CRAIGSLIST Posting of The Week

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

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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

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

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

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

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

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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...

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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!

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?

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

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