Open Letter To Pat Robertson

Dear Mr. Robertson,

You don’t know me, and I do not follow you. My name is LeNair. I am a 42 year old predominately gay bisexual. I am writing this because I have heard of numerous accounts with video proof of you pointing your finger at the gay community. For everything from blaming us for world disasters to the most recent one I am hearing as to how you said that we should come out as “straight”.

Well, Mr. Robertson, this message has many questions for you. Starting with,…

Why don’t you come out as "gay"?

Or at least come out as "curious". Take note that being curious does not necessarily mean that you participate in gay sex. But you have lived a life, and led your followers to be ashamed of the sheer human nature of sexual curiosity. Like I started this message off with saying, I don’t follow you. So maybe you have spoke on the issue of curiosity. Well if you have, then they have been overshadowed by your condescending anti-gay rhetoric.

This (or anything else I say in this message) is by no means meant to be a snide remark. I am actually 100% serious. For you see, your repeated anti-gay talk brings to mind for me the age-old sayings “it takes one to know one”, and “doth protest too much”. The reason why I say this is because once upon a time, I was much like you. Anti-gay, almost to the point of obsession where I dissected the reasons as to why I was having my homosexual feelings. Feeling that since I was recognizing what you claim as a problem, then I could embrace the so-called solution. I lived this lie until I was nearing 31 years old. And it almost killed me. For there were many days in the 18 years prior that I contemplated suicide. But I see now there was no problem, therefore no need to embrace a solution. Now, please don’t continue your hate-speech by saying that contemplation of suicide was the devil making me run from sin. I’ve heard this jargin before as well, and it is complete crap. For if it was, then why am I now happier that I stuck it out, and went against the “rules” taught by people like you?

As for you blaming the gay community for natural disasters, my next question is:

Do you also blame fornicators, adulterers, racists, snobs, etc. for these disasters as well? After all, there are a lot more of them than there are of us. And as much as you may try to deny it, all of those sins I listed (and more) can be found in your church. Mainly due to the fact that no matter how much work you might claim to do for the underprivileged, your church is founded on the idea of buying your way into Heaven. So these sins get looked upon with a blind eye, instead of 2 eyes that are wide open.

Mr. Robertson, let me say that I have never seen any of the videos of you online saying what you say against gays. I’m drawn to the headlines, and read your quotes in the accompanying articles, and that’s it. That is all I can stomach. The reason I can’t stomach watching your videos is not because “the truth hurts”, as I’m sure you’re ready to say. For if you take into account how many years it took me to come to terms with my homosexuality, I have been led long enough by your “truth”. I have denied myself quite a bit of time feeling alive because of that “truth”. So do not even try going there. But since every cloud has a silver lining, the silver lining is seeing that your “truth” is in quotation marks because it is false. And realizing that gives me the bravery to confront you, for it also gives me the wisdom to see through you.

All of this that I see from you really makes me feel sorry for you. For what I see of you now is what I once feared of myself becoming in my old age. A creature consumed with denial about something. Whether it’s you being in the closet for so long, or you being curious and denying yourself the God-ordained right to ask questions about sexuality. Something in you fuels this constant finger-pointing at the gay community. In regards to it possibly being that you are in denial of your own degree of homosexuality, be it big or small, I ask you:

Is this finger-pointing at gays because after so many decades of denying it, you are envying the progress of gay acceptance that made you keep your gay desires hidden? So now you feel your time to be true to yourself has passed?    

These are all relevant questions, and again, are by no means meant to be insulting, or hateful. They are meant to make you take a look inside yourself, and ask yourself, “Why won’t I just let these people be? Why am I so obsessed with the gender of who they have sex with, or love as their mate?”

So I leave you now to soul search, and find your answers. And whatever they are, I hope you can live with them and leave my community the same way I am leaving you ----peacefully. Thank you. That is all.

Be U2B. FREE,

LeNair Xavier

Gay Pornstars,...Our Gay Super Heroes?

Every live appearance I made during my time as porn actor, "Tré Xavier", I never fully understood why patrons were treating me like I was some kind of superhero, or a god. Granted this was between 2005 and 2009, so I partly understood because being gay was still not as accepted in the mainstream as it is today. Therefore, gay porn was a gay male's only outlet. Making gay media hail any guy sexually expressing his homosexuality for all to see to be a "coming out' hero. Even though that was the case, I still always said to myself, "So what if I'm a sexually liberated individual? So what if I'm an exhibitionist? I'm not a god, so I shouldn't be treated as such."

If I said that to myself back then, you know that I'm definitely saying it now. For the porn scene has changed for the worst since 2005. In fact, it is that change that caused me to announce my retirement from the industry in 2009. But the change has gotten so bad now, that not only do I have no understanding at all of why pornstars are held up like heroes of sexual freedom in our community, but I am also straight up disgusted by it.

The reason being that when I was doing studio-based porn, there was a 50% chance that a porn actor was also an escort (or male prostitute). One reason that made me leave the industry was because I felt that percentage was rising. And I was right. It has now risen so much that you can find about 90% of porn actors with profiles on sites like Rentboy, RentMen, HourBoy, etc. or advertising their escorting services on websites for sex hook-ups. And contrary to what some may try to mislead you by telling you, as I recently said in this Facebook update, there is no sexual freedom in prostitution (or the sugar-coated word, escorting):

One reason I started doing porn was because at that time it was the only way a male questioning his orientation could see another male comfortable with his homosexuality. With that in mind, my plan was to be paired with guys showing real attractions, not fake ones. For hardcore porn isn't the fake sex in "Brokeback Mountain". Hardcore porn has the guys in front of that camera going all the way. Also, I wanted to use various forms of media to tell those questioning males, "If being gay is what you are, it's OK. You don't have to do porn to show it. But it's OK if being gay is the sexual part of you."

The problem was that the gay porn industry didn't care about sending such a message of depth, then or now. Hence the premise of using "gay-for-pay" porn actors that some porn studios are still throwing around as a marketing ploy. And I once pointed out how that denial of themselves has resulted in repeated cases of "gay-for-pay" porn actors being jailed for violent crimes. Meanwhile, questioning gay males continue to live double lives. Or worst, kill themselves because they fear living the lie, and/or leading that double life shown by "gay-for-pay" porn actors.

Add to that so many porn actors being escorts using the same empty-souled, dead-eyed sex in porn scenes as they do when turning a trick, my question is:

Why are we as a whole still making these guys into our gay superheroes?

The soulless sex porn actors have in front of those cameras is nothing to be admired. What they do today (more so than before) is teach our gay males to be empty to get by. Go to that dead place within like a molested child does to get through the abuse. For that is what a prostitute does everytime they turn a trick. With that being the case, are these porn actors of today what we should make our heroes? No, they are not. Yet gay media is quick to post stories praising them, and gay nightlife makes them a draw for their events. Well, the time of porn actors being the heroes of sexual freedom that we need has passed. And that is a reality an older viewer needs to face, and males in what I call "orientation limbo" need to note in order to avoid the confusion while they figure themselves out.

While my porn career consisting of 8 movies, 10 scenes, and 14 scene partners had me having some degree of attraction to most of my scene partners, they were a few where I had to fake my way through the scene. For the guy came off stoned, woman-hating, or a walking negative stereotype. So those few times taught me what a prostitute goes through with practically every trick they turn. Therefore, I'm well aware of how ugly those scenes of mine are.

With that being the case, I have now started taking the stand that I will not go to a bar/club event that promotes a porn actor as their guest or party host. The only time I might reconsider this position is for a charity event. Other than that, they are nothing I want to see. For knowing of their empty sex as escorts off-camera makes the fullness of their on-camera sex questionable. Thereby decimating the beauty of sex a voyeur should take in the sight of, and making them nothing I care to see live.

Since this avoidance to create genuine chemistry is what the gay porn industry has sadly become, I close by asking you again:

Why are gay porn actors STILL treated like our gay superheroes?

Love Thy Neighbor, Fuck Thy Neighbor

Just like my poem and video Red Light, this poem is also me telling a very true story. And the title says it all. For this time, it's of me hooking up with a neighbor.

Since moving back to Brooklyn, I've hooked up with about 6 guys who live within 6 or less blocks from my place. But the one in this poem lived even closer than one block away. He lived just one floor up right over my head, with the photo to your right being that of our apartment doors and the staircase connecting us. Notice my "L" crest on the bottom door?

So when I said "neighbor", in this case, I really meant "neighbor".

And don't judge me. For I'm sure a good number of you have either laid some pipe, or had some pipe laid in you from a neighbor who lives just as close by. So I'm sure you will have no problem relating. Enjoy. ;-)

Love Thy Neighbor, Fuck Thy Neighbor

Neighbor invites me up to smoke haze and chat

A.k.a. pre-interview

For once I heard him ask my cock size

Only a fool could miss that as a clue

Fast forward to my approaching birthday

There I was being coy

As he offered his cakes to rub light on my candle

To get cream-filled by this birthday boy

I turned him down, but then told my friends

Doing this my body knew “doth protest too much”

He was wearing me down, and in a matter of time

Our dicks and asses would be in deep touch

One night he finally wore me down

For there he stood

One floor down to my apartment door

To experience a fucking so good

To see if all the skills I profess to have

Were all truth, or a bunch of lies

We’d been dancing around this for months

Now we were going to make each other wise

Like how the freeness of my porn past

Hid how I was actually a shy guy instead

Or his unlocking pics of a semi-soft dick online

Revealed an erect monster as he laid on my bed

After I sucked it, he whispered, “Take it”

As I straddled him taking every last inch in

Then while still in my tight hole, I was put on my back

For him to thrust, then gush his man-milk within

He often called at an hour so late

My cock was good for jerking off at best

But one night I got hard just enough

To feel the warmth and nice grip of his flesh

Then he asked if he could take my ass

I obliged, he gushed, and we were wet

You know quick intense sex has happened

When it even makes your ears sweat

Its intensity was Fate saying goodbye

For soon after came moving day

The end to lust laden lays

Just one flight of stairs away

The good book says to love thy neighbor

It never said to fuck thy neighbor

I found myself in a prudish moment

Thinking it inappropriate behavior

If it was, then we gave in to the sin

Of mutual lust from mutual consent

And with other sinful neighbors nearby

No sense being sad

Or dare repent

He Wanted A Reaction...Invasive Bitch Got One!

It was like I was forseeing the future. Before I went out to The Cock Sunday night, I wrote this Facebook update:

It might not have been me forseeing the future, as much as me knowing the possibility of who I was going to run into.

There is one guy who seems fixated on me. It's like he sees me in his sights, and he can't help himself. I am not to trying to toot my own horn of my physical beauty by saying this. I am secure in my looks, but this guy's behavior is unsettling because it's obsessive. He acts like I'm the only man in the world, and I feel that even if you date someone, this would prove problematic. Because I'm thinking of the big picture. And in the big picture, the real world, we have flaws. Flaws that might make us do things that will make our mate have to move on. But someone believing you are the "one and only beautiful creature on the planet" won't move on like they should after your ultimate transgressions.

The problem starts because I can see the substance abuse in his eyes and his mannerisms. So based on what I've endured from Sam in Emails Of An Intervention and Toby from "Paying (Ends ---My 'Friend')", A substance abuser is of no interest to me, being it drugs or alcohol. And this guy's abuse substance of choice seemed to be alcohol. Which is sad because without those red flags his behavior sounded off, I would have been interested in him. But the substance abuse has taken such a toll that while he might not be much older than me, he definitely looks it.

I believe that I may have written about him before in past Facebook updates because of his behavior.

This all started a few weeks ago in the backroom area. This one guy kept touching me. And each time, I politely moved his hand because I had no interest in him. The 1st time I saw him, he had a drink in his hand, which for me is a "no-no". I have no love or lust to give a guy who is such an alcoholic that he needs to bring a drink into the backroom. My feeling is if you're going to be sexually adventurous, be a man about it by being sober. So that means, don't come near me with a cup or bottle of "liquid courage" in tow. No matter how hot you think you are, that "liquid courage" makes you that many times uglier. Since he doesn't know I have this rule, that's why I politely moved his hand from me. The problem started when he kept doing it each time he looked at me, and walked pass me. After about the 4th time, I had had enough. So I grabbed his hand, and threw it down.  Then he grabs my finger like I'm the one who's wrong, gets near my ear and says, "You're at The Cock. Don't be an asshole."

Fact is I wasn't being an asshole. It's my body. So whether I'm in the general public, or even in a bar, club, or porn shop backroom, I have EVERY right to remove your hand from touching me, especially if you are a stranger. Why? Because it's my body, my call.

Needless to say, I became enraged. For I felt like I was on the verge of being raped in some small way. I say "no", and some rapist treats you as if you're wrong. As a way to guilt you into standing down, and letting him do what he wants to do to your body when you don't want him near you. I became so enraged that I started shouting at him how I moved his hand off of me 4 times already. As the volume escalated, then he started yelling back in an innocent tone, "And I stopped!"

I screamed back, "If you stopped, then why am I repeating myself?! Why is this the 4th fuckin' time I'm telling you 'No'?!"

Over the weeks since that incident, he has seen me there. With each time feeling the need to walk pass me, and graze me. He knows exactly what he's doing, and that I hate it. I tried for these following weeks now to tell myself that 1) he was like a child, and trying to get a reaction out of me, and/or 2) he's a miserable creature, and he wants me to react and put him out of his misery. Either way, I decided that I shouldn't give him the satisfaction, so I ignored him. However, it seems that has made things not better, but worst...for us both. For one, this problem of obsession that started in the backroom, had by this point escalated to him grazing me out on the main floor of the bar.

This latest incident was this past Sunday, he did it again. The bar was packed for Labor Day weekend, so all the bodies made the bar hot. And with it being The Cock, I could easily walk around with my shirt off. STILL, that gives no one the right to touch me if I don't want to be touched. I wasn't even in the backroom this time. I was by the bar. He came up to me again. He grazed me again just as he had already done earlier. And again, he knew what he was doing. And I could see it with my peripheral vision seeing his obsessive eyes burning holes in the side of my head. By this point, plus the flashbacks to all the weeks earlier, I had enough, and looked him in the face, and told him, "Stop touching me! You know I don't like you! Stop!"

Thus began the same routine again. This time, he didn't have a chance to whisper in my ear, so he went straight for the loud, innocent act asking, "When did I touch you?!" At first, I wondered was this guy schizophrenic. Then I took noticed of something.

I noticed that just like in the 1st incident, when he spoke close to me, he knew and mentioned that he put his hands on me first. However, when the volume got raised to where the predominately White crowd at The Cock could hear his White self, he would give this loud tone of professed innocence asking, "When did I touch you?".

So he clearly was trying to bluff his way through playing the "I'm-an-innocent-White-man-about-to-be-attacked-by-this-angry-Black-man" card. And it is sad that the racism in New York City is that bad that he could 1) devise this plan, and 2) for too many in that crowd, get away with it.

However, this time, along with that professed innocence, he told on himself. He went into hysterics screaming, "I find you attractive! Alright! Is that so wrong?! I find you to be a very good-looking guy!"

And I returned, "Yes, but I am not interested. So LEAVE ME ALONE! You keep putting your hands on me, and I don't fuckin' want you to! BACK THE FUCK OFF!!!"

Two patrons broke us up before it went any further, avoiding security from being called. Both patrons tried to talk me down. They both said, "He obviously likes you. You're a good-looking guy."

I told them, "Thanks. But I don't like him back! He needs to man-up and deal with it. I do." And I said that thinking of the guys who turn me, sometimes out of racism, hence why every other Black guy gets the same dismissal. Yet I don't force my presence on them just because I find them attractive. I have to respect their choice no matter how misguided and narrow-minded it may be.

And wouldn't you know that one of the patrons trying to talk me down turned out to be "Gringo" from "Gringo's Morning Chocolate". So it was good to see him again. I just wish it was under more placid circumstances. He said that when he saw me, thought he knew me. But rage on my face and in my voice made me so unlike the pleasant guy he met that morning, that he didn't recognize me until I was calming down.

The volcanic eruption of this situation happened later in the night. I was walking around, and the guy started to follow me around. EVERYWHERE. No matter where I tried to go, he was behind me. By this point of the night however, the reason I wasn't interested in him in the first place was all too evident - he was so drunk that he was stumbling a bit. So by this time, his "Don't be an asshole" speech was no longer whispered in my ear. It was now for all to hear.

I again screamed, "Stay the hell away from me! Stop touching me! I don't fuckin' like you!" I paused, and looked him in the eye, and said, "STAY BACK!"

My friend Matthew at this point had shown up, and saw this. Matthew was slowly reaching to pull the guy back, but not quick enough. Most likely because like everyone else, Matthew was simultaneously watching this freak show unfold. But by this point, I was seething as all these past weeks and events of that night (including the near assault) were running through my mind. So when the guy walked towards me, I swung at him, but missed. When he saw that my anger got to that point, he came towards me again, and this time when I swung ---I didn't miss. And I wound up knocking him about a yard into a crowd of guys fooling around behind him. My friend, Matthew then picked the guy up, and handed him over to the security guy who was coming over. As he was taking the guy outside, I reminded the security guy that I've complained about him before, and he let me go back inside.

You would think that after this point that my rage had a time to subside... No such luck. Because Matthew is bordering on becoming "former friend". For he said to me, "You know, I had him. You didn't have to swing at him."

I was like, "Excuse me?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! This guy invades my space, and you're going to act like I'm wrong?!"

He replied, "I'm your friend. And if I think you're wrong, I'm going to tell you."

Was Matthew fuckin' for real?! Was he really that inept in character? Was he a mistake that I allowed into my circle of friends to not be decent enough to understand how:

That PUNCH to this guy's face was for this guy invading my space.
That PUNCH was for him grabbing my fingers when I moved his hand off of me as if I'm the one wrong the 1st time.
That PUNCH was for every week after knowing that since I had no interest in him, I didn't want him touching me, but he touched me anyway.
That PUNCH was for then upping the ante by trying to choke me because he again wasn't man enough to take "No" for an answer.
That PUNCH was for playing on the racism that plagues NYC's gay community at my expense.

Now, anyone, friend or foe, who thinks I was wrong to take a swing at him, then you have holes in your heart where self-respect, respect for others, and compassion should be. And those holes show a void in your code of ethics and humanity that make you just as disposable an entity as that guy.

For how dare Matthew lecture me when he is aware of the incident that started all of this? How dare he lecture me when my personal space is intruded upon? How dare he lecture me when he wasn't even there to see that it had escalated to the point of this guy trying to choke me because I rejected his advances again?

What kind of humanity questions my reaction with those things in play?

By the following day, what I had come to realize is that Matthew's upset over me taking a swing at this guy was not at all about me actually being wrong. It was all about his bruised ego because I took action and justifiably defended myself before he was able to play "hero". I say this because in the text message exchange that followed, I explained my position on the matter very clear listing all the reasons I mentioned in the previous paragraph. Matthew however...NEVER EXPLAINED WHAT MADE ME "WRONG". His text messages were all about his opinion and how he has a right to them.

Yes, Matthew has a right to his opinion. However, the fact is 1) I didn't have to explain myself, because 2) this incident was not about him. This was about my personal space being violated to the point that violence had started to be imposed upon me. And based on all the reasons at play that led up to that moment that I punched that guy, anyone who can't understand that has a code of ethics as dismal as that drunken, socially-inept, substance-abuse-weathered sack of shit. And must be mentally and emotionally removed from my presence until they wake up and see otherwise. For I don't accept such lacks of understanding in my circle. Friends don't always have to agree, but there are displays of character and humanity (or lack thereof) that make it necessary to part ways.

Now, if Matthew doesn't come to realize his wrong position on this, and apologize for lecturing me like I'm his child, then he will show himself to be a mistake in my circle, and become beyond the border of being removed from my circle as he presently is.

As for this drunken asshole, my response to him was by no means my proudest moment. However, I am proud that this experience has solidified some observations I've recently made that may possibly lead to some rule changes for myself. I'll address them in an upcoming video log. But for now, I ask that you don't go to the comments section speculating what they might be.

This post has a LOT of lessons in it. I hope you understood, and if need be, learned them all.

Prince Albert Goes Inside

The Prince Albert.

The name given to the piercing some guys get in the head of their dick. I've sucked on a couple of guys with them, so that curiosity is satisfied. What one sexual curiosity about the Prince Albert I've had that has not been fulfilled is...

...What does it feel like to bottom for a guy with one?

I've been curious about this for the longest. Ever since I sucked on my 1st cock with a Prince Albert. After all, I'm one of those guys who if I suck your dick, you can take it as an invitation to fuck my ass.

This guy and I have been talking about hooking up for awhile now. Recently, we finally made it come to fruition. But I needed some time after the hook-up to figure out how to explain my experience with this guy's Prince Albert. Because there were some unexpected occurrences during the course of our playtime.

As soon as I walked in the door, we started making out. It didn't take long before we were naked. After my poem "The Hair Down There", all of the hair on from his chest to his treasure trail was a welcome sight. However, an unexpected sight was seeing that treasure trail lead to a pierced cock. Part of the surprise was not only because his cock was pierced, but because he never showed his cock in his online pics. With that being the case, you have guessed correct to believe this hook-up was originally intended to have me as a top. This led to the other unexpected occurrences.

Our emails and text messages to each other made it clear that he was lusting for my dick, and I was lusting for his hole. So the next surprise was him moving behind me, and grinding against my ass. I have no problem with a bottom admiring my ass. It's just that I personally never do it unless I have plans to fuck his hole. We then laid down on the bed, still making out, my dick was getting hard believing it would soon be engulfed in the warmth of his hole. He laid me on my back, and started sucking me off. Now this is what I believe a bottom does to prepare his top. And he was that great rarity - he knew how to suck cock, and suck it well. Well enough that my dick immediately got rock hard. But then I felt the oddity return.

He started fingering around my asshole, then he put my legs up in the air, and started eating my hole. I gave myself the excuse that he was one of those bottoms that liked to eat his top's ass. Well, he liked to eat ass, but for a reason. He wanted it wet. He reached over and put some lube on his cock, then ate my ass some more. When he came up again, he got more lube. However, this time ----he put the lube on my ass. This was the next unexpected occurrence. He dick was now stiff as a board, and he put it against my tight hole. His cock was so hard that it went it easily into my well-lubed ass. The difference of him having a Prince Albert was that 2 rounded edges slipped into my hole and then rubbed against the walls of my ass tunnel - The 1st from the Prince Albert, then the 2nd from his cock. And FYI - both were thick.

I like pleasant surprises during sex. Hence why I douched before coming to his place, even though I was expecting to top. I thought what if we have so much fun, he decides to invite someone else to the mix after we're done, and that someone wanted to top us both. Instead, there was no other person. It was just the 2 of us, and I somehow became the bottom. And it wasn't because my dick wasn't hard. Quite the opposite. It was just something about my ass made him want in. This wasn't the first time such a thing has happened, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I believe that since I'm not an overcompensating macho top or a "don't-touch-my-cock" bottom, I give off the vibe of my sexual open-mindedness to change up the schedule, and it makes some guys feel comfortable changing up the plans should the mood strike.

Well, I don't regret changing up the plans one bit. For as with most guys who are either total bottoms or versatile bottoms, our acting on the combined knowledge of what works because we've both been in the other's position made the sex AMAZING. His Prince Albert might have contributed to his loud orgasm. One that was so loud that had the wall behind his bed been adjacent to a room with anyone in it, we would have without a doubt had an auditory audience. And who knows, maybe his volume of his moans traveled so that we did regardless. Also, even with the air-conditioner on, he was drenched as if he was a rain cloud that just did a downpour on me. And my kink for wet bodies is part of the reason why while we were both exhausted, I can't speak for him, but with my exhaustion, I could have easily went for another round...or two.

So after much wondering, I have finally experienced bottoming for a guy with a Prince Albert. Was it any different than a guy without one? I honestly don't think so. I believe it did more for him than it did for me. Because it has long been said and proven that the brain is the most sensitive sex organ. It's why the weak-minded are so easily taught attraction. But with my strong mind, the intensity I experienced was more about my intense attraction to him, not his pierced cock that we're told gives us more sensation to the person being thrusted into. So I believe no matter how many times we fuck, Prince Albert or not, as long as that attraction to him is there,....I'm going to like that dick.

From Erik Rhodes' Death, I See

Based on what I've said in some previous blog posts, including my most recent, "Write That Down #44", it should be no surprise that I find the death of Erik Rhodes to be a mental note to myself as to how I got out of the porn business while the gettin' was good.

For from Erik Rhodes' death, I see a light....again. It's a light that I have seen repeatedly over the past 2 years since I retired from studio-based porn in September 2009. It is a light always reminding me that I am BLESSED. I am blessed beyond words for how God has allotted me the time to make myself known as more than "Tré Xavier". Fate has allotted me the time to make myself become known as more than a sexually stimulating presence. This time gifted to me has allowed me chances to be on my present steady climb of having my real artistic talents known, instead of coming off as a sex object only knowledgeable in enjoying sex, and miserable afterwards like Erik Rhodes was. I'm not saying that knowledge and misery after was all that Erik Rhodes had to offer. But unfortunately, that is all we have seen.

I met Erik Rhodes only once. A few years ago, before a NY Gay Pride March. It was just a quick introduction, nothing more. Shorter than many fans at a meet-and-greet appearance. So I never got to know him on any personal level, except by his blog posts that I've read about. The sad thing is that be they Facebook comments, tweets on Twitter, or comments on gay porn blogs - all of these internet outlets have an overwhelming majority of their commenters' feelings of "loss" from Erik Rhodes' death stemming from how he was a "beautiful man", or how "gorgeous" he was. The problem is that this makes his outer beauty be what gave him worthiness to exist in so many of their eyes. And that could have very well been what killed him, as he seemed to live a life to maintain that.

From what I saw of Erik Rhodes, the seeking of empowerment was piled on more than most. First, was by his initial building up of that physique, and then piling on more. Because all guys who hit the gym for bodies like that are seeking a visible sign of strength to hide the strength they are lacking within. And adding steroids, or any supplement like a steroid to the mix, is an even greater indicator. Follow that up with how the gay porn industry seems to suck many dry of their spirits the way it does, Erik Rhodes' chances of surviving his demons were lessened even more.

All too often, I have seen gay porn bloggers take pot-shots at porn actors when they take on a venture outside of porn. One of the most frequent and notable haters of mine to my knowledge (even since my retirement from studio-based porn) has been the editor of TheSword.com, Zachary Sire. And I have not been his only target. There have been others (past and present) in the industry that he has done this to. Saddest part is how Zachary Sire is not the only hateful gay porn blogger.

These bloggers treat our outside ventures as if you all have been betrayed by us. I know because before I retired, any time I heard a porn actor friend or associate of mine say that they are done doing movies, I felt betrayed. But I never acted out on that feeling of betrayal. Probably because in the back of my mind, I knew---

---IT'S GAY PORN. So you need, thereby automatically seek an outside venture for your future to identify yourself by. And if you don't seek that outside venture to identify yourself with, porn becomes a prison. Like the ones the hateful bloggers have made for themselves. These kind of bloggers have limited themselves to writing about gay porn and nothing else, and since misery loves company, these bloggers want the porn actors to do the same. So when a porn actor shows any signs of moving on, they get a bullseye on their back. But the reality these bloggers need to face is that just because you have confined yourself to porn's prison by writing about it only for all your days, doesn't mean that a porn actor has to do the same by fucking in front of a camera for all of his days.

This leads to my question to Zachary Sire, bloggers like him, and the cynical fans who applaud them every time they write posts mocking people like myself who do something outside of porn:

What is there to mock?

The reason why me and other past and present porn performers do things outside of the porn industry is because we don't want Erik Rhode's story to become our story. We don't want to be imprisoned by our porn personas.

We don't want our legacies to be about how "cute" we were, or how "hot" we looked while fucking. We want to be remembered for being something more meaningful. Something beyond being only sexually and visually stimulating. Maybe introduced visually, but with the end result stimulating you mentally. Thereby making us something greater.

Sadly, Erik Rhodes, whose real name was James Elliott Naughtin, never got the chance to do that. All we know about James Elliott Naughtin is that he was troubled as "Erik Rhodes".

So with him no longer having to live with those troubles, may James Elliott Naughtin truly Rest In Peace.

Sexy Terrace, Sexy Rain

It has been raining quite a bit here in NYC lately. But that wasn't going to stop me from meeting up with this guy. We've seen each other online before, flirted, and mutual placed each other on our lists, with no meeting thus far. However, this time my psychic sense could tell something was different. Even though it had been months since we last saw each other online, I knew that this time, it was not going to be all talk. I knew this time,....we were going to fuck.

His profile said we was a versatile top, but tonight I had no interest in taking advantage of that versatility. My focus was on the part of his self-description that said "top". That's why the looping image that guided me through the streets on my walk to his place was the picture from his profile of him naked, with a zoom on his 3/4 hard cock. For his cock was the compass directing me where to go.

Once there, he greeted me with a smile. He looked even better in person. I love when that happens. Because it was only drizzling outside, I never used my umbrella. So he took my dry umbrella, and put it aside. Took off my jacket and started kissing me. He held me, telling me how sexy I was. And the feeling couldn't be more mutual.

I always let the other guy be the guide of where to touch. Because leave it up to me, my Aries impatience will take over, and I'll feverishly rip his clothes off, we'll start fucking with his rags hanging off of him, and I'd rip the rags off until he's completely naked while he's thrusting inside. So instead, I let him grope me. Once he went to my ass, being the ass-man that I am, I went to his. And his ass was so nice that you would re-think my original stance on his versatility, and try to fill and fuck his ass, but I didn't tonight. He was holding me close enough to him that my thigh grazed his crotch, and he was already getting hard. What I wasn't aware of was how big his hard-on was. That is until he guided my hands to feel it. He obviously went commando today, because his dick was unrestrained by underwear. So I got a handful of cock that felt like a fire hose was being inflated in his shorts. And there was a fire to put out, ----our horniness. But this hose was not going to put out the fire by spraying water. This hose needed to spray cum.

Would you believe with all that build, we didn't fuck right away? Instead he offered me a drink. I never know how to answer that question. So I asked for the easy thing, Vodka Cranberry. He gave me a regular glass full, then made his own drink. We cheered, then he went out to sit on a sofa on what turned out to be a terrace, and I followed. We then engaged in conversation. At one point, he noticed that I wasn't done with my drink. He said that he wanted me "relaxed". Now, we all know he didn't want me relaxed. It was my asshole he wanted relaxed. Well, knowing this, I finished off my drink, and we started making out again.

In the midst of our making out, he took one hand away from holding me, and undid his pants. I was kissing him with one eye open because I wanted to finally see the unveiling to the outdoors of the thick dick I felt through his shorts earlier. Once unveiled, I said, "Wow!"

Without delay, my hands went right to playing with it. Admiring the thickness of the shaft. Feeling the flesh of its head against my fingertips. And seeing how he had a circumcised dick sensitive enough that while most circumcised guys only moan from it, he actually moaned AND had little twitches when my finger grazed his frenulum. I felt my mouth watering to show him my oral prowess, so I went down on him.

Now, I was face to face with it. The attraction to him was so intense, I found myself wanting to put every last inch in my mouth. Even if that meant tasting pubes. I sucked his cock, and yes I'm blowing my own horn to say how good I was. I was so good that he throbbed in my mouth a number of times. Enough that I feared being too good. Because I thought he was going to shoot while in my mouth and not while inside my ass. I think he realized it as well. Which is probably why he guided me off his cock and back onto the sofa.

He then started taking his clothes off, then he laid me on my back and took off mine. So then we were both naked. And that's when it dawned on me that we were still on the terrace, I couldn't recall what building was across the street, but I didn't care. I then started to ask myself, "Are we going back inside?"

Once he started wetting his cock with a spit-lube, and putting it against my asshole, I got my answer. We were going to fuck right here on this terrace.

I've spoken numerous times here about my tight hole, and how it takes a lot of lube and 2 tries to get in. So explain to me how he slid his cock inside me with spit-lube on one try? I think we should blame that big glass of Vodka Cranberry proving me right in how it was meant to more so relax my asshole. Oh well, at least there wasn't that smell and it didn't give me a headache like what so many weak bottoming gays use,...those mother fuckin' poppers ---which I loathe.

So now he was fucking me missionary. His dick was the best kind for me. One that feels so good fucking me that I have to consciously remember to use my ass to fuck his dick in return. For you may also recall, when I bottom, I'm not one that just lays there. For my rule is "even as a bottom, I don't get fucked, we fuck each other".

We later changed positions. He wanted to spoon with me. So we laid there with his cock inside me, sliding back and forth, with me reaching back to massage his thighs and ass. Even with the tight grip my hole had on his dick, at times his dick still managed to slip out. I guess the alcohol I drank worked its magic, because he slipped back in effortlessly. While we were fucking it started to rain. Loud enough for us to hear, and enough for us to be hit with some drops. But we kept fucking anyway. I knew our elevating body heat would turn those tiny cold drops into steam as he said things to me like, "Oh, Baby! I love you ass!", "You feel so fuckin' good", and "God! You're going to make me cum soon."

And I replied, "And I love you dick!", "If you like it, own my hole. It's yours!", and "Cum when you're ready. Because I can take your dick for hours".

And I wasn't lying. Like I said before, his cock felt just that good. Our sexual chemistry was so intense that he laid the kind of pipe, and I gave the kind of ass that makes you think you're in love after first fuck. Then the time had come for him to cum. That's when I could feel his already thick cock widening my hole even more than it already had just by him fucking me. It throbbed repeatedly, longer than any guy had before. And my classic routine of tightening my sphincter to milk a guy's dick of every last drop of man-milk made it throb and him moan even more.

At some point, the rain had stopped. But as we laid there a couple of minutes, the rain started again with little drops falling on us. We were done fucking, so you would think that as soon as those drops started falling on us that this time we would get up and run inside. But that was not the case. Instead, we still laid there spooning and basking in the afterglow of the intense sex we just had. As his dick slowly went flaccid, enough to slip out of my ass, we stayed spooning. as his cock now slipped to where it laid on my left ass cheek.

Once we finally got up to go back inside his apartment, the temperature outside seemed to suddenly drop. He began wondering how we were outside in that cool air. His question caused a flashback that interrupted the Kegels I was doing. For my sphincter twitched from remembering the milking I did of his dick just minutes before, and how I could easily do it again. I jokingly reminded him of how hot a fuck we gave each other, so our body temperatures were just then coming back to some level of normalcy. Afterwards, we took a shower together. We lathered each other up. I had to fondle his cock one last time. It was still looking quite large to be going flaccid. And I also grope his now wet juicy ass. We dried off, got dressed, and he walked a block with me as I headed home, because he was going to a nearby deli.

On my walk home, the fact of where I just had sex really started to sink in. I was on a terrace. Not a bedroom. Not even a living room like at the start of "Red Light". But a terrace. A terrace that, while I didn't hear anyone, could have very easily had an upstairs or downstairs neighbor sitting out there listening to our dirty talk and sex moans. Or the building in the distance to the left of the terrace in my direct line of view could have had someone with binoculars watching us. Yes, that's a stretch, but not at all impossible. Being the exhibitionist I am with no shame of mine or my partner's sexual prowess, nor shame of displaying our orientation, I could care less who heard or saw us. What fascinated me was the fact that I always wanted to have sex on a terrace, and in the rain. And my wishes were granted without even trying or expecting them to happen.

The next day was my performance at "Titillating Tongues". On my way home, I found a text message came while I was in the subway en route to the venue. It was from him. He wanted another go at me soon. Maybe this time, we'll fuck in the bedroom. ;-)

Happy B'day, LeNair!.... 10 Y.O. Feeling Alive & Sex

Quite contrary to the title, my birthday is actually March 31st.

However, what many of you don't know is that on February 9, 2002 marks the day I walked into Splash Bar, and came out to myself as a predominately gay bisexual. Then just a few hours later, since it was after midnight, February 10th became the day I lost my virginity... in that fateful 5-man orgy that became one of the reasons I gave myself the nickname, The L XTreme.

Therefore, with this year being 2012, that makes it a decade, 10 years of me being out.

Unlike most gays, I don't count being "out" to be about everybody else knowing. For me, it is about me knowing, and me at long last being at peace with it. No one should feel the need to wear their orientation on their sleeve yammering about it in places where it's not a need-to-discuss topic.

There are times that I'm a tad bothered to have come out as late as I did. And there are others when I couldn't be more happy about my late blooming, which is actually the majority of the time. For one being older, I came into the gay community with a better sense of self. One that will very likely stay with me and grow better and stronger into my old age. I won't be like a lot of the gay community who come out in their teens and early 20's who claim to have a sense of individuality but in all actuality DON'T.

Case in point, my late coming out makes it easier for me to know that when I say I like a certain type of music or particular singer, it is because I SAID SO. I'm not doing like a lot of gays making an icon out of artists (ex: Madonna, Beyonce, Cher, Lady Gaga, etc) because it is the "gay status quo" or "gay rite of passage". For treating these women like their gods don't make us males a damn bit better of a gay man.

And I say this as a big Janet Jackson fan, but as much as I love Janet, I'm not making a deity out of her. For she's not paying my rent or a single one of my bills.

This may very well explain to some degree why in my 10 years out, all of my attempts at relationships thus far have not worked. Because most of the guys were emotional cripples void of that sense of self because they live their lives following if not the gay status quo, they followed another moronic status quo of some kind. And because of that missing sense of self, they made themselves disposable to me. Call me "cold" for seeing it that way, but I'm not the one crying over a broken heart when all signs said, "Tell the sorry bitch, 'GET THE FUCK OUT!'".

So the "10 Y.O." in the title is for me feeling 10 years old in regards to my feeling alive and with that, experiencing my ever growing knowledge about sex, life, and love. And the feeling alive part of it is what is most important to me. That's why I'm hoping to be a part of the Rainbow Book Fair's Poetry Salon again this year, so I can unveil a poem that I wrote dedicated to the gays young and old who never got to make it to the point where I am. That point of being at peace with whatever degree of homosexuality they knew was in them.

The title of the poem is "3-31-41".

For this year, I will turn 41.

Now, if I decide to celebrate my coming out and losing my virginity, how should I celebrate? Maybe have my own 5-man orgy, but this time show my sexuality has gone full circle by making sure I'm the total top this time, and not a total bottom like I did when I lost my virginity. Saving my orgy for being totally versatile for when I celebrate 20 years out and proud. Hmmmm. It's a thought. But seriously....

....Maybe I could just celebrate by being in my apartment, alone or with friends. Or hanging out in the city, alone or with friends. Either way, I can't help but be happy no matter what. For after all those years of struggling with my orientation and contemplating suicide, I might not be here at all to be happy.

Happy that I'm alive. For life is good. And keeps getting better with time.

Thank you, God. :-)

Banned From The Sex @ 30 Lex

I have mentioned in past blog posts that I was a volunteer at a sex party. But if you recall, I never went into much detail for promoting its actions at length in blog posts like I have with the NY Jock Party, Milk Chocolate NYC Party, and the now ended Hot Jock Party. That sex party that I didn't say much about was then called Olympus, later became Testosterone, and now called Inferno held at 30 Lexington Avenue. The reason I never promoted it was because it was inspiring blog posts about wrongs done at sex parties ----by the host. Namely "Sex Party Etiquette: No Lying Hosts, No Bigoted Patrons" and "Blackout Room = Troll Central Station".

A couple of months ago, I volunteered at the party while it was still called "Testosterone". This was my last time there.

I did the usual job of monitoring the bathroom. When I arrived, I relieved the volunteer who was there at the time, and stood there. After about 30 minutes, the party's floor manager noticed how long I was there, and asked if I wanted to be relieved. I told him I was fine staying there. While standing there a tall, slim, tanned guy came over and we started making out while I was still at the post. As we talked, it turned out his tanned skin in that dark was because he was Italian. He wanted to play with me more in the playroom, but while hoping he wouldn't leave before I had the chance to, I told him I was working. Then about another 15 minutes later, the floor manager came around again, asking if I wanted to be relieved. This time, I told him I did. This made it an entire 45 minutes without a break.

The reason I allowed it to be so long before having a break was so that when I did get a break, I would have a nice long amount of playtime in return. Once the volunteer I relieved came back to resume the post, I went to go play. Luckily, my Italian playmate from before was still there, and I topped him as he laid on his stomach. Once my dick was in his ass, I found myself fucking him like a savage banging against his soft ass cheeks. Then I slowed down, laid on top of him, grinding in his hole to make sure I didn't come too soon. Surprisingly, I didn't with his soft ass underneath me turning me on. Then I picked up speed again, then slowed down again. This back and forth went on for about 15 minutes, with him jerking off and cumming during the last 2 minutes.

I then got on the line for the bathroom to wash off with intentions of going back to play with whomever might be hot in the room. While I was on the line, The volunteer I relieved told me that when I was done in the bathroom, to come back to the post because he wanted to get fucked. I felt this was unfair considering how much time I already allowed him. And in the past, while at that post, I have topped guys and been topped from behind while doing that simple job of telling guys, "One at a time".

To avoid lashing out at the unfairness of this volunteer, I never responded to his request, and went back to playing as I originally planned. The problem that occurred was that the volunteer took it for granted that I was going to do what he asked, and he went off to play as well, which left the bathroom unsupervised. The owner came with an attitude requesting BOTH me and the other volunteer. Even the floor manager said to the host/owner right in front of me how I was standing at the post for such a long time.

My feeling with the owner's attitude was "How dare he?!"

How dare he have an attitude when he's hosting a party where he sends out emails promising all these hot guys, and the few hot guys who come in will fuck once, or not at all, and then jet out the door. I know this because I've been those hot guys' one fuck, and missed out on getting their info. Just like that night. All because the majority of guys are out-of-shape and won't take "No" for an answer. Some out-of-shape to the point of looking like the X-Men nemesis, Blob. OR having White guys with their attitude of "White Entitlement" giving me attitude and rushing past me when I tell them the rule for the bathroom of "One at a time". I say "White Entitlement" because while patrons who are Black and other ethnicities are also annoyed by the rule, they hardly (if ever) gave me a problem like pushing pass me like the White ones have. 

All this, plus the owner's attitude with this incident, I decided I was done volunteering.

One day, I came across a blog listing all the sex parties in the city called "Adventures in Group Sex". With the listings, it also gives reviews. When I saw its review of Testosterone, it was so on point that as a writer, since I had quit over being done lying to myself of the vibe getting any better, I felt the need to let the truth come out to some degree. So I wrote this comment:

LeNair Xavier said...

I used to volunteer at the TESTOSTERONE (formerly OLYMPUS) party, and I agree with all too much with what you've said about it. Hence why I have never wrote a post on my blog to promote it. Unlike MILK CHOCOLATE NYC party which I've dedicated a whole category to. Nor do I write much telling of what I've seen or done at TESTOSTERONE except to post it in my "Sex Party Etiquette" category because someone fucks up. And it's usually one of those old,aggressive, out-of-shape guys that you mentioned in your review.

September 10, 2011 7:57 PM

Well, recently I discovered that I was banned not just from the party Testosterone---but the entire space. 

After I confronted Testosterone's host/owner of the space as to why I was banned, he said that my comment on "Adventures in Group Sex" was the reason why. Which I will not argue is understandable. So as far as any fair-minded person should be concerned, banning me from his party is fine. Besides, like I said before, I had already banned myself anyway from his party after that incident. Banning me from the space however, just shows how he can't accept the truth of his greed. Greed that will become more evident later.

I was pissed to learn of being banned. Not because of the being banned itself. But because of how I learned of it. You see, I didn't hear this from the host/owner himself. Someone else who holds a party there that I'm cool with is the one who informed me. This person has no place in a situation between me and that host/owner. So I was pissed to see someone not involved in our differences brought into the situation to be the host/owner's messenger pigeon. My feeling is that the host/owner could have sent a message or called me directly without involving this other person. If this other person was to learn of my not being able to come to the space, let him know after the host/owner was man enough to tell me himself. Just as I would have told the host/owner that I was no longer attending his parties after that last incident with the volunteer. That is, had I still been receiving emails since that night, but I wasn't. So I was under no obligation to tell of my no longer wanting to attend his party. But since it is his party, and his space, he is obligated to tell who he wants there without involving an outside unknowing party.

I like being proud of what I do and what I am a part of, and I use this blog to celebrate those things. And since I never said much about that party on this blog, I obviously wasn't that proud of it. So with hindsight being 20/20, my writing that comment on "Adventures in Group Sex" was actually not so much about me lessening my guilt over being involved with a party with false advertising about the patrons' physical requirements. It was subconsciously, my way of banning myself because of the party's dual advertising.

This is where the host/owner's greed gets worse.

For you see, there was something that I was going to tell in that comment on "Adventures in Group Sex" that I didn't. Instead, I took the road of saying "the party patrons are adults, so I'll let them see for themselves." But the fact is, I hate sitting on information that could help one's decision beforehand, when discovering it later can ruin a good time.

That something is that the party is advertised on different hook-up sites under 2 different names. Not such a big deal until you get ALL the details. The website I learned of the party by the name "Olympus" was on a general hook-up website. After discussing sex parties with a friend of mine, he was talking about a sex party happening on the same day of the week for barebackers called "Raw Pork". As the conversation progressed, it went from being that not only was the day of the week in common with the party I was volunteering at. But so was the start and end time, then finally the address. So I started a profile on the barebacking hook-up site my friend learned of the party from, and there along with the name "Raw Pork" was the same profile pic and screenname the host/owner used on the other site that I learned of the party by the name, "Olympus".

While I have long said that I am all for the freedom of choice when it comes to barebacking, this marketing always bothered me. Not so much for those who found the party the way I did, on a general hook-up site. Because in those cases, you're prone to run into someone who barebacks while you don't. BUT what about the hardcore barebacker who knows of the party ONLY from the barebacking hook-up site?

To have a better understanding of my past dilemma, look at this scenario that may or may not have already happened there:


You learned of the party from a barebacking hook-up site. You are totally unaware that the party has been advertised elsewhere under another name, and if it was, with the only name you know being "Raw Pork", you're expecting all patrons to be barebackers like yourself. So if you meet someone at the party who unbeknownst to you learned of the same party under a different name, and they are just as hardcore about condom use as you are about barebacking, (be he a top or bottom) when he demands use of a condom, you're going to be standing there thinking, "This is a barebacking party, so what you fuck are you doing here?"


And his reply might be, "Excuse me?! But where did you hear this?!"


From this point, this moment can go from being awkward to possibly hostile.


While wrestling with this, you might be wondering, why did I stay there as a volunteer for so long? Well, I never said I was perfect. I do try to be close, but even in my attempts, I sometimes falter like everyone else. Sometimes finding myself bought off by the most common in payments for one's silence ever since the dawn of mankind. In this case, by my being a volunteer that age-old payment was ---FREE SEX.


The thing about free sex as a payment is that it has an expiration date that makes you need to move on, and sometimes come clean. Whether it's because you're tired of the person, or your conscience is tired of taking a backseat every time you consider venturing to a certain place, as it was in this situation.


I'm not crying over being banned. Not at all. Sex parties are not my life. If they were my life, I wouldn't have spent so many weeks away before that incident at Testosterone happened. I had a great sex life before going to sex parties, and I will continue to do so no matter how many I do or do not attend.


None of the emails I received while volunteering never mentioned the party, "Raw Pork". And at last check before writing this post, the general hook-up sites posting of the party is more honest than before about its patronage. However, it still makes no mention of the bareback party, "Raw Pork", not even as a separate posting on that general hook-up site.


So the final question one may ask is: Is this post one written out of vengeance? Victor Hoff of MOC Blog has often said that I use my blog and comments for score-settling. Truth be told, what writer doesn't? Part of any human being's settling the score is by venting, either publicly or privately. And that would apply even more so to a writer as they often do it publicly. However, I let Karma be my vindicator. So a post like this is my way of settling the score ---by making one aware of what they've done to send Karma their way. Also, I hate the idea of anyone being unnecessarily hostile at not just a sex party, but any party.


So when you put it all together, my venting in this blog post is 1 part - score settling, 1 part - confession, and 1 part - prevention. Because if you want to go to this guy's party, I could care less. Feel free. But at least by all that I've told here, if you didn't know before like I did when I signed on as a volunteer, you now know what you're getting into, and won't be flying blind.

Missing Porn

A few months ago, I was out with a friend of mine at the NYC gay bar, The Monster. We got to talking about my life since I retired from studio-based porn, and he asked me a very simple question that you would have thought that since my retirement in September 2009, one of my post-porn interviewers would have asked me by now.

About my no longer doing porn, he asked me, "Do you miss it?"

Like I said, a very simple question. However, something inside me realized at that moment that for someone who prides themselves on being honest with themselves and on this blog, it didn't have a very simple answer. Which is why I refrained from my giving the 1st response that popped in my head which was, 'Hell, no!' But knowing that's the easy answer, I kept it inside.

Being as detailed-oriented as I am, this requires more explanation that a simple "yes" or "no". So while I answered my friend in less than 15 seconds after he asked, my explanation of the thoughts that went through my mind to lead up to my answer will take longer.

Initially, I must confess that there is an aspect to the porn industry that I do miss. That is the attention and adoration of fans for my being such an exhibitionist. But it's short-lived when the honesty I pride myself on reminds me as to how part of the reason I came to leave studio-based porn is because I realized that attention and adoration is in some way fake. For the attention and adoration is all underground. Especially due to the sexual repression of Americans, you can't be out and proud about admiring a pornstar the way you could a Hollywood celebrity who can be just as much a troubled soul. So while most porn actors are in it looking for approval, the screams and shouts feeding their egos by personal appearances in clubs, bars and porn-related events, to the world at large, it's just a hush - when compared to those for their mainstream counterparts.

And while the attention and adoration is in a way fake, it in turn causes a chain of fake behavior in others. For I have had some people end their friendships with me on Facebook. Anyone who knows how I do my updates there knows that I don't tag people in adult-oriented status updates, or post on their walls unless they themselves make it obvious that they work in adult entertainment. And anyone who knows how to use Facebook knows that tags and direct postings are the only way people you might not want to make privy to that info would discover it. Yet some people who met me either through my involvement in porn, or knew of it when they friended me show themselves to fake purity by removing me without me ever tagging them or personally posting something on their Facebook wall.

More things that flashed through my mind in that less than 15 seconds were behavior patterns I saw from various porn studios. Such as studios like Falcon telling me that they'll call when there's a role where I'm a "good fit", only for me to see a White version of myself in a trailer, or on a DVD cover. Or Lucas Entertainment wasting my time with numerous trips to their office, and only using more Black models now because mine and others' proven claims of Michael Lucas' racism were starting to bite him in the ass. Or Channel 1 Releasing interested in me only if I lived in California, or making my way there on my own, but allegedly known to be willing to pay for the transportation of a White wanna-be-pornstar. Or FlavaWorks willing to pay $100,000 to a rapper to only pose nude, yet pay 3-digits (a.k.a. peanuts) to their models who put themselves at greater health risks by having full-on sex. Or porn actors and bloggers with their contradictory allegiances. Or porn actors who in private will pat me on the back for being so upfront about all the behind-the-scenes bullshit, but in public are quick to leave me standing on my own in the comments sections of websites like The Sword, and Gay Porn Times.

All these instances and more flooded through my brain in the less than 15 seconds I tried to find the right words to reply to my friend asking me, "Do you miss it?"

In reply, instead of rehashing all those details, I gave him the short version telling him, "Initially, I think I do. But when I recall all the bullshit that I've seen and been told. I have to say,...

FUCK NO!!!!"

Now, I don't regret my getting into the porn industry. Even though while by the present handling of it, I look at it as a mistake for anyone to do, I feel it is a mistake that we are destined to make. And when we've matured more into living for our true purpose, we will leave it behind a great deal.

This is not to say that I can ever fully leave the porn industry behind where I won't comment after being made privy to the latest going-ons of it. After all, the reason I don't regret my getting into the porn industry is because it is my involvement in the porn industry that gave me a platform for my voice, LeNair's voice, to be heard ---- even though it was under the guise of porn actor, "Tré Xavier".

I have done what sadly too few other porn actors have done. I have used my porn persona as a way for my voice to get closer to the mainstream as I had hoped for before entering porn. While I am now being invited to readings like "Red Umbrella Diaries" for past and present sex workers, I am also creating my own well-received poetry series and having readings in more mainstream venues. As well as most recently, being asked to be a featured speaker on more mainstream issues like racism in the LGBT community for the group MACT/NY. The stereotypical leeches in the porn industry didn't get me to this point, but their being dumb enough to fight me helped. Take this as me seeing and riding on the silver lining of the dark cloud that is studio-based porn.

So while studio-based porn has for the most part lowered itself to becoming what I call "visualized prostitution", I can't in good sense and self-respect miss being a part of it. My initial idea of missing it comes from me missing my ideal of studio-based porn. An ideal replaced by the sad reality of how it is plagued by the presence of more social and/or career rejects (like I was), instead of well-adjusted exhibitionists (like I am now).


Photo from Next Door Magazine September 2011 issue