- usually both: the top pretending he isn't a bottom, the bottom pretending he is satisfied with the top's totally faux masculinity.

But in StraightBoysFucking.com the relationships are devoid of theater: these boys are obviously truly 100 percent straight (whatever that really means) -- they are here to fuck! They are young and butch and frat-like, and they all have a penchant for tag teaming chicks with their buddies. In one of the videos ("Bi Boys in Brooklyn") they even go as far as making out with each other and swapping heads. Hey, go right ahead, we won't tell!

You kinda have to buy the membership to absorb the entire hotness, but it's inexpensive and totally worth that look of organic, genuine lust on a straight boy's face. Almost as if their entire intellect shut down and all their organism could process was "I Need Pussy" orders.

In "Johnny The Fuck Animal", this tattooed white boy fucks the shit out of a blow-up doll. Or was it a real chick? I'm not sure, I wasn't looking at the bitch. The important thing is that Johnny is hot and nasty and hairless and super hung and has heterosexuality overflowing from his 20-year-old body. Homeboy would fuck ANYTHING -- dead or alive.

In "Straight Cums On Gay", two white straight guys make fun of a faggot in the room while jacking their dicks off. Thing is straight boys are like straight girls: they do ANYTHING for money. So by the end of the shoot they don't mind aiming their jizz all over the faggot's mouth. Another bitch down, check!

For more blogs by Diego, click right here.

STDs: Which One Are You?

2007-07-17T23:26:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Don't you just love it when you get an email from some guy saying: "Hi, it's Sammy, what's up tonight?". Excuse me? It's who? And then you trace it back and you find that the last time you communicated with this online trick was 4 months ago. So Sammy actually expects you to remember who he is? Even if you had sucked Sammy off you wouldn't remember who he was. But you two haven't even met. In fact, you've only exchanged a couple of emails, but it was 2 in the morning on a Tuesday and you guys decided to take a "rain check" -- gay code for "I'll never see you again ever".

Emails like Sammy's are just rude. Like a straight nurse asking you "How many partners have you had in the past 6 months?". Excuse me? Haven't really learned how to count to infinity yet, mam. What the fuck? Which fag actually counts? Are straight people so sexually miserable they can count on their fingers the amount of cock they've sucked throughout six entire months?

And, then, if you decide to guess a number (ie. lie, subtracting 36 guys or more), they also expect your figures to be under half a dozen or something. These people need to be re-trained, I'm sorry. You do not deal with gay sexuality in a clinical setting the same way you deal with straights. It's like apples and oranges. Or nuns and hookers. Or Brits and Brazilians.

Anyway, this brings me to the original reason for being of this post: STD testing. If you have nearly as much sex as I do, you should also be visiting your local STD Clinic as often as I do too. I know it's scary and all. It's like going to Target: you know you will get out of there with something. Crabs if you're really lucky, gonorrhea if you're medium lucky, herpes if this is not your day, and we all know which one if you've been reaaally bad. In fact, that's the thing, you never know. So even if you haven't been reaaally bad, you could come out HIV-positive, right? And what does "being bad" mean, anyway? You swallowed a couple of times? You barebacked with a boyfriend, or two, or three, or nine? You let a Craigslist trick "loosen you up" bare, but he never came in you? You never even barebacked, but the condom broke once. Or maybe it didn't, and you're still freaked out?

The truth is being gay is a neurotic affair. It never feels like real sex, there's always that latex wall in the middle. And if it does feel real, it's not even worth it, because we will likely be"punished" by some nasty STD later. So might as well just fucking settle, move to Long Island and raise a couple of Golden Retrievers and a few Asian babies and call it a life?

Well, in the meantime, getting tested is the least you can do. Below you will find every single FREE STD Clinic in the New York City area. My fave is the Chelsea one (on 9th Avenue), because it's the only one I've ever been and I'm against going north of 28th street -- there's just nothing to do (you can import Harlem boys without having to go anywhere -- they always travel).

The Chelsea Clinic recently got rid of their bulky 1989 TV set and got a plasma-like one for their main waiting room. But the DVD is still the same, "Philadelphia" every day, all day long. Maybe it's time we make a new AIDS movie, anyone?

You take a number, fill out this form, sit down and wait for some matter-of-fact large black woman to call you out. On a good day (Tuesday at 10 a.m.), it'll take only 15 minutes, but during peak hours (see, it's like the gym) expect a 1 hour wait.

Then, she'll ask you why you're there. You can get tested for any STD or HIV, or everything at once. The first time takes longer, but once you've become a regular, you're out of there very quick. They give you a folder (free!) with a testing tube in it and some other stuff. You go to the 2nd floor, drop off the folder and wait. Between 10 minutes to 1 hour and a half.

The clientele is very mixed: from tex-messaging teenage girls to Wall Street types. It's less awkward than you'd think. It's New York City, so you're not gonna know anyone there, trust me. This is the worst part because you have to endure this particularly awful educational video about people discovering their HIV status. And you have to watch the whole thing twice: once in English and once in Spanish. Of course all the "actors" in the video are minorities, which is fine. But most of the acting is pretty horrific (except for this one black girl with a hat on), but one of the guys is pretty hot -- and he turns out to be negative in the video too.

When they call your name they hand you a cup for urine samples and explain how to do it in groups. So it's you and like five other kids with their own urine cups in hand listening to the Asian nurse. The nurses scream numbers out all the time, real loudly, like this was their momma's house. It totally seems like they are just belting out random numbers just to entertain themselves and fuck with our heads. A random viewer could even take the whole thing for an experimental performance piece at The Kitchen. Thirty Seven. Thirty Nine. Five Hundred. Letter B. Letter A. Five M. What? Is there a system here?

Anyway, you will then bend over and get a q-tip up your ass and then get your blood drawn. Wait a week or two to call for the results and good luck, bitch.

Manhattan

Central Harlem
2238 Fifth Avenue (137th Street)
New York, NY 10037
Travel Information: #2 train to 135th Street
Map

STD Services, Emergency Contraception, Hepatitis B vaccine, Hepatitis A vaccine for high risk patients, Hepatitis C screening for high risk patients, & HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing:
Monday thru Friday, 8:30 a.m. - 4:00 p.m.
Saturday, 8:30 a.m. — 12:00 p.m.
(INTAKE CLOSES AT 12:00 P.M. EVERY THIRD FRIDAY OF EACH MONTH FOR MANDATORY STAFF MEETING)

East Harlem
158 East 115th Street (off Lexington Avenue)
New York, NY 10029
Travel Information: #6 train to 116th Street
Map

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday
8:30am to 4:00pm
HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing only
Monday and Friday — "NO DOCTOR SERVICES"
8:30am to 4:00pm
(INTAKE CLOSES AT 12:00PM EVERY THIRD FRIDAY OF EACH MONTH FOR MANDATORY STAFF MEETING)

Chelsea
303 Ninth Avenue (28th Street)
New York, NY 10001
Travel Information: C or E trains to 23rd Street or #1 or #9 to 28th Street
Map

STD Services, Emergency Contraception, Hepatitis B Vaccine, Hepatitis A vaccine for high risk patients, Hepatitis C screening for high risk patients, HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing:
Monday thru Friday — 8:30am to 4:00pm (INTAKE CLOSES AT 12:00PM EVERY FIRST WEDNESDAY OF EACH MONTH FOR MANDATORY STAFF MEETING)
Saturday, 8:30 a.m. — 12:00 p.m.

Riverside
160 West 100th Street (between Columbus/Amsterdam)
New York, NY 10025
Travel Information: #1, #9, B, C, to 96th Street
Map

STD Services, Emergency Contraception, Hepatitis B vaccine, Hepatitis A vaccine for high risk patients, Hepatitis C screening for high risk patients, HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing:
Monday thru Friday — 8:30am to 4:00pm (INTAKE CLOSES AT 12:00PM EVERY THIRD WEDNESDAY OF EACH MONTH FOR MANDATORY STAFF MEETING)
NOTE: Staff meeting changed from June 20th and will take place on Friday June 8th. Clinic will close at 12 noon on WEDNESDAY JUNE 8th for staff training.

Bronx

Morrisania
1309 Fulton Avenue (E 169th Street off 3rd Ave)
Bronx, NY 10456
Travel Information: #55 or #15 bus to 169th Street/3rd Avenue
Map

STD Services, Emergency Contraception, Hepatitis B vaccine, Hepatitis A vaccine for high risk patients, Hepatitis C screening for high risk patients & HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing:
Monday thru Friday — 8:30am-4:00pm (INTAKE CLOSES AT 12:00PM EVERY SECOND FRIDAY OF EACH MONTH FOR MANDATORY STAFF MEETING)

Staten Island

Richmond
51 Stuyvesant Place (Wall Street)
Staten Island, NY 10301
Map

Thursday 8:30am to 4:00pm
STD Services, Emergency Contraception, Hepatitis B vaccine, Hepatitis A vaccine for high risk patients, HIV Counseling and Rapid testing.
Monday,Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday "-NO DOCTOR SERVICES"
8:30am to 4:00pm (INTAKE CLOSES AT 11:00PM EVERY LAST FRIDAY OF EACH MONTH FOR MANDATORY STAFF MEETING)
HIV Counseling and Rapid HIV Testing only.

Brooklyn

Crown Heights

The Crown Heights clinic is temporarily closed due to renovation. Relocated to Bushwick:

Bushwick Clinic
335 Central Avenue (between Linden St and Grove St)
Brooklyn, NY 11221
Map

STD Services, Emergency Contraception, Hepatitis B vaccine, Hepatitis A vaccine for high risk patients, Hepatitis C screening for high risk patients, HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing:
Monday thru Friday – 8:30am to 4:00pm (INTAKE CLOSES AT 12:00PM EVERY LAST WEDNESDAY OF EACH MONTH FOR MANDATORY STAFF MEETING)

Travel Direction to Bushwick Clinic
By Bus: The # 46, at Utica Ave. bus, to Gates Avenue. Change for the # 52 at Gates and travel East to Central Ave. Walk on Central Ave., against the traffic, until you reach 335 Central Ave.

By Bus: The # 44 Nostrand Ave bus to Gates. Take the Gates Ave.# 52 bus to Central Ave.

To get to this Clinic from Crown Heights:
Walk to Utica Ave. and take the #46 bus to Gates. Change at Gates and take the # 52 to Central

Fort Greene (NOTE: The clinic will close at 2:00pm on 12/19/06)
295 Flatbush Ave. Extension 2nd Flr.
Brooklyn, NY 11201
Travel Information:
#2, #3, #5 trains to Nevins Avenue
N, R, D trains to Dekalb Avenue
Map

STD Services, Emergency Contraception, Hepatitis B vaccine, Hepatitis A vaccine for high risk patients, HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing:
Monday thru Friday — 8:30-4:00 (INTAKE CLOSES AT 12:00PM EVERY LAST FRIDAY OF EACH MONTH FOR MANDATORY STAFF MEETING)
Saturday, 8:30 a.m. — 12:00 p.m.

Queens

Corona
34-33 Junction Blvd. (Roosevelt/Northern)
Jackson Heights, NY 11372
Travel Information: #7 train to Junction Blvd.; #72 bus to 35th Avenue
Map

Tuesday and Friday
8:30am to 4:00pm
STD Services, Emergency Contraception, Hepatitis B vaccine, Hepatitis A vaccine for high risk patients, HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing
Monday, Wednesday and Thursday -- "NO DOCTOR SERVICES"
8:30am to 4:00pm (INTAKE CLOSES AT 12:00PM EVERY LAST THURSDAY OF EACH MONTH FOR MANDATORY STAFF MEETING)
HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing only

Jamaica
90-37 Parsons Blvd. 1st Flr. (off Jamaica Ave.)
Jamaica, NY 11432
Travel Information: E, S, J train to Parsons Blvd.
Map

STD Services, Emergency Contraception, Hepatitis B vaccine, Hepatitis A vaccine for high risk patients, Hepatitis C screening for high risk patients, HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing:
Monday thru Friday — 8:30 - 4:00 (INTAKE CLOSES AT 12:00PM EVERY LAST THURSDAY OF EACH MONTH FOR MANDATORY STAFF MEETING)
Saturday, 8:30 a.m. — 12:00 p.m.

Rockaway
(Operated by Joseph P. Addabbo Health Center)
67-19 Rockaway Beach Blvd. (Addabbo Health Center)
Queens, NY 11692
Travel Information: A train to Beach 67th.
Map

STD Services & Confidential HIV Counseling and Rapid Testing
Monday thru Friday — 9:00-5:00
Please note: Addabbo Health Center is not a DOHMH site, and may charge for emergency contraception.

For more information on AIDS/HIV and other Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Call 311.

For more blogs by Diego, click right here.

I'm Not Bi, I'm Brazilian

2007-07-11T23:54:00.001-04:00

by Diego

One would think that staying out of the gay world one would be immune to "identity theater". You know, pretending you are one thing when you really another. Say, writing on your Manhunt profile you are a "Top/Vers", when in reality the first thing you do is spread your legs wide open the minute somebody touches you. Or saying you are "str8-acting" when the only straight thing about you is the fact that you are not wearing a skirt. Or saying you are "safe only", unless people say they're neg!

Anyway, I was being a tranny for Craigslist tricks this week (surprise!), and this Hispanic guy came to my place from Sheepshead Bay or somewhere ridiculous like that. His name was Jose and he was a construction worker, so I assumed he was a total top. He said my ass was so hot "it's hot enough to eat, mami". I'm sorry, if you use the word "mami" and you aren't a total top, you should be sued for false advertisement.

Jose had a thick Brooklyn accent, one of those organically muscular bodies and a 9.5'' Puerto Rican dick. And if you are familiar with Puerto Rican dick I don't need to tell you that those things are massive. These bulky pieces of meat that seem to not even waste their time having a head. It's just this thick brick of a cock, born to do a faggot a lot damage.

With all those attributes, how could I suspect this man was not an uber-straight-guy? Those thuggish guys who are so straight, so ghetto, so hot, that they can't help but bone faggots. Not out of faggotry, just out of an overflowing sexuality. Out of their own Latin-ness. It's like one of my last week's trick said: "I'm not bi, I'm Brazilian".

Anyway, Jose fucked my mouth good, but by the time his Puerto Rican dick got limp (a sign that I was probably the 4th tranny he banged that night), he had already confessed that he a) used to escort, b) sometimes dressed like a girl himself (WTF?) and c) Only ate out shaved ass.

I'm sorry, buddy, but I'm not nicking myself in the butt just so I can have some of your STD-ridden Puerto Rican tongue. And you should have disclosed your secret cross-dressing desires way before you crossed the Brooklyn bridge, fool. What makes these guys think that we are compatible? It's not like my ads don't say "101% Bottom Slut CD Whore". What part of that sentence says "into crossdressing males as well"?

In the end -- his dick limp, my hopes for a New Jersey civil union broken -- I still had to ask: "You prefer to top or to bottom?". I was totally fishing for "I prefer to top, of course!", just so I could at least justify having spent 11 and a half hours posting on Craigslist to finally get some sort of Latino cock down my throat. And the motherfucker had the urge to say: "I think I prefer to bottom. I just love the feeling, you know?"

Yes, I do know! Boy, do I know it. And that's exactly the problem, be-atch!

For more blogs by Diego, click here.

Marched in the Pride Parade, and my groin muscles are still hurting

2007-07-07T01:50:00.000-04:00

by Sean

If you're gay and you know it, take a drink of that screwdriver in a Vitamin Water bottle.

I'm starting to catch on! I thought everybody just REALLY liked Vitamin Water, but that boy came up to me and said, "You look hot."

"Thanks," I replied. "I love your pants. Those strings are really cute. Gives me something to grab onto, you know?"

"No, no." He winked at me the way only a black man can wink, "You're lookin' kinda shiny. Here, have a drink."

---

If you're gay and you know it, grab that bicycle seat like it's your throbbing member.

He knows exactly what I want. I just wish he would have sat up straight and stuck his tits out. But he's totally been in porn before.

Or at least the J.C. Pennies catalog. (Joke stolen from my boss, Rich.)

I tried to catch him. I really did.

---

If you're gay and you know it, wear that cowboy hat like you mean it!

Is the naked cowboy I heard about upstate on the news? No, I hear he's not gay. This man is from West New York, where the pizza is still good and the rent is only a little bit cheaper. Or that's what he tells me, anyways.

Well, he's closer to Texas than I am, so who am I to argue?

---

If you're ga - *sound of a needle scratching off a record*

Wait a minute! What's an ex-con doing selling us pride flags for 10 bucks a pop!? This asshole was going up and down the street telling us that we gotta represent. Then he'd go to the cops and loudly tell them how much he values and desires the female genitalia.

I took that picture of him and told him that he was going to be in gay porn. Also, I resized the photo to be very small, to reflect his personality.

Tranny Binge: Sexual Rehab is for Faggots!

2007-07-06T15:08:00.000-04:00

by Diego

This whole "dress like a tranny/post on Craigslist/get fucked by copious amounts of real straight dick" thing is akin to Meth binges. I swear. I haven't slept for two days. I skipped my psychoanalysis session and was late for work, I haven't called my hag for an entire day and I've eaten maybe twice all week. One just can't stop posting when the more you post, the more real hetero cock is offered to you on a silver platter.

I am almost running out of foundation too. And I already had to take a pair of scissors to my tube lip gloss to use up the rest of it. Silly me, telling the Sephora lady that it was not like I was gonna be using the make up every single week.

By now I can do it with my eyes closed. Granted there are clumps of powder on certain areas of my face at times. But guys don't really care. They think you are "so passable" with the littlest effort. I don't even bother to shave my chest anymore. Only when it is long enough to make my cleavage look monstrous.

Highlight tricks of the week:

1. The black rapper who came in with a pocket-size bottle of Bacardi in his hand at 9 in the morning. His answering machine had his kid saying "Leave my daddy a message" too. And the dude was only like 19.

2. The white guy who came over completely intoxicated, but at least kept referring to me as a she as if there wasn't even a question about the clarity of my gender.

3. The millions of guys who say they "only do it raw if they know the person is clean". Hahaha. 'Cause we've always heard someone say "Actually, I am NOT clean".

4. The 40-year-old Wall Street married guy who came over for a "lunch gangbang" and told me I wasn't "passable" enough, but then added: "But now that I'm already here..." Next thing you know, I had his 9-incher attached to my tonsils.

5. The sweetest Puerto Rican guy who made out with me like he was in love, but suffocated me, smacked me and immobilized me like a murderer when it actually came time to fuck. Too bad he actually sucked my dick (as if he was chewing on a pussy though). I was already thinking marriage, but then he turned around and expected me to fuck him. Hell to the naw!

I am hoping I will hit rock bottom this weekend, with an uninterrupted 96-hour tranny sex spree, and call it quits. Though having sex with a gender you actually lust for is extremely rejuvenating. The idea of having to settle for the "least faggie" gay versatile/top is as appealing to me as...ass. Not exactly on my Moleskin calendar!

It is self-destructive though. Because you waste time that could be spent reading amazing books, bonding with your friends and making fun of your fag hag. Plus, the whole STD factor. But it is so hard to give up what you always wanted to have and never could, once you finally get it: the straight male gaze. Perhaps the real challenge is not giving it up, but having it in moderate doses. Being choosy. Maybe if I lived in fucking Iowa or Wisconsin or whatever, I would. But New York just has too many haute couture cock prominently displayed at every corner, or mouse click. And a tranny is only human!

For more Diego blogs, click right here.

"Let's Fuck, I Mean, Kill Him"

2007-07-05T17:36:00.000-04:00

by Diego

The Associated Press is reporting that David Ritcheson, the 18-year-old Mexican-American who was a victim of a hate crime in Texas, has killed himself. The boy was beaten unconscious and sodomized with a "patio umbrella" by two men shouting "white power". He underwent more than 20 operations after that, and jumped to his death off a cruise ship in the Gulf of Mexico. The incident seems like the extreme physical version of what goes on metaphysically with gay men all over the world -- whether we are conscious of it or not, whether we can admit it or verbalize it or not. So if you're not in psychotherapy yet, go find an analyst now. Interestingly enough, if the crime had been committed against a white woman we'd be all up in arms, CNN's crawler going berserk with updates and things. But it's a Latin victim and a buttocks-related crime. So, shhhh...

The above image is of a white boy (left) who beat and sodomized, of course, yet another Latino, 16-year-old Keith Turner (right), back in April. When you look at a homophobe's eyes you realize, very clearly, that there is a fine line between wanting to kill someone and wanting to fuck them. The attackers in this case dragged Turner to a back yard, kicked him in the head with steel-toed boots, sodomized him with a plastic pipe and carved something on his chest. Turner also had bleach and cigarette burns all over his body. And, still, for some reason, one has to dig deep into quirky queer-devoted small blogs online to find out about these cases. While Katie Couric smiles and talks about talking pandas and fun fourth of July recipes for the entire family in the evening "news".

My 21st birthday as a drag queen

2007-07-03T04:53:00.001-04:00

by Sean

My best friend and I had it all planned. Go to the casino, sit down at a poker table, excuse ourselves, and come back as a fabulous drag queen.

I had to wait till twelve bells tolled, just so it could all be legal, but getting to Atlantic City took us almost that long anyways. We went to the Taj poker room, isn't the most fabulous poker room in the world (try the Borghata), but they serve the strongest drinks.

And I needed a couple. A few even.

We changed right in the Taj's swanky bathrooms. I put on my stuffed C wonder bra and a curly blonde wig I had lying around. To round out the ensemble I tucked, put on a pair of lacy silk panties, black tights, strappy sandals, and finally squeezed myself into a swanky see through sequined dress. He was wearing your traditional naughty schoolgirl outfit complete with pink pigtails. Doing our makeup was wonderful, because old men would walk into the bathroom, take one look at us, and walk right back out.

We walked back to the poker tables flanked by the Atlantic City police, The New Jersey State Troopers, and Casino Security. Which was great! We wanted to get SEEN! I don't think they had a problem with us being in drag, they were just afraid we were two stick up queens. Which is why we didn't rag on the men in uniform TOO much.

Boy were we ever a distraction! We flirted, nagged, and embarrassed the straights right out of their money. Once we had made three thousand, we called it a night.

My friend made his money before I did, and had found a spot in the casino where his phone worked. He was texting when an older gentleman came up to him and asked to use his phone. My friend obliged. The old guy was obviously talking to his wife (he stood close enough that my friend could hear) when the guy reached out and grabbed my friend's tit! My friend stood there laughing, getting fondled while the guy said his I love yous. The closet case eventually hung up, and the guy said, "I've got a big dick. Twelve inches."

Not wanting to be impolite, and wanting his phone back, my friend said, "That's a little much for me." And held his hand out like a doorman who wants a tip.

The guy put the phone in my friends hand but didn't take his hand off, "Maybe it's not that big. Maybe it's only eight. But it's got a nice head."

My friend grabbed his phone and his hand away, gave the guy quick head in the bathroom stall, and came and told me the story. We left the casino and went to sleep on one of our friend's couches.

I was woken up by my friend's phone ringing. He's sprawled out on the couch with his skirt half way off, one stocking on, still in make-up but with his wig off, and I'm sure I didn't look any better. I knock him and tell him to answer his goddamned phone. He grunts. I open it and hold it next to his ear. He grunts again.

"Who?" My friend says. "No. Who?"

A mask of realization appears on his face. "OOooooohhh. No, I don't even know Johnny, he just used my phone. But listen lady, I can promise you he's not with another woman." And closed his phone.

Revelations of My One Week As a Tranny

2007-07-02T23:20:00.000-04:00

by Diego

It is basically like when a fat fag hag loses 50 lbs.: bitch has got to have sex with as many people as possible because God only knows the body won't last! That's how being suddenly a tranny feels like. The amount of real straight cock you get lusting after you is unbelievable, so you just cannot stop yourself from hunting after it.

Whereas in the past I've always had to settle for the least faggie gay top, now I find myself in whole different league. Every guy in my pool of choices is basically super straight, so I can actually pay attention to other attributes. Like if they are hot enough, muscular enough, nasty enough, tall enough. Where if I'm choosing from a pool of fags, the amount of butch ones is so little you almost have to settle for anyone who doesn't take yoga and watches "Top Design".

It's a bit like grabbing a starved little boy from Malawi and dropping him in a candy store where every candy is free. Girlfriend ain't gonna be very rational about it.

So I am basically on Craigslist 24/7, I'm about to quit my job or something. There just aren't enough hours in the day to consume all the cock there is out there willing to poke tranny ass. If they only knew that 20 minutes before they get to my place I was a total boy. Well, they probably do know, and that may be part of the turn on for them. In fact, I was surprised to realize most of this "tranny-admirers" love to touch dick (stopping very short from sucking it). They also do not mind at all getting their ass licked and, often, even fingered. I even heard some grown-ass motherfuckers say " I do get fucked, but once in a blue". What-ever. Goes to show that no matter what league, false advertisement is always fucking there. Careful, girls.

I seriously don't even sleep anymore. Why bother, there is always some Jersey trucker willing to cross the bridge for some tranny coochie at 4, 5 or 6 in the morning. Going to the gym in the morning? Why? It'll just make my biceps larger and, therefore, make me less passable. It's the perfect excuse to skip it.

Another astonishing fact is how desperate these men are to believe in my femininity. My wig can be lopsided, my beard almost showing, my voice barely girly and they will surrender completely, even saying "You look so passable". Pure wishful thinking. I guess that's what sex is in general, though, this intense self-delusional effort to make oneself believe the other is really what we wish them they were. Tranny or not, it's all about theater, bitches.

For more Diego blogs, click here.

Tranny for a Night

2007-06-30T16:12:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Due to peer pressure (i.e. my Hag begging me to do drag), I finally got around to dressing like a tranny and hitting New York City's She-Male nightlife.

My Fag Hag and I hit up Broadway for the essentials: Victoria's Secret $25 push-up bra (I'm a 36-B), frilly pink dress at Express ($35), cheap Sephora make-up (their own line, $6 per item), black cardigan to cover up the biceps at H&M ($19.99) and a silver clutch at one of those shady Chinatown kiosks ($12).

I didn't know about any Tranny bars so I posted a "Anybody knows of Tranny bars for tonight?" ad on Craigslist. Most of the responses were versions of "Why go to a bar when you can just come over and suck my cock?". But a couple other trannies were nice enough to suggest a couple places, so we ended up cabbing to Maya Lounge (on 14 E. 33rd St., between Madison and 5th Ave.).

My Hag did a good job covering my beard and making me look like a chic She-Male, not some cheap-ass crack whore. So I was feeling confident. Interestingly enough, I feel more "in drag" when wearing a suit and tie than when wearing a brunette wig, high heel fuck-me boots and a push-up bra.

The place wasn't packed, but the atmosphere was surprisingly friendly. The bar changes colors and the light is dim, which shows they know their clientèle (God only knows how fast my beard grows). There were plenty of post-op-looking trannies in skanky-ass outfits and acting like total whores. So I was the demure, sophisticated bitch by default.

This black guy approached me and started chatting me and my Hag up. Drinks were $13 a piece so I was hoping the motherfucker would buy me one. But he didn't want to waste any time: "Let's go to your place; you can suck my dick while I eat your friend's pussy". Which is a black man's version of white men's "Can I take you out for dinner?".

Anyway, I wasn't about to stick around all night waiting for Prince charming. I could always post "Tranny Whore Needs Some Pounding" on Craigslist, have a couple of Brazilians over and call it a night -- in case the black guy disappointed.

Which he did even before he took his clothes off. "Are you gonna rape me? Are you gonna dress me up in a thong and rape me?", he asked. Excuse me. Way to not have no idea of what this is really about, fool. I'm the bitch, you're the rapist. Anyway, he was married and had 6 kids, so whatever, that was hot enough.

He drove us home and my Hag immediately opened her Mac -- bitch can't stay an hour without her Craigslist. So I brought black dude to my room and he flipped me over and touched my body like only a straight married man does: with actual lust. None of that theater gay guys have to go through: pretend you're butch and I'll pretend I believe you.

This man's cock was so fat it seemed sick. Like bee-stung or something. His sexuality was so bottled-up (therefore fucked up), he kept uttering things like: "Am I gay? Am I a faggot too?". And I said "No", to which he said "Come on, tell me the truth". And the truth is, if you're 38 and you still don't know, then I don't think you have enough time left to figure it out, so go ahead and eat my coochie, fool.

For more Diego blogs, click here.

Brooklyn's Mermaid Parade!

2007-06-26T05:12:00.000-04:00

by Sean

The Mermaid Parade was like going to the zoo on acid. It's fun, you just wouldn't want to do it every day.

It was warm, sweaty, and no one was wearing very much clothing. Just the way I like it. I showed up at noon, and got in line so I could march. God do I ever love marching just for vanity's sake.

I chatted this boy up a bit, because he takes such wonderful pictures. I'd love to get him to take a few more.

We exchanged business cards, so you might just be seeing him at BigGayApple.tv sometime soon.

Flag Day in Hudson!

2007-06-25T23:20:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Hudson, N.Y., population 1,000 or whatever, may not have a Gay Pride parade, but they sure have Flag Day! The event is the culmination of all things "small town": lots of cheap, bad food; absurdly high concentration of overweight folks; church-sponsored floats!; bank-sponsored floats!; intense clapping at anything remotely American -- but also a high concentration of HOT super STRAIGHT MEN. Men so straight they can barely walk and talk, they can barely fit their masculinities inside their bodies.

Check out the video of the parade the Big Gay Apple shot a couple weeks ago. Pay special attention to the little children (specially the dyke-in-training baby with the grumpy face and the little girl showing her panties) and the ending part -- a plethora of slow motion close ups of Hudson's finest straight hunks!

For more on Hudson, check out the town's only virtual gay escape at GayHudson.com

Pride Fun: How to Use Your Hag as a Toy

2007-06-24T18:47:00.000-04:00

by Diego

I don't know about you, but I often like to regress. Meaning: act childish for the sake of acting childish. A way to rebel against this burden called adulthood. That usually happens in the shape of me making a toy out of my fag hag. More than just a Barbie doll too. Besides telling her what to wear and who to suck, I have fun using her for my own laughter. It seems a little unethical, but as long as she isn't hurt or too traumatized, I feel like it's fair game.

Our hierarchy is pretty clear: fag first, hag second. That is a non-issue. If we only have cash for one coffee, she goes thirsty; if one Metro card runs out of money, she stays home; if we both want the same trick, she goes home alone. That's just standard. But lately I've been trying to turn the whole play-thing up a notch. I figured, if she's gonna live on my bed for three weeks, I have the right to fuck with her. Just think about how many tricks I could be sucking were she not sprawled out in my living quarters snoring like a constipated piglet.

Like, she asked me for a T-shirt to serve as her pajama, so I told her the only one I had was this one that has "I Love Gay Porn" written on it. She hesitated but put it on. "No one will see me in it while I sleep anyway", she reasoned. Except that the next morning I told her she had to keep wearing the "I Love Gay Porn" T-shirt outside too because I was late and could not wait for her to change shirts. She was probably afraid I was gonna leave her at home alone and obliged. So here is this Midwestern chick parading around SoHo with this "I Love Gay Porn" t-shirt on giggling with her gym-bunny fag. The tourists were appalled, but she was too busy yapping to notice.

A few days after that I had to stop by the Big Gay Apple's studios in the East Village to pick up some "props", which included an 18-inch double-sided blue dildo. Guess who carried it all the way back to NoLiTa in broad daylight? Damn right. The hag, of course. She asked for a black bag, I told her that was offensive against the gay community: "It implies you think there is something wrong with our culture", I said. She felt bad, apologized and carried the damn dildo 20 blocks around Manhattan. Most people just assumed it was some sort of fucked up baguette, but some guys were laughing at her sorry ass pretty hard.

If you have any suggestions as to how to better humiliate my fag hag leave a comment. It's never too much. The bitches need to fucking learn.

For more Diego blogs click here.

2007-06-23T02:21:00.000-04:00

Happy Pride everyone! Just remember! This year's pride theme is Aliens, and I'm going as a chest popper!

I really can't wait to be out there in it, taking pictures. Here's what I'm going to be doing:

Tommorow, I'm going to wake up, wash out my pits and head over to Coney Island mermaid parade at 2pm in Coney Island. If I don't make out with a blue-painted twink on the Wonderwheel, I'm really not doing my job right. It's free, and it's supposed to be totally worth the long subway ride.

Then I'm going to the Cafe Con Leche reunion party at Pasha, (which is at 618 W. 46th St) $20 dollar donation to go to the Hispanic AIDS Forum. I'm going because that's what they call me on the streets of Harlem and I want to find out what it means.

Also, I'm going to two super secret parties. Email me for info.

Sunday, I'll be at my first NYC pride parade, and dance on the pier!

2007-06-22T07:29:00.000-04:00

I find it particularly hard to make straight friends. All of the friends that I had in College from the sports teams all tossed me aside when they heard that I was gay. I blame it on the fact that straight men simply do not know what to do with a gay man, let alone what to talk about. It doesn't seem to cross their minds that I'm just as capable to discuss the latest sports scores as I was before I informed them that I like getting a dick in my ass (of course I didn't tell them in those words). They simply cannot conceive the idea that I can enjoy the same things that they do and that my life isn't like an episode of 'Will and Grace'.

I did however, manage to make one bisexual friend: Bradley.

Bradley and I have been friends for a while. We actually enjoy watching the Yanks game on television. We're like a version of the 'Odd Couple' (Oh! Stereotypical gay reference to a Broadway Show!). He can easily pass as a straight man with his slightly toned abs and natural hair color. I'm really no match with my skinny frame and bleached hair.

Anyways, Bradley was planning on going out of town on business for about two weeks to a seminar for his business and he wanted to leave a special gift for his boyfriend Chris while he was out of town. Apparently they had grown tired of the usual phone sex they had gone through the last couple of departures. Brad then hatched an idea to tape a video tape, a special sort of video tape for Chris. In layman's terms he wanted to jack off in front of my infamous camera.

I of course consented and agreed to be the cameraman (though lately I've been suffering from lack of getting my dick sucked and Brad isn't a bad looking fella so I wouldn't have minded...Though I'm sure Chris would have). So I settled for filming. Brad was comfortable with it because in the past the three of us had gotten together on numerous occasions for long nights in bed together forming an assembly line of pleasure giving and a chorus of 'Fuck Yeahs!'. What I wouldn't give to make Brad's eyes roll into the back of his skull, but as I stated, I settled.

Bradley had been to my house before on numerous occasions, so taking my precious camera from me with a seductive smile he dangled the machinery in front of me, and teasingly unzipped his pants with a wink. My dick throbbed and seemed to have a magnetic pull as I followed him.

Walking backwards in long strides he led me into the bathroom, turned the nob of the shower, and immediately began to remove his clothing...

Control Freaks

2007-06-20T18:01:00.000-04:00

by Sean

Power is sexy.

I heard, and read that a hundred times, on the banners for the Gay Male S/M Activists block party, Folsom Street East. And it is sexy. I really like being in control, whether it's me tying my twink to the bed and running my nails down the front of him, or pushing him down on his knees up against the wall and face fucking him. It makes everything so much more intense.

And I've been a boy, too. Being tied up, being told what to do, you can reach levels of ecstasy that are unheard of by mortal men. That's why it's such a huge industry, and that's why so many people came...

That guy put his hand on my shoulder, and said, "My god, you're shaking. My god, you're hard." And I was both nervous and turned on. Nervous because there were so many tops there, and they'd all think I was a bottom, and turned on because there were so many people there who looked exactly like what I'm into.

The (young) guys there were really hot. Huge chest and back tattoos aplenty, wearing the least amount of leather (or latex) possible. Sure, there were more grey bears with super long nipples than young guys, but there WERE a good amount of super sexy guys who all looked like they would give me a great toss. I got asked how I dyed my hair a lot, and someone in leather actually stuttered the line, "Excuse me, did I talk to you on the Internet?" I was so happy to get hit on. I think I only got a few grumbly, Wanna suck this's. Which you'll get anywhere in New York.

There was an ~~asshole~~ pie eating contest!

The music? I can forgive a capella Cher if it's at a Pride event. But the event was so visceral that it needed a beat behind it. Techno would have been much more at home than Bryan Adams.

So the next time you read a story about guys who pee in expensive watches? Don't laugh. Power is sexy.

TrannySurprise.com: Crossdresser, Pre-Op or Post-Op?

2007-06-19T16:46:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Whether it is the Maury Povich show or the tranny at your local fag bar, we seem to be inherently obsessed with the authenticity of gender. "Is that a woman or a transvestite?" pops out of our mouths before we even have time to p.c. the sentence. The truth is most of us don't know the difference between transexuals, transvestites, cds, trannies, transgendered, etc. But always seem to know that "they" are definitely not "like us" -- that we never miss.

For some men the ambiguity is the turn on: does she or doesn't she still have "it"? For other people, me included, the tranny concept is a kind of mind-boggling, aesthetic and metaphysical obsession. I suppose when I watch tranny porn I picture myself in the role of the tranny so I can pretend a real straight guy is fucking me and fondling my boobies. In a way it is easier to vicariously get fucked with tranny porn because I could possibly one day become a tranny. Whereas watching regular straight porn reiterates the impossibility of ever being that which the straight guy is fucking. So, in a way, the figure of the "tranny" is a middle ground between total fag and total woman. The substance of a faggot with the packaging of a woman. Plus a little flaccid dick somewhere in there.

That's possibly why I am so addicted to TrannySurprise.com . They divide their videos by tranny names accompanied by nasty tag lines. "Timmy ran into this girl in the street and was itching to get in her pants. Luckily, she didnt speak much english but Bulldog managed to convince to take us to her house. Then the real suprise.. ", says one video. And "Are no trannies like Brazil trannies", proclaims another one.

But my all-time favorite is Alessandra's video. Not because of her, but because of the dark-skinned tattooed thug that pound her in the ass. He is so ghetto he wears a red bandana and has one of those awful tribal tattoos covering his left shoulder. We love it!

In Kalena's video, her fucker eats her ass like it's pussy while grabbing on to her "extended clit". Which kind of reminds me of this one Craigslist trick from Staten Island I sucked. He said if I put on w ig and some stockings he would fuck the shit out of me, but if I wanted to just dress like a boy I'd have to fill his pockets with two $20s. So I went down to Strawberry and got me a pair of stockings for $3.99. That's what we call a bargain straight dick up a faggot's coochie. Motherfucker loved the tightness so much he won't stop texting me now. And that's because I'm not even on hormones yet!

For more Diego stuff click on here.

S/M Block Party and Cuckoo Club

2007-06-16T06:03:00.000-04:00

by Sean

This Sunday, I'll be at The Gay Male S/M Activist’s 11th Annual Folsom Street East™ (West 28th Street, between 10th and 11th Avenues) from 2pm to 8pm. It's New York City's one and only S/M Leather Fetish block party. Boy would I like to live on that block.

The event is being held to raise money for lots of good causes! Like, last year they raised over $200,000 for he LGBT Community Center, the NYC Gay & Lesbian Anti-Violence Project, God’s Love We Deliver, & Rivington House. Just goes to show you that there's always a golden heart under all that leather.

Colton Ford, Jason Walker, Sylvia Tosun, Fredrick Ford, Trai La Trash, Brian Kent, The Imperial Court, John Murdock, Murdock's Twisted Balloon, aka. The Latex Pimp, Brian Barry & Paul Short are all going to be there. With beats provided by Quentin Harris, Rich King & Carlos Nascimento.

Then, I'm going to The Cuckoo Club at The Hiro Ballroom! I hear it's THE place to be on Sunday nights in the summer, because they've got a swanked out roof deck.

There's no cover for either of these events, but please, give some money at the Leather Fetish Block Party. It's for a good cause!

I hope to see you all there! You'll at least see all the pictures I take on Monday!

Sweaty Asses at Splash!

2007-06-13T17:06:00.000-04:00

by Sean

I was out last Friday with a few friends who had just moved to NYC and wanted to get the basic lay of the land. As I was giving them the tour a really cute guy (what better way to welcome them to NYC?!) handed us all flyers from boiparty.com.

Upon arriving home I signed up for the website and received an email about an upcoming event that sounded exciting. It was to take place at Splash (50 W. 17th St. in Chelsea), a club I'd been meaning to check out for some time and I was eager to hear that it was a free event for college-aged kids. I, of course, called up my friends and we made plans to meet there next weekend. I even called ahead and told the manager that I was press and he said it was perfectly ok if I showed up and snapped some photos.

Hey Lady!? That's not allowed!!

It was stated the place had 4 levels. I was only able to make it to 2 (a dance floor and a chill down room) because I was having so much fun! The top floor is your traditional fog and lights dance hall with two big bars. Two go go dancers right out there on the dance floor where you can grab right onto 'em, and one on each bar. And like a cherry on top, there was an MTV dance party catwalk.

The bottom floor was more of a chill out room, with squeaky white pleather couches, and an all-black bar. The red lighting kind of reminded me of Army boots.

And, the shower was really hot. We didn't have a shower back home in our gay bar. It's on the bottom floor, and I guess the go go dancers go there to wash the filth of one hundred dollar bills off their sweaty asses. I only think this, because it looks like they're really washing, and they're all clean and oiled up when they get out.

Ooh, or maybe it's their first stop when coming to the club, after a hard day trying to become the next great Broadway star. I noticed a kind of slowness when they first started, letting the water run over their hair with their head down. You know, like you do every morning before you go to your straight job.

They start slow, and go over every inch. I'm getting hard just thinking about it.

Gay Hudson

2007-06-10T15:41:00.001-04:00

by Diego

We, at the Big Gay Apple, had the pleasure to go to Hudson, N.Y. for Fag Day, I mean, Flag Day. Ahhh, obese white people eating Fried Dough on the ground, smiling police officers, 1-dollar lattes, 9-person gay population -- you just gotta love Upstate New York. It's basically like the Midwest, except even more Midwestern. A bit like how trannies turn out to be more womenly than actual women, and how faggots teach aspiring supermodels how to walk on television. The version of the thing surpassing the original.

Anyway, one thing Hudson doesn't have is tops. Not that Manhattan has them, but at least it doesn't take us much to import them from Jersey and Queens. There is one "gay-ish" bar in this 7-thousand-person town, it's called the Red Dot and the bartender wears pig tails and the same black top every single day of the week. Drinks are cheap, the decoration is surprisingly tranny, I mean, trendy, and the bottoms co-exist with the uber-straights. In a town with a handful of bars, one just has to compromise. Fags flaming on one end of the bar, straight men comparing tattoos on the other.

Things to do in Hudson: eat Fried Dough on Flag Day, drive around town with the sound system blasting, stare at flab stomachs passing by and count down the days to go back to Manhattan. Not that the town is a total bore, it is actually charming and filled with incredible antique shops and genuinely smiley faces. But once poised by New York City's neon lights, forever addicted to it. Plus, even the hottest of all queens can't possibly get laid more than once a trimester at a place like Hudson. It is a piece of land frozen in time, which is good and bad. Good because one can easily relax and keep track of what matters in life. Bad because sucking cock becomes this elusive notion, a bit like vacationing in the Greek Islands: possible, but not likely to happen twice in one's lifetime.

The straight guys really are hot, though. Highlights include the Arab guy from the local Deli (yeah, there's only one or two, and they close at like 4 p.m. everyday), this underage thug we met at a local fair and this one pregnant bitch's baby daddy we saw pass by on Warren Street.

Even though Hudson is a melting pot of unemployed blacks, struggling immigrants and affluent NYC fags tired of bad quality Manhattan coke, no one seems to insult one another. Perhaps a sense of "we are all stuck in the same shitty town, let's at least be civil". Except when Big Gay Apple's CEO was walking her dog and some toothless guy shouted: "Your Dog is Fucking Gay". Which is kind of bizarre, considering the dog is a biological female.

For more on Hudson check out its only gay blog: www.GayHudson.com.

Porn Review: SpankMeHard.com

2007-06-06T23:12:00.001-04:00

When it comes to spanking, it is just intensity or willingness of admittance that vary, because everybody likes a little smacking. No wonder spanking web sites and services are some of the most popular on the Web. Freud would say it is a desire which, like all desires, takes us back to our childhood – since we associate it with our parents spanking us. I just say it is pre-requisite for good sex. Latinos and blacks know it. White guys, not so much. You have to either ask them to do it or just pretend you “don’t like to get spanked anyway”.

SpankMeHard.com offers a yummy plethora of spanking videos featuring European, Latino and White men and their respectively beet-red behinds. MPEG galleries also include Dildoes, Bondage, Shaving and, my favorite, Frat Boys Initiations! And the Frat guys actually look legit, not flaming twinks with arched eyebrows trying to pass for butch.

In “ThreeWay Spanking” the guys look like real people you might actually fuck, not plastic virtual concoctions devoid of hair and human pores. Which make the whole vicarious fucking easier to experience. A tattooed white guy licks the buns before smacking them too: you know you gotta tease ‘em with love before you hurt them with a heavy hand.

Another plus is the fact that you don’t have to download the videos and clips onto your desktop, you just press play and they load automatically, like YouTube videos, minus the shitty pixels.

The menus can be kind of all over the place, a bit like your legs at one of those Park Slope sex parties, but wherever you click on SpankMeHard you usually find a good surprise. Like a “Jersey Boys” video or a “Motorcycle Spank” ass-smacking session. The “Daily Porn Clips” is also a great resource for those who “don’t watch the same movie twice”. And if you have a session on your porn site called “Fruit-Fucker”, I’m sorry, you automatically deserve a place on my browser Bookmark. So, WASPs, do your homework. Spanking Lesson #1: if you gotta ask permission, it doesn't even count.

Ohhh Joan!

2007-06-03T22:30:00.000-04:00

I went to see Joan Rivers at the Cutting Room! Just to set the fabulous scene: I walk in to my table, which is already inhabited by 4 other gay men and their cocktails, and I look over at the stage and it's covered with huge cue cards with Paris Hilton, Angelina Jolie and other recognizable gems. I knew I was in for a great evening.

She comes on the scene in silver glittery couture and looks surprisingly good! I have to admit I was looking forward to seeing a plastic surgery monster, but she can still work it. She starts off by insulting every ethnic group in the place, but sent major love to our table: the GAYS! It was great! She talked right to our table the whole night.

Just when you think she can't get anymore UN p.c., she picks up her fur scarf and starts eating it while yelling, "Fuck you PETA and Fuck you Vegans". ohhhhhhhh yes, it's was high-brow comedy at its best. Good ole Joan also had her fill of awkward, I don't think I should really laugh at this, moments. Like when she went on her spree of 9/11 jokes, and said she and her friends were taking bets on 5th Avenue during the attack as to which person was gonna jump first: the crippled woman or the guy with the flaming mustache. Wah, Wuh. It was pretty quiet in the room, but the woman doesn't fucking flinch.

My favorite parts are when she talks about her "friends". She's like, "yeah, I'm good friends with Angelina Jolie, uggggg, I hate that bitch." LOVE it! Then she goes on a whole spree of faux charities she donates to like "Miracle Whip..because every kid deserves a delicious sandwich. then in the same breath, "uggg, I hate sick kids, they're so boring".

She does the cruise ship circuit and is starting to get into stand-up a lot more now and said she is trying new material so catch her soon; you won't be disappointed!

NewFest 2007: New York's LGBT Film Festival

2007-06-01T12:02:00.000-04:00

NewFest kicked off last night with the premiere of Duncan Roy's "The Picture of Dorian Gray", based on the Oscar Wilde novel. We were too busy getting fucked in the ass by this 6foot4 top from Harlem to go to the screening, but we did make it to the after party, at Element (Houston and Essex, on the Lower East Side).

It was open bar, so one can't complain. The crowd was a mix of hot white 20somethings (who probably had nothing to do with any film), Williamsburg hipsters (who probably had nothing to do with any film, but think they had), gorgeous fag hags (whose fags might have had something to do with a film) and gray-haired gentlemen with mustaches, who must have been the filmmakers.

The great thing about Element is the star treatment they give the DJ booth, hanging from the middle of the room on the mezzanine, like a religious altar club-goers gather to praise, chant and dance to.

We did talk to some random girl since our trick thought she had also gone to UPenn because of a bag she had on. Turns out she doesn't even know what UPenn is and the only reason she is at the NewFest party is because she's fucking the DJ or something. Good for her.

Our film, "The Parricide Sessions", shows next Monday, June 4th at 10:15 p.m., click here for info and tickets.

This is what you must see at this year's gay film festival:

The Parricide Sessions: In his daring documentary feature debut, filmmaker Diego Costa tries to convince his father to participate in a series of role-playing exercises in which his father would portray Diego's ex-boyfriends. Not surprisingly, dad’s a bit uncomfortable with the idea. Integrating a wealth of home-video footage, The Parricide Sessions examines the dynamics between a gay son and his father, and the complex underpinnings of gay men’s longing for a father figure.
Monday, June 4th 10:15pm AMC Loews 34th St Theater 13

Harsh Beauty: Explore the secretive world of India’s hijras, eunuchs who are considered to be a third gender, neither male nor female - many willingly choosing castration.
Sunday, June 10th 6:00pm AMC Loews 34th St Theater 6

On The Downlow: In recent years, there has been much discussion and debate about the phenomenon of African-American men “on the downlow,” or seemingly heterosexual men who sleep with other men in private. Abigail Child’s documentary focuses on four such men in Cleveland, revealing the complex web of racial, societal, and familial forces that inform their behavior and identity.
Wednesday, June 6th 5:45pm AMC Loews 34th St Theater 13

The Birthday: Iran’s surprisingly liberal policies regarding transsexuality are explored in this illuminating documentary profiling MTFs and one FTM in the Islamic society. Because the Koran doesn’t say anything about transsexuality, unlike homosexuality, it is not forbidden – Ayatollah Khomeini himself granted religious permission for surgeries.
Friday, June 8th 6:00pm AMC Loews 34th St Theater 6

Blueprint: Kirk Shannon-Butts' Blueprint eschews traditional narrative for a fresh and intriguing approach to storytelling marked by a special attention to place and mood. Two attractive young African-American college students are drawn to one another despite essentially opposite personalities. Reserved Keith’s time in New York City is nearing its end, but when free-spirit Nathan suddenly appears, he finds himself slowly opening up to new possibilities.
Sat, Jun 2 1:00pm AMC Loews 34th St Theater 9

Bears: Bears have long been part of the gay community – finally, with Marc Klasfeld’s years-in-the-making documentary, there’s an enjoyable and engaging film offering an in-depth look at the subculture. Join Mr NY Bear and 15 other contestants from around the world as they compete for the title of Mr International Bear and the chance to represent the bear community worldwide.
Mon, Jun 4 3:30pm AMC Loews 34th St Theater 13

For tickets and info on the entire roster of films go to www.NewFest.org

Married Guy from Jersey

2007-05-29T15:18:00.000-04:00

by Diego

There are certain virtues a man can have that automatically score high points on my book. No questions asked, they can go ahead and put their dick in me. Being married is one of them. I mean, if you are man enough to stick it in a pussy, you are therefore granted the right to stick it in me too. Simply because by having a fresh-out-of-a-pussy cock inside my mouth, makes it so easy for me to think that I have a pussy too. Which, when it boils down to the core of things, you just know is every gay guy's unconscious fantasy.

So I met this married guy from Jersey from Craigslist, who didn't even have a picture to send. That's when you know they really are married and probably so blue collar they don't own a digital camera. He was a slow one too. I told him to take the R or the W to my place, he took the N, which is express, and ended up in Chinatown. Way to go, airhead. So then I have to wait forever, and I'm already late to meet my friend at Urge (I told him I had this last minute editing job, but it was totally just waiting around to suck some married trick's dirty dick). I get really pissed off at this married man's Jersey stupidity and tell him to turn around and go back home.

So 3 weeks later he calls me and expects me to remember who he is! As if he'd been my only trick the entire month that had gone by. When I ask him for a face photo he flips out, saying I had already received one. I'm at the gym and wouldn't mind having a dick up in the butt, little does it matter whose dick, so I decide to meet him regardless. When I ask him if he's good looking, he says he is "no beast", which can't be good. Well, fuck it, at least he's married. And works construction.

He is a serial-texter, too, which annoys the fuck out of me. 48 text messages in 20 minutes, are you kidding me? This better be some good dick. When this bitch finally gets to my place he is, like he promised, "no beast", but he's definitely "no prince" either. He could afford to lose, say, 30 pounds. But the extra fat goes together with the blue collar-ness, I suppose. We come to my room quick before my roommate sees us. I don't care if he sees a trick coming in, it's just that he's gonna think I'd fuck anything if he sees the flawed quality of this trick (and he'd be right).

So married guy kneels down and tries to suck MY dick? WTF? A bottom in disguise? Anyway, I let him because a) I haven't been sucked since 1995, so what the hell, and b) He's so butch that it doesn't make me wanna vomit when he's giving me head.

It is pretty hot in the room, but I do have the AC on full blast. Yet his dick will not stay hard, it doesn't matter how much I suck on it. "It's so hot in here, I can't get hard", he says. Sure, excuses, excuses. So I ask him if I can eat his ass out, at least it gives us something to do. He giggles and says no, as if saying "I'm a bottom at heart, but not that much of a bottom".

So I put my clothes back on and ask him and his limp dick (due to climate conditions, of course) to leave. And he obliges, half humiliated, half satisfied. At least he got to suck some uncut cock, I suppose.

For more Diego, click right here.

Escuelita: The Politics of Dancing

2007-05-26T16:55:00.000-04:00

by Diego

My hag always tells me: clubs are for dancing, the Internet is for hook ups. I agree, but it’s hard not to be on cock-hunting mode when you are in a closed space with hundreds of other horny males in it. And it is true that with hook up sites such as Adam4Adam (which was totally shut down for a few days last week, wtf?), Manhunt and Craigslist, there is no point in trying to find a trick in the real world. Although it is more rewarding and promising, it is too hard to find compatibility from a club trick. There is no previous screening for top/bottom/vers, dick size, etc. It’s a bit like hiring an employee without checking out his resume first.

So I hadn’t gone out dancing for the sole purpose of dancing since, like, 1999. But last night I went to Escuelita (301 W. 39th St.) with my on-going Peruvian trick and it was a blast – a kind of re-connection with the cathartic power of the dancefloor.

At Escuelita clubgoers aren’t stuck on their self-important, look-at-me bubbles. Clubbing here is more of a communal, borderline orgiastic experience. A plethora of brown-colored bodies bumping and grinding very close together, screaming with excitement every time a reggaeton hit starts up. It puts the ubiquitous electronika tunes they spin at white people’s clubs to shame.

It is very symptomatic of one’s culture, though. The fact that at white clubs we dance to robotic, sterile techno beats. And at a Latin club we find ourselves unafraid to simulate fellatio on strangers, slide on the human sweat accumulated on the dancefloor and concentrate on the dancing and not on the posing. This is what club dancing is really about: a collective celebration of the erotic kind – much beyond the self-indulgent pragmatism of Caucasian, mainstream teachno clubs (get in, find a trick, cab home).

It was an added plus that Escuelita is more filled with lesbians than fags on Fridays. That way we didn’t have to worry about looking perfect and acting butcher to attract the male gaze. We danced and danced and danced. Even drinking seemed superfluous to the infectious sounds of Don Omar, Daddy Yankee and Pitbull.

On Saturdays it’s mostly guys night, and cover goes from the $10 (on Fridays) to $20. But you can go to www.escuelita.com and set up a text-message discount for both nights.

For more Diego, click right here.

StraightBoysFucking.com: Gay Tops, Jot It Down!

2007-05-21T21:56:00.000-04:00

by Diego

I am still at a loss as to why we still watch gay porn . Everyone knows what fags actually like is a butch straight guy nailing a chick. The problem is that most straight porn is tailored to please the heterosexual male gaze (more tit shots than say, a view of the guy's butthole). So you have to fast forward to the pussy close ups, which is hard to do if you're online -- Quicktime videos can go apeshit on you if you mess with the timeline.

So thank God for StraightBoysFucking.com! About time someone executed the brilliant idea of filming straight guys fucking girls having the gay audience in mind. Here it is the male body that is fetishized, the female is just as there as a stand-in. A lifeless little prop. In fact, it isn't until several minutes after I start watching a video where a guy fucks a blow up doll that I realize he isn't fucking a real girl.

My favorite video is "JD Gets Laid: Part II", where an incredibly hot tattooed straight guy (baseball cap and all) fucks the shit out of this black girl. He manhandles her like a blow-up doll, in fact. As if he couldn't care less about the comfort of her bodily positions. He forces her legs to go here and there, flips her around, grabs her by her weave -- it's all about his dick. If only gay tops knew how to fuck like that!

The producers of StraightBoysFucking know their audience too well. They have most of the guys wear a cap and constantly chugging their beers -- their faces a little bit bored, a little bit stoic. As if the women sucking their cocks deserved not even a glimpse, because that's their job anyway: to bear children and suck men off. Think totally hot in-the-bedroom philosophy!
In "Triple Suck Job", someone tells the girl, who is trying to juggle several blow jobs at once, "On your knees!". And then he adds "All the way!". and the whole thing never sounds staged or fake, as in leather S&M. They all know their roles pretty organically.

The site also features a few black guys fucking white girls, which is always hot. And one of my favorite titles for a video ever: "I Don't Want A Bunch of Guys Looking At Me. I'm No Fag!". Another winner is "What Happens When You Leave a Guy Alone For 5 min.", which I'm thinking has something to do with the new P!ink single. Check it out by clicking here.

For more Diego, click here.

Rapper Marries Tranny

2007-05-19T14:10:00.000-04:00

South Korean rapper Micky Chung, 27, married singer Harisu, 32, a transsexual, last Friday, May 18, in Seoul. The ceremony featured Harisu in a bridal gown while Chung donned a tux -- it was also apparently filled with South Korea's biggest celebrities. For those of you who thought all Asian men were bottoms, here's your answer.

Star Kid and the 8-Inch Kid

2007-05-18T22:36:00.000-04:00

Zack was an old friend of mine from High School back Upstate. We both went to the same school and had gym class together when we were around 17.

He didn't know it, but I had a huge crush on him. I mean, he was kind of nerdy looking, kind of a band/drama club geek. But he was funny, and I liked that about him! He also had the most gorgeous looking brown eyes.

Sadly we had never gotten past the occasional "hello" in the hallway because I wasn't out yet and to my knowledge he was most definitely straight (a no go from where I'm from). In fact he was dating this real hot number with the fakest blond hair that you'd ever see. So I never made a move, except for the occasional glimpse in the locker room showers after class. And damn was Zack packing. I mean, I can see how he scored Mizz Popular with his perfect 8-inch dick.

Graduation came and went and I moved to the city. It wasn't until a 1 am stop at Splash that I spotted him. Alone. There was no mistaking those brown eyes. I approached him trying to appear confidant. He recognized me and I casually poised the question: "What the fuck are you doing here?" He informed me that he had come out of the closet 3 years previous and Mizz Popular, fake tits and all, was out of the picture. He also let it slip that his dreams to become an actor/model went down the toilet with rejection after rejection after rejection. I made the quick move to my wallet and began feeding him booze, noting his vulnerability.

A few shots later we found ourselves grabbing each other. My cock was hard in my jeans and I was filled with immense, unfulfilled lust that I'd had since senior year. It became so overwhelming that I ended up ripping the shoulders of his expensive designer shirt. Deciding to act, I paid both our tabs and we rushed back to my apartment.

After some passionate kissing and tongue wrestling he excused himself to the bathroom to think things over. He was obviously becoming overwhelmed. After a couple moments of waiting my impatience got the best of me and my eyes fell on my best friend: my camera. Grabbing it I walked right into the bathroom to find him sitting fully clothed on the toilet.

"What's wrong babe?" I asked, smiling cockily in an attempt to ease.

"Sorry man it's just... This would be my first... 'experience' with a man since I came out." He admitted, his glorious brown eyes looking to the ground sheepishly.

"Really?" I couldn't help but laugh, but not in an attempt to make him feel stupid. He blushed. "We can take it slow." He remained quiet and I approached. "Come on luv. You can't say you don't want it because I know you do." I winked as my hand reached out and squeezed his hard cock in his expensive jeans.

Finally a light flickered and he smiled. I lifted up my camera, tapping into something I knew he couldn't resist. My face disappeared behind the lens.

"You're gonna be a star kid."

My First German Trick

2007-05-17T16:29:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Sexually speaking, one could say I've been around the world. Quite a few times. In fact, that's one of the biggest perks about living in New York City: an extensive buffet of cock from all nationalities to choose from.

There are certain countries that have more cock representation than others. Like, Puerto Rican dick is a dime a dozen. But Middle Eastern, not so much: one has to go to Paris for that. Even Brazilian cock isn't that ubiquitous in Manhattan -- I hear Newark is hogging it all. And we don't take the PATH. So the most we can do is explore the other, butcher boroughs. Even if we don't travel, only host.

So I have been around the block a few times but had never tasted German sperm. That was about to change when I encountered a certain Reinhardt from Berlin on Manhunt last week. He was doing the whole "sex tourism" thing (New York, Palm Springs, Miami). Apparently you gotta come to America to go barebacking (people in other countries are smart enough to wrap it up, I suppose).

He was 36 but his screen name was something like "ButchMuscleTop". And if you are butch, muscular and a top you can take the luxury of being 36, or even 46, in some cases. He wore a baseball cap in all of his photos, which has "I am balding" written all over it. Specially when they leave "hair color:" blank. I don't mind, he's German, he'll probably fuck the hell out of me and gas me later. Hot!

Anyway, he came over quick because Europeans, unlike Puerto Ricans, actually cab to their tricks' places. He had a thick German accent, which made it all worthy already. I sucked his foreskin while he stared at my submissive faggoty head with the stern gaze of a Stasi commander. Or so I fantasized.

I regret to confess I kind of wanted him to call me "dirty Jew", but I had to repress myself. Not only I am not a Jew, my fag hag is and that would be reducing their struggle to a shallow sexual fantasy. And we like to be ethical like that when it comes to our hag.

But I do ask him to fuck me in German. He does it reluctantly saying some word that was clearly the German verb for "fuck". I'm thinking his fantasy was to fuck someone in English, which was definitely not mine. So quickly he pulled his dick out to find the condom dirty on the tip. Latinos wouldn't have cared, but this Aryan top had to go to the bathroom and clean himself up -- even though the turd and his dick head were separated by latex.

When he came back it was clear the hook up was a debacle. Not worth wasting a nut over. He couldn't wait to go to the Cock bar, on 2nd and 2nd, and I couldn't wait to post on Craigslist as a girl. German or not, it's no use trying to suck gay dick, I am only satisfied if they're straight. Fresh out of a pussy -- and, with luck, fresh off the boat too.

For more Diego blogs, click here.

We Are Taking Your Requests!

2007-05-16T01:46:00.000-04:00

Click Here for the video!

From: Chxxx.O'xxxxxx@jxx.com
To: sean.bga@gmail.com

Hi Sean,

I've been reading your blogs lately, and you seem really hot. I'd love to watch you shoot your big thick load somewhere. Maybe all over my face.

That is if you don't mind going fast.

You don't seem like you mind going fast.

Could we meet after work sometime? I'll buy.

Chxxx

From: sean.bga@gmail.com
To: Chxxx.O'xxxxxxx@jxx.com

Chxxx,

My first email solicitation! I feel a little Internet famous!

You'll buy? Well, okay. I could really use a night out on the town. I don't know if I'm comfortable with ANYTHING on the first date, though. I'm just barely 21, and I'm still new at this.

Sean

So, I met a guy who emailed me from this site. I know it's not very safe to meet someone that you just met on the Internet, but he emailed me from work and left in his signature file. Let's just say that he is a high powered lawyer at one of Manhattan's top firms. I told him we'd meet up in the Stxxrbuxxs near the Port Authority, and boy was I ever nervous! But I was kind of excited, as well, and I sat daydreaming about what he'd look like. Maybe he was tall, and thin like me, and we'd fit together like a puzzle. Maybe he would be dark and sultry.

The big blue eyes I looked up at were more piercing than I could have imagined. They were eyes that I knew were going to make me do things. Terrible things. He had natural curly red hair, that went really well with my horrible sink dye-job. He was thin, and not too muscley. Just the way my mother likes 'em.

I stood up, introduced myself, and gave him a hug. He went straight for my ass, which is fine, it's just a little sensitive. I laughed because it tickled.

We talked for about an hour, back and forth about nothing in particular. That's when he TOLD me to go downstairs and jerk off in the bathroom. He didn't ask. He told me to.

I said, "I'm only doing it, if you'll hold the camera."

We went downstairs to the Port Authority bathrooms, and he locked the door with a broom handle. He snapped a lot of great photos, and you can see more of 'em if you click on one of the ones here.

I couldn't cum!

Until he stuck his finger in my ass. We got that all on video, for your enjoyment.

Darnell, Darian or Whatever

2007-05-15T12:21:00.000-04:00

by Diego

Nothing like being pleasantly surprised with your Adam4Adam trick. This guy was supposed to fuck me like 4 weeks ago, but he kept postponing it. Which might just mean he has a whole line of bottoms he needs to go through before he gets to me. It's ok, I'm willing to wait. If the dick is good, and black, I don't mind sloppy seconds. He didn't check "anything goes" anyway.

He told me he could finally meet me "after Mother's Day", which I thought was an odd way of setting up a hook up. Maybe his momma was visiting from out of town and he couldn't sneak out from Harlem for just a minute to rape a Soho bottom or two. Anyway, he said in his profile he was looking for fat asses that "bounce back while I beat it up!". Plus he was 6 foot 4, very monosyllabic in his correspondence(a good sign of true top-ness) and said he didn't suck dick (a must).

So Mother's Day come along and the day after he called me (real tops prefer phone calls over wordy emails), and arranged for 11 p.m. It turns out his mother is visiting and he will take her to the station around that time. Then, he will swing by and pound a bitch. Which seems pretty Freudian to me: drop your mother off at the station and, then, go get a replacement (disguised as a submissive faggot) before you even miss her. I'm all for being that femmy mother figure, so we're surely on the same page.

When he comes in I immediately know for a fact I am dropping all of my other prospective boyfriends. This man is tall, lanky, perfect teeth (an uncannily masculine kind of dental structure) and wears a hoodie. Where do I sign?

We talked for about 30 minutes on my bed. When he takes off his shoes I know this isn't gonna be a quickie. When I'm done showing off my bookish self and over-educated , spoiled and faggie persona he is whipped. He asks me to get closer, takes off his shirt, takes off my shirt and begins sucking on my nipples. Which will pretty much drive my legs quite apart and get me moaning like a bitch in heat -- as if my straight roommates weren't even home.

He fucks me for uninterrupted two hours, immobilizing me the whole time. I plea and beg for him to stop -- half because I'm sore and half because I want him to force me to take it. He won't let go. His dick is 8 inches, which is perfect (not small, but not huge enough where I can only take it for a few minutes). The whole thing is mostly painless. It is amazing how self-lubricated you get when it feels right.

The way he makes out feels like he is taking my mouth for a pussy and eating it. So by that point I am thinking adoption and envisioning me wearing an apron at our Harlem condo waiting for him to be done smoking a blunt with his homies. He would get home, eyes red, barely open, grab me by the hair and force me down his dick while reaching for a beer or something.

When he finally cums on my back (without even touching his dick), I ask what his name is. He had already told me, but I forgot it. He was black and a top, so it's not like he even needed to have a name. "Isn't it Darnell?", I ask. He laughs: "No, it's Darian...But you could call me Darnell, makes me feel like I'm your big black man..."

And I want that moment to freeze, his sentence to keep on playing in my head on a loop and him to never leave my bedroom -- except for work and to bang a few chicks. It's 2 a.m. and he says he is going back home. I was hoping he'd stay, but I don't beg -- it's only our first date. And because I don't beg he text-messages me from the subway station: "I had fun -- thanx". Economic in his words like a real top lover -- yet tender enough to be my husband. I shall keep y'all posted.

For more Diego, click here.

Half-Peruvian, Half-Brazilian

2007-05-13T13:18:00.000-04:00

by Diego

If you are half Peruvian and half Brazilian you can automatically marry me. So I just had to say yes when one of my Craigslist tricks asked for a second date. "So we can finish up what we started off", he said. The truth is the condom broke and we were too freaked out to keep the fucking going afterwards. He put his do-rag back on and went back to Jersey, leaving me with blue balls -- too jaded to even post another ad.

So we met up at Splash a week later, for happy hour, which is surprisingly crowded at 7:30 p.m. on a Friday. He was late, which was fine, it's a cultural thing -- I understand it. After I had run out of people to text-message "I am likely to get fucked by a half-Peruvian half-Brazilian guy from Jersey" to, I just ordered a drink and practiced my aloof hot facial expression. You don't want to look bored, but you don't want to look overtly excited for his arrival either.

When he finally arrives we, non-surprisingly, have nothing to talk about. He is only 5 foot 6, but since he is Latin, I am giving him the benefit of the doubt. He says we should go downstairs, so off we go. He is also drinking wine, which is cute, because that's what I'd ordered for myself. In no time we are discussing our up-bringing, God, European Cinema, the Horoscope, touching each other all over and I'm already planning the civil union in my head.

When I stand up to go to the bathroom he tells me he has a hard-on from having caught a glimpse of my "prominent derriere". By then I know I am at least sucking this Latin God off tonight. After many drinks we eat up at Nooch or one of those faggoty-ass Chelsea restaurants where the food is mediocre but the atmosphere is fab. Then we go to a karaoke bar and make a fool of ourselves. He sings Bon Jovi and I sing Madonna, which seems appropriate in terms of which roles we should be taking in bed: him the stud, me the whore. I'm glad he seems to know it.

He has that kind of Latin duality to his appearance: a deep sense of tenderness hidden by a rough swagger. The kind of guy who makes his hard times a little obvious by the fact that he never smiles. I am considering kids at this point, and envisioning a religious ceremony in Lima with all 68 of his cousins.

When we finally make it to my place he takes charge like a Latino does: without hesitation. He forces my head down to his dick (uncut and copiously pre-cumming) and flips me around like I'd given him carte blanche to rape me. When I begin feeling a bad smell I know the condom is totally dirty -- possibly a small turd hanging off my ass. So he pulls out, puts another condom on and keeps on fucking me. Latin men aren't queasy like white fags. They could give a shit, excuse the pun, if the condom is dirty. He also spanks me lightly, as if it was a warning: "if I make you my regular bitch I'll do it much harder, faggot".

We go through 5 or 6 condoms and he falls asleep on my bed, refusing to let me spoon him. He turns me around abruptly and grabs me from behind, making sure I always have my back facing him. When he wakes up the next day and leaves without much fanfare I get worried. Is the wedding called off? But, then, he text-messages me right after to thank me for an amazing time. And I think to myself: ain't no white man's Wall Street job more alluring than a poor Latin boy's loving. It's okay, we will keep the guests to a minimum.

For more Diego, click here.

Can I Fuck Your Chest?

2007-05-11T03:22:00.000-04:00

by Sean

I brushed the hairspray and fake nails that is Queens off me, and told the cabby to take me to my boyfriend's house. When the driver lisped, "Where to, honey?" I knew I was in for one wild ride.

"You're not gay by any chance, are you?," I says.

"No, no," he lies. "But I live with lots of gay folks. Why? What do you need?"

A blowjob. Any warm hole will do, actually. "I need to interview a top."

"Good luck finding one!" He says, absolutely proving that he's queer.

I laugh. "You just met one" I reply enthusiastically.

He seems interested, but I am a little turned off that he keeps saying that he's really not gay. One minute he's asking how big my dick is, and the next minute he's being like that preacher who just got caught with crystal meth.

Like if he denys it enough, it'll somehow come true.

We sit in silence for a while until I ask, "Hey, you want a Vicodin?"

"Oh my god, thank you. What do I have to do for it!?" I could hear his smile.

A free ride, I think. "Nothing," I say," He ended up giving me a free ride anyways.

To my boyfriend's house.

But the pill REALLY got him talking. He asked why I get them, and so I told him, and then he started telling ME about all HIS health problems. Let's talk about him! He was born with Pectus Excavatum, a disorder that left him with a skeletal bump on one side of his chest, and a divit on the other. "Like, would I be able to fuck your chest," I say?

"When I was a kid you could have!"

"..."

I felt it, and it's only barely there. Not enough to make him a freak.

He says, "When I was a kid, I used to put cereal in there, and then I'd drink out the milk."

I ask, "Can you suck your own dick, too?"

"No, no," he says, "But not for lack of trying."

"I can," I say.

"Lucky!" he shreiks, "Let me see, and I'll give you a free ride,"

So, I did. Right there in the backseat on the Cross Bronx Expressway.

Don't Pressure Me Into Being your BF Just Because UR White

2007-05-10T17:42:00.000-04:00

by Diego

The problem with giving white guys the pleasure of taking you out on a second (and third, and forth...) date is that they quickly make themselves believe you will be together forever. And from there things spiral out of control. Next thing you know he is asking you what you are doing this summer, when your lease is up and whether you prefer cats or dogs. And why don't you move in while you're at it?

One would think this was a feature specific to bottoms (our neediness is no surprise). But tops, provided they be white and from Ohio, can be needy too. And the littlest hope you give them in terms of longevity, they will hold on to it and daydream about civil union ceremonies, townhouses in Jersey and spending Christmas with your folks.

Not that I don't want that myself: a cock to call one's own for the long run. But if you are white and Midwestern and a self-confessed versatile, it is gonna take a while for me to commit. Because white people still believe in love. Not Parisian, cinematic love affairs. But pragmatic American love: conveniently separate bank accounts but splitting the bills in half and, also, not having to spend five hours a day looking for cock on Manhunt.

And they seem to be under the impression that monogamy in New York City is a possibility. Well, if I ever got a Dominican thug from 217th Street to be with me and only me, I might consider. But if you fuck like a white guy, talk, walk and text-message like a white guy -- I need some time to consider the pros ($) and cons (yaws).

Last night he (let's call him, say Ryan, or Michael or whatever), started calling me "baby" and tried to make summer plans. I'm sorry, I must have missed the memo saying we would last till then. "If you hooked up with another guy, you would tell me, no?", he asked. Uh, are you that masochistic? I suppose he was expecting me to tell him "I would never do such thing", but I'm not white, so I tend to speak the truth. Or, at the very least, keep quiet.

"Let's just talk about this later", I said, which is basically code for "Bitch, I sucked two Puerto Ricans just a couple hours ago, get with the program...".

Each race has the delusions it deserves, I suppose. And we all end up taking turns in terms of havng the upper hand of the relationship and being the total loser besotted in awaiting phone calls and faggoty-ass naivete. It's just that there is nothing more pathetic than a white fag in love. It's like lizards trying to do a somersault, or a scarecrow trying to be Gisele. Don't go together. Go back to Wall Street, Ryan, where you belong. Even the stock market is more reliable than going out with a Latin American fag.

For more Diego, click here.

Waiting for Mr. Black at Beige

2007-05-09T17:42:00.000-04:00

by Diego

When your best gay friend text-messages you about an ex-Army black top he wants to set you up with, you do not ignore the text. And, even if you are a sneezing, clogged-up nose, sore throat mess, you still show up at Beige at 1 a.m. to meet Mr. V-shaped Back Orpheus.

So off I went to B Bar (Bleeker and 5th). The line was pretty big, but moved swiftly. A mix of a Hiro and Mr. Black crowd. On Tuesday nights it is apparently New York's number one S&M club (as in Stand-and-Model, that is). You know, washed out white bottoms with their D&G tanks, A/X jeans, pretending to be versatiles. The type of place where you can't swing a crocodile Hermes birkinbag without hitting at least a dozen "photographer" bottom losers.

"So where is this guy?", I ask my friend. "He's coming, he's coming", he says. The black dude is supposedly coming from Brooklyn, which is hot. But he actually lives in the East Village, which is not. He used to be in the military, which is hot. But was discharged when they found out he was a fag, which is not. I am totally against top guys who are out of the closet. If you want to be a real top, you need to stay in the closet. Otherwise they end up finding out the perks of being a bottom (laying there while the other does all the work), they'll decide to experiment ("with a boyfriend only") and never be back to top-ness.

"Is this guy really a top?", I ask. "Yes, he never ever gets fucked", my friend answers. "But does he suck dick?", I ask. "That I don't know..."

How you gonna make the case for someone to be a real top and you don't know if he sucks cock???

If you suck, touch or look at cock, you ARE NOT a top. You are a bottom-waiting-to-happen, bitch. Admit it.

By now it's 2 a.m. and I am ready to take my Zanax and crash. I'd already been tag-teamed earlier in the day. It's not like I needed the cock, you know. So Mr. Black text-messages my friend and says he is stuck in Brooklyn (hot) and will have to call me "manana" (not).

So I leave, completely stood up at a blind date that wasn't. I am too tired to post on Craigslist, so I just check my Adam4Adam email. Not much there. I think about the Puerto Rican thug I wish was my husband (no education, neck tattoos, an undying willingness to take the garbage out), I jack off, one hand on the dick, one finger up the coochie, and I fall asleep. This is New York, my friend, you don't get no second chances. I don't do "discharged from the Army for being gay" fags anyway. Next!

For more Diego, click here.

Cinco De Mayo at No Parking

2007-05-07T02:15:00.000-04:00

by Sean

It was Saturday night in Harlem. I asked a queen-for-sale where I could find a gay bar in the area. He was with a customer, and he asked me if I would rather just have a threesome! Looking back on it, I bet he thought I was working. I sure was dressed like it!

"No," I replied, "I recently moved to the area, and I just got a job blogging for BigGayApple.com!" He asked me if I liked Latin boys. "Do I ever!" I said. He told me to try No Parking on 177th street and Broadway.

Getting there was a breeze. I followed the prosties' directions, and got off the 1 train at 181st street/George Washington Bridge. It's that stop that only has elevators. People asked me THREE times if there were any stairs. THERE AREN'T ANY STAIRS.

I walked two blocks west, and four blocks south, through a nicer neighborhood than Harlem but not as nice as where YOU live. Still, it was perfectly safe, and I didn't get any snickers about my appearance. I was just another freak in the freak kingdom.

There was a line out front that was not too long. It appeared that they were letting EVERYBODY in. Walking into the place was a total transformation from the mean streets of Washington Heights. There were many Latin boys and thugs, but just as many vanilla boys as well. I didn't feel out of place at all, and I'm the whitest boy in Harlem. It was a very clean, hip place, and I'm glad I took that fuck boy's advice.

ESPECIALLY BECAUSE IT WAS CINCO DE MAYO!

What better place to spend Cinco De Mayo in than an authentic Latin gay club? They had decked out the bar with pinatas, streamers, and flowers. The bartenders were wearing mexican wrestler masks, and little else. They offered a Mexican cake, and if my Dominican roommate is a good cook, then, whoever baked this must have been his great-grandmother.

The club really started to heat up at about Midnight. They had a stripping contest on the bar, with a lot of HOT latinos. They broke open the pinatas, and I bet you can guess what they were filled with. Go ahead. Guess.

Okay, okay. I'll tell you. The pinata's were filled with condoms, lube, and cock rings.

I partied until about 2 a.m., but from what I hear (from all the numbers I got) the party raged on until the wee hours.

It's definately a great place, so you shouldn't wait till next year to check it out.

VIVA el CINCO DE MAYO!!

International Correspondence

2007-05-05T13:49:00.000-04:00

by Diego

I have this stalker on Adam4Adam who doesn't even live in New York City. And I have a rule: if you are not currently within a 5-mile radius from me, do NOT message me. I don't care if you are looking to get a job in the city, if you are visiting for 3 days in June of 2009, if you live in Connecticut but "make it to the city a lot" or if you are willing to get me a ticket to come visit you in Birmingham. It is not gonna happen. Message me when you overcome all these geographical obstacles and are presently in Manhattan. Otherwise, you get fucking blocked.

But this one stalker managed to win me over somehow. He lives in Puerto Rico, wherever that is. I kind of used to think Puerto Rico wasn't really a country, just a gay fetish. Like Daddy or Bear. But it turns out it is an actual place people live (they even have Costco and Sam's Club down there. And, like, the Internet, obviously).

So Puerto Rican dude starts out by calling me a "fucking white bitch", which will totally get my attention. He then goes on to say he wants to marry my boypussy and protect me and have babies with me. Which is right up my fucked-up alley of hetero-morphic perversions. What better way to convince yourself your top is basically a straight guy than mocking straight people's formulaic living?

His name is Jose, of course, and he called me the other night at two in the morning. We immediately clicked and were on the phone for over two hours. He kept on saying he wanted me to always wear panties and cook for him, take care of his clothes and never have a job. He wanted to be the provider, "even if I have to take 3 jobs, baby, I'll take care of my wife". Okay...I never even met you, dude, but sounds good to me.

I know for a fact he was jerking off as he spoke to me on the phone, which is fine because I was too. He alternated calling me "Sweet baby" and "Slutty faggot", which is ideal. He said he wanted to make a promise to God to be with me forever, and then he would rape my faggoty ass, but afterwards he would cuddle and feel bad for having manhandled his baby so roughly.

And it seems rather intriguing that we would be in completely different places, from completely different backgrounds, yet his fantasy fit mine so flawlessly. That kind of restored my faith in finding a guy who is actually a real top -- not a bottom desperately trying to convince himself he really doesn't hate his phallus.

Jose said he would call me the next day, at noon to see if "my baby is alright", and at 8 p.m. to say good-night. He never called, but by then he had already done his job, having rendered this hopeless New York City fag a little less jaded.

For more Diego, click here.

The Postman Always Rings Twice

2007-05-04T12:28:00.000-04:00

by Diego

It may seem hard to believe, but this actually happened. And if you live in New York, you know you could actually have happened -- even if very unlikely.

I am on my Mac doing some nonsense (probably checking Brazilian porn and looking for a job at Monster at the same time), when the buzzer rings in my apartment. I immediately buzz the person in, assuming it's one of my neighbors who routinely forgets their keys.

But, then, someone starts knocking on my door. I think UPS guy, for sure. But when I fling the door open what I see is a thugged-out Puerto Rican dude (Yankees cap, fat golden chain and all) standing there.

"May I help you?", I say, already flirtatiously, just in case.

"Oh, my bad, I think I got the wrong apartment numba."

"Oh, okay...who were you trying to reach?", I ask.

"Uh, this...girl. Uh..."

"Yeah, there are no girls living in here, I mean...", I say.

"Oh, my bad...", he says, yet, without seeming to want to leave. So I decide to take advantage of the random, undeniably sexual situation:

"Well, where did you come from?", I ask.

"I'm coming from the Bronx, yo", he says, which makes my nipples glass-cutting hard.

"Wow...I've never been to the Bronx...But now that you've come all the way here, do you think you maybe want a...blow job?", I ask, the way only a fag could.

"A blow job?", he asks, and stops for a second, as if reflecting upon the pros and cons of getting head from a hospitable faggot stranger. "Mmm..okay".

"But it has to be real quick, because I have meetings all day", I lie, as if to seem like I am the one doing him a favor.

He comes in, takes down his pants, and I go to work. He is entranced by the whole thing, and immediately hard. I give him a rim job too, 'cause I'm feeling generous. He even touches my dick, which is a big no no. I don't mind though, his butchness is so overwhelming that even if he took it up the ass he'd probably not lose any of it.

After he comes I interrogate him like only an intellectually-driven fag can. It is my chance to do anthropological work post-coitus, hellooo. And sort of validate the experience. It turns out he was in the Army and fought in Iraq for three years. He also used to be a drug dealer and did some time in jail, which made the whole scene much hotter in retrospect. When he said he had a girlfriend and fucked a tranny here and there, I about came again, through my fucking ears.

Awww, gotta love New York, the city where you can get anything delivered -- even what you didn't realize you'd ordered.

For more Diego, click here.