Küte ünderhosen

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.

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

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?

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?

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5 Reasons to Visit Brazil This Holiday Season

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!

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Down With Blowing Married Guys with Condoms!

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

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.

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StraightGuysFondled.com: Look And Even Touch!

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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.


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