Enter, Thrust, Throb, Cream + backstory

One beauty of having your own laptop keep in the solitude of your room is that you can be as much of a pervert about it as you want to be. Namely, through your wallpaper. For this is a screenshot of the wallpaper I had on my computer at the time my song "Enter, Thrust, Throb, Cream" came to mind.

It's a still from a NextDoor Studios scene in which Michael DelRay tops Scotty Zee. So that's Scotty Zee cute butt.

For me, sex is art. So while this photo does turn me on, I don't stop and jerk off to this pic. I turn on my laptop see the nature-created artistry of a cock inside a nice wanting ass, and get to work.

However, on one particular day, I got up to take a break from a project. In doing so, I closed the web browser and all open windows, leaving me to see just that wallpaper. Suddenly, a subconscious thought came to me. I can tell it was my subconscious because as it reached my conscious mind, its volume slowly increased. It was 4 words said rhythmically describing what was going on in the picture, and the result. I knew that because while I couldn't instantly figure out what the middle 2 words were, I knew the first word was "Enter" and the last was "Cream" - 2 words I use very often when describing the process of sex.

As I thought more about it, I realized the other 2 words were to describe actions that fascinate me during sex. Knowing how I've always been fascinated how penetrative sex is a simple thrusting back and forth that brings one so much euphoric physical pleasure, it should be no surprise how the next word was "Thrust". Followed by the next fascinating thing during sex is the various times a guy's cock will throb as he's getting closer and closer to orgasm and ejaculation. Making the other word "Throb".

With the words now set in their rhythm, next came describing each word's part in sex from the entering of the penis to the ejaculation(s) that often concludes it. And this is the end result a cappella:

SEX.... Never Lose Its Fascination

Sex has always been an interesting subject to me.

Looking back to being a grade school child when I learned exactly what sex is; then starting to masturbate, which gave me some idea of how great sex feels to the body; then as I got older, even as a virgin, learning sex was a beautiful and powerful thing. Such a powerful thing that it can create life. Then once I finally experienced it for myself, I further understood that power. Seeing how while I already knew that when done right, sex can create life in a physical state, I also saw how it can create life in a spiritual state as well. But I additionally saw how when done wrong, it can be just as easily end those states of life. So the older I get, the more I understand how we have to respect that power and not take it lightly. And I try to educate people to do the same.

Just the outward simplicity of sex... simple back and forth motions. Causing all those inward complexities of sensations throughout the body, effecting the mind, and changing lives. ALL OF THAT IS FASCINATING.

And as long as there is life to continue, it will never cease being fascinating. Especially among us human being. So I wrote a poem to talk about the never ending fascination that is sex. Enjoy.

Top Me, Bottom - an erotic poem

While I think this poem is self-explanatory, its lyrics might have gone over some readers' head.

The gist of it is that if a man says he's a bottom, no matter how much you might want his cock in your ass, don't pressure him about it. Much like I said in "How To Make A Versatile Bottom Top", let him know only once about your interest to have him top you, then leave the topic alone. Let circumstance bring him around if such is in the cards for him. And even if that never happens, take solace in the fact that you have masturbation to get off to the thought if it happening.

The Real on Why I Hate Poppers

If you follow me on any form of social media, then you know that I have made it no secret of my great disdain for poppers. Well, it is one thing to have a disdain for something, but it becomes a stance of arrogance to refuse an in depth explanation for that stance.

Once at The Pleasure Chest, they had a sex-ed skill-share for people wanting to be sex educators. One of the required task was to make a 10-minute presentation on a sexual topic, to which other participants gave criticisms on your presentation. The topic I chose was “Popper-Free Anal Sex”. And while I took most of the criticism well, and was actually self-aware enough to know, one criticism was substance-abuse enabling, and capitalism-driven for a sex retail space willing to sell poppers.

I was told that my calling partakers of poppers ignorant was me shaming them.

I’m sorry, but I am supposed to think that I said something wrong? For I pride myself on seeing the big picture on a matter before speaking publicly about it. Plus, when I say anything against poppers, I am talking to adults. Adults who should know better than to intentionally hold a bottle mere millimeters away from their noses to sniff. Especially since that bottle houses amyl nitrates — a chemical that if ingested any more directly (like swallowing) can result in immediate (and possibly fatal) harm to the body. Such as this doctor’s quote from a Vice article shows:

“It is not thought that amyl leads to many long-term issues, but there are some short-term risks,” Dr Boylan says. “It is possible to develop an allergic reaction over time. Another rare but serious complication is methaemoglobinaemia, which means the blood becomes unable to carry oxygen. This can be life threatening, and it happens when a person swallows rather than inhales poppers.”

Am I really supposed to coddle adults who should have the common sense to figure out just a smidgen of this information?

Take note that the person who accused me of shaming was a cis female. She does not live with seeing this ignoring of common sense repeated in her community ad nauseum. Unlike me, who sees it repeatedly since the gayness in my bisexuality has me way more so in the gay male community. Hence why I made it my topic for that event.

I feel no wrong in shaming in this instance. For if a parent is any degree worthy of the title of “parent”, then there are instances in which teaching the difference between right and wrong requires shaming you for doing the wrong. Plus what other choice does one have when common sense is often met by many popper users with an addict's aggression to defend their drug of choice. So real educators, ones not marionetted by corporate bottom lines are left to pick up where too many "gay parents" have fucked up.

Before we go any further, know that I have survived over a decade of contemplating suicide because of not owning my orientation. I did not survive and endure all of those days and nights of angst to finally come out, bottoming, then delude myself into thinking I’d be cooler if I became a substance abuser by doing poppers. Hence why I make no secret as to how since my coming out, my enjoyment of anal sex has led to me being tag-teamed by beer-can thick dicks, double-penetrated (more than twice), practically gangbanged, and still get compliments on having a tight hole. All without poppers.

My dislike of poppers is more about me wanting what every person engaging in sexual intercourse should want — — to be the center of my sex partner’s attention.

If I’m to share my sex partner’s focus, I want it to be with another human being if we’re having group sex. I don’t like the idea of sharing that focus... with a bottle? A bottle as much as 35 times shorter than me and containing a harmful substance. So the frustration that has come through much of what I’ve written about poppers over time is my concern as to why more gay males don’t want the same for themselves. And gay males are already prone to self-esteem issues as an oppressed community. So the use of poppers in my eyes becomes an acting out over those issues.

Furthermore, when one encourages another to use them, they are encouraging that person to follow a path that is counterproductive to the ongoing fights for 1)being gay, and; 2) having anal sex considered a healthy sexual practice to celebrate sexuality.

I come at this matter with such veracity because I’ve been masturbating since I was about 10 years old. Eventually I realized that fondling of myself was me introducing my body to sexual stimulation. Well, from the pleasures I got from that fondling, then playing with my butt hole once I discovered gay male sex was usually anal, I felt if those pleasant sensations were so much as an inkling of what actual sexual intercourse felt like, then I wanted nothing, nothing, NOTHING to interfere with my brain receiving the messages of how much pleasure I was feeling. Nor did I want anything to interfere with me remembering what exactly I did to my body to achieve that pleasure, so I can pass on that information to my sex partner(s) if need be. Or who gave that pleasure to me.

I find it to be absolute insanity to allow anything to interfere with that sensation. To the point that I will not date a guy who does poppers. So while some white/light-complexioned guys treat medium/dark-complexioned guys as being “good enough for a lay, but not to stay”, that’s how I treat guys who do poppers. And I feel no shame about it. For at least my discarding of such guys is based on a health-conscious decision. A behavior they can change if they choose to. Unlike the aforementioned white/light-complexioned guys whose racism and colorism makes them discard you over natural traits like darker skin and almond-shaped eyes. Therefore, beyond your control.

I personally get highly offended when I either see online profiles of guys claiming how they “can suck dick all day by doing poppers”, or seeing the actual action at a sex party/backroom by a guy on his knees sucking every dick around him and interrupting his suck with a huff of poppers. What offends me is how such a guy is lying to himself about his love of oral sex. Anyone who claims to “need” poppers to better their endurance of oral sex is telling themselves a lie.

For I love giving blowjobs. If you put 5 hot guys in front of me with their dicks out, I’ll suck on their dicks so long that my jowls might look like those of Kanye West by the end of it. And I don’t need to huff on poppers to suck on them that long. My love of sucking dick, those guys’ sex appeal, and my ego about my oral prowess is all the drive I need.

I’m sure some feel that I owe no one this explanation. After all, the term “poppers” alone is illegal is some places because it shows illegal intent to use amyl nitrates by huffing. Even XTube is aware of this fact. Hence why I had to change the title in the description for my XTube video embedded in “Poppers! We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Poppers!” For XTube has outlawed the use of the word “poppers” on their site. Even if the purpose of the word is to eradicate poppers itself.

However, what motivates me to give this explanation is because poppers have so heinously infiltrated the gay male community, it is seeping into the anal sex lives of straight people as well… But by the misleading advice of gay males who were advised by the misled before them. So it is an ugly passing of a spiked baton showing that this substance abuse is an epidemic. One that a detailed explanation of one’s adversity to poppers might be one of the last stitch efforts to eradicate this interference to our anal-sex-loving lives.

With all this, am I bragging? In order to get the message through, YES.

So join me so that I will have no reason or right to brag. For doing such great sexual feats will instead become for all of us in the anal sex-loving community, a common place statement of being. Thereby making bragging become wasted breath. But right now, my bragging is still necessary.

Nathaniel, R-U A Rapist?

For the first time in awhile, I went to the NYC gay bar, The Eagle for their Jockstrap Happy Hour. At this event, proceeds go to a charity by way of a $5 cover as most patrons strip down to usually a jockstrap or some other kind of underwear and enjoy cocktails, beers, conversation, and flirtation. Most guests from my experience partake of these things well and act respectfully towards one another's personal space. However, there is often someone with such a rabid level of social ineptitude that they can ruin it for someone.

Well, on this night, the name of the person with the rabid social ineptitude was Nathaniel.

I paid my cover and entered the bar. In less than a minute, this tall, slim black male came up to me introducing himself by saying "Hi, I'm Nathaniel". Even though I don't know my degree of celebrity, knowing that I have some at all still makes me wonder if such an abrupt introduction is either a social media follower or someone seeing me as an Average Joe.

He immediately offered to buy me a drink, and I refused. I shouldn't have to explain why I refused. However, since using one another is such a commonality in gay society endorsed by its media, nightlife, and porn, An explanation for my refusal is necessary before I continue.

When a guy offers to buy you a drink, he wants something. If you don't want conversation with him, don't accept the drink. If you don't want to kiss him, don't accept the drink. If you don't want to end up having sex with him,... DON'T ACCEPT THE FUCKING DRINK!!! So in practicing what I preach, I refused. Because your sex appeal in that person's eye (and/or their desperation) is what got you the offer. And I'm not going to let my sex appeal get me something from someone who I know wants something in return, but I have no intent of giving what they want to them. That's what justifies Karma's action when she takes your sex appeal away by way of your subconscious guilt making you age poorly.

Anyway, after my refusal, he persisted in trying to talk to me. I said I just got here, and I wanted to settle myself first. He seemed to get the hint. He told me to enjoy my evening, then walked away. As I was waiting, I was so in a rush to get in the bar that I forgot I needed to use the restroom. So I went. When I returned, I went to the opposite end of the bar. Once there, Nathaniel came back, and started talking to me again. And it wasn't like he was approaching me out of drunkenness that made him forget we met just a few minutes earlier. He was well aware that we spoke before because this time, he did not introduce himself.

In response to whatever he said, there were many things I said that made it clear that if I was to entertain his company at any point, that moment was not the time. Such as how a few times when he said that it seems like I had a wall up, one time I responded by saying, "I do. Because I don't know. It comes down the more I get to know you." In whatever various ways I said that, I told him the truth each time. Another time in his rambling I responded by telling him, "When I first walk into a space, I like to assess the room. Get a feel for it. And to focus and get an honest assessment, I like to do that alone. Hence why I often go places solo."

He still kept talking to me. In fact, he even furthered his closing into my personal space. For most of the time, he was leaning against the bar with his left hand. Leaning into me at a less than 45 degree angle, which was inciting my porn-induced PTSD to do something drastic.

With hindsight being 20/20, I think one of the things that saved him from a heinous reaction was the fact that my porn-induced PTSD is incited more by being actually touched, which even in his close proximity to my body, he never did.

As he kept getting such responses from me defending my justified personal space, he became unjustly defensive in both his verbal responses, and his body language. Such as how he went from the less than 45 degree lean to taking his other hand and putting it on the other side of me, closing me in.

The whole encounter had me so annoyed that I only remember bit and pieces of what he said. At that moment all I recall is that he was asking me how old I was. I told him that I would tell him if he would stop trying to corner me. Me having to negotiate for my personal space to avoid responding with a physically violent reaction made his existence more insignificant with every letter of every word he spoke and every millimeter of his movement. For he was trying to close me in to possess my time and space.

Now, as a Black man in the racist clusterfuck that is the American gay community, I am more than a little aware of how disregarded a black male can feel. Especially when we have been passed aside for white/light-complexioned guys by someone claiming to like, or even love us. In every scenario from a backroom tryst to a long-term relationship. However, the accumulation of such hits does not justify Nathaniel (or any other black male) imposing upon someone's personal space. Especially not in that fashion. And especially not the personal space of a stranger --- what I was to Nathaniel.

With all this said, I must publicly ask Nathaniel this...

Nathaniel, are you a rapist? Have you called yourself having a conversation with a person giving only a few inches, instead of at least a foot between that person and yourself? Have you gotten defensive when they ask you to back up? Even if they ask with the utmost politeness? Have you gotten defensive when their polite words show they would rather be left alone?

I must ask these questions because based on your behavior on the night of April 19, 2019, you have all the makings of a rapist. Repetitious in executing power moves upon the personal space of a person you have no claim to. So if you don't fix this behavior now, I expect to hear news of you being accused, arrested, indicted, tried, and convicted in due time.

I actually hope you have done no such extent of harm to someone. But if you have, I hope this article inspires them to come forward.

THIS Is MY Body - Lesson To Invaders

The title "This Is My Body" originally came to me as an erotic poem idea. But it was incited by seeing a former playmate of mine playing in a backroom with anyone who seemed willing to fuck and be fucked by him. More so the latter. Since my writings have long made it clear that value my body enough to need more than just my constant horniness to give my body to someone, I started working in my head a poem with the scenario of me presenting my body to my playmate or lover. Making it clear them that person that my presenting my body to those was not in the empty vein of that former playmate.

The first couple of lines came to me, but they started to turn. So the original sexy poem are going to be delayed for a bit. For the lyrics became ones telling someone to respect how because it is my body that I have the right to say "No! No, I do not want you".

This was because in that same night, a light-skinned Latino came up to me, and touched my chest. Initially, he was not bad-looking, but something in his energy made me uninterested. And it soon became evident as to what exactly was off-kilt in his energy.

For due to that bad vibe, I calmly moved his hand. Instead of him allowing the reality of how "No means no the 1st time", he touched me again. I felt my porn-induced PTSD being on the verge of a more violent reaction, so I started to walk away. As I was doing so, he added pinching my nipple to the unwanted touch.

We exchanged some words after. One of which led to me calling him a "socially retarded faggot". So evidently, I foresaw the potential for this behavior early on. So much so that it was in his aura. Hence how his initially being "not bad-looking" turned to being officially bad-looking.

I was already starting to work on the above video, but another incident happened just a few days later that made me need to put a rush on publicly releasing these emotions.

I was an at underwear party, and saw someone there who basically sexually assaulted me about 4 years ago. It is quite evident that his obsession with me and social ineptitude has not changed. I wrote a Facebook post the day after telling of one of the previous instances and the most recent. The most recent is what is told in the following excerpt:

This recent incident, I was being a voyeur to the action in the bathroom. I felt a body up against me. Then an unknown penis against my butt. I turned and saw it was him. When I moved to get away from him, he tried matching my position to block me from leaving. I was traumatized for a moment because it made me relive that last confrontation with him those years ago - ending with me throwing him against the wall.

If this is how this person behaves, I'm sure there are indicators of such social ineptitude from him in other spaces. For there is no doubt in my mind that THIS GUY IS A RAPIST.

What saved me was me being sober, and in a space where I was not alone. So I feel sorry for anyone who has been alone with that guy. But even more so, I must question the judgement of the person who brought him there.

This is a shame because such behavior is why people who would like to venture to these sex positive and sexually permissive spaces do not. And if such people do patronize the space, they cackle like hens hating on everyone who does partake of what the space/event offers. Even if those partaking are doing so showing respect for themselves, their partners, and their fellow patrons.

For all of this to stop, (as stated in a post on my Pied Piper of Sex page) we first must live our lives, especially our sex lives, denouncing the rules instilled in us based on body type, color, ethnicity, religion, and sexual orientation. But until we get on the same page with that and beyond, whenever someone approaches us with unwanted advances, we will always have the right to say, "NO. FOR THIS IS MY BODY!"

10 Seconds More, Then Fisted

Hanging out on the little stage in the basement of The Cock, I met a guy. After exchanging glances we gravitated towards each other. We started making out. As the making out progressed to us feeling each other up through our clothes, then digging down each other's pants in a dark corner, sex seemed to a definite expectation that night.

In our feeling each other up, he went for both my dick and ass just as much as I went for his. So I decided to do what I always do with a guy, even if he focuses more on my back than my front, or vice versa. I asked him if he was a top, bottom, or versatile.

It's unfortunate how the ignorant sexual roles based on color/ethnicity and body weight/height imposed upon us in the gay community by gay media forms made me fear I wouldn't trust him once he answered. For he was white, shorter than me, and our feel-up session informed my hand that he had an ass to die for on that smaller frame of his. So the racist sexpectations of me that I've experienced so many times before had me prepared for him to say that he was a bottom.

Instead, he said he was versatile (like me), but (unlike me) more of a top. From that moment, he didn't earn my complete trust in his character, but he earned a hell of a lot more than a white guy of any height saying he was a bottom. Because at least I knew by confessing to me he was more of a top, I knew for certain that he wasn't another gay white male taught by porn as to what a Black male's role should be during an interracial sexual encounter.

Some of you reading this are probably thinking that by bringing this up that I'm exasperating the racism. Such accusations come from 2 types of people:

1. non-blacks who refuse to understand and;
2. blacks who falsely validate their sex appeal by an interracial sexual encounter. Lowering themselves to becoming complacent in allowing those non-blacks to continue to not understand.

The fact is that I've seen the effect gay porn has had on our sexual expectations based on such "-isms" as racism and ageism, and I refuse to live in silence about its effect on my sex life. Because if I don't realize this consciously, then it becomes a catalyst for the subconscious uber-aggressive, brutal topping that too many ignorant black males do to appease non-blacks taught by porn.


But I necessarily digress.

After he told me he was more of a top, I lit up. Because that's actually what I wanted from him. We continued making out for a bit. Then went back upstairs to the bar for a drink. He then extended an invitation back to his place to which I graciously accepted.

We got back to his place. He asked if I wanted something to drink. I chose water. He stepped out and came back. After a quick sip, we immediately stripped off our clothes. I saw that fit physique of his in his underwear, and it only made me want his body to connect with mine even more. For his dick to be a key, and my asshole to be the keyhole by which entry of his key can unlock my horniness and his.

We started making out, and he put me on his bed. We continued making out, then he asked a question that threw me for a bit. He asked, "Do you like to get fisted?"

In my blogging over the years, I have put up much fuss as to how out of love for my tight hole, I would never try it. Then I remembered an interracial couple that lived in Harlem where each of them tried fisting me, and only got up to their knuckles. But through them I began to change my tune.

For I started realizing that I allowed them to get that far because I was so into them that I wanted their bodies inside mine in every way possible. So from that point on, I knew someday, I would get completely fisted. But that night was not the night.

So I thought that this night was going to be the night. Because I was that intensely into him. So to answer his question, I told him, "Not completely. But I'm willing to let you try."

And he did, He lubed up his hand heavily. He tried going in, and at first, only got as far as the couple in Harlem. He then offered me some poppers. Breaking my long-standing anti-poppers rule, I must confess that I took him up on his offer. And trust me, I am not proud that I did.

My head felt the usual light-headedness that I've come to know (and loathe) even by a contact high from poppers. However, even though I took a huff, I was still determined to prove the point I made in all of my anti-poppers articles. I then took a deep breath, and he started moving his hand around inside me. I had no idea as to how deep inside he was. However deep it was though, it did feel good. And this was not the high from the poppers talking because by the time I acknowledged the pleasure I was feeling, the high from the poppers had worn off.

Then it suddenly became too much. So I had him stop. I could see in his beautiful light eyes that he wanted to keep going, but he did what a real man would do. He listened to me listening to my body and stopped.

Afterwards, I asked him how far had he gotten inside me. It felt like he was all the way in, and while he was doing it, I saw none of his hand. So I asked to be sure. He said, "Another 10 seconds, and I would have been all the way in."

It wasn't what I expected to hear, but I was still both shock and disappointed at the same time. It's because I see now that I am capable of allowing someone to try fisting me IF my sexual attraction to them is intense enough. So I now do hope to try that again sometime.

I also learned that even if a full-on fisting doesn't happen, the attempt alone makes me horny as fuck for that fist to be immediately replaced by my playmate's cock. So we gave that a try. My playmate took off his underwear, and I could see his reflection in the window. So I was ready to look at a live porn show starring my playmate and my ass.

Unfortunately, my playmate drank too much and was unable to perform. And I was not at all mad. Disappointed, yes. But not mad. For he seemed completely sober. It was just a case where whiskey dick didn't hit during the initial act to cause excitement. It hit numerous acts to cause excitement. A situation I have experienced myself after a drink or 2 and intense foreplay. Especially on an empty stomach.

So we didn't fuck... That night.

A few weeks later, we ran into each other at a gay bar. With gay male's bad reputation for thinking of their playmates as disposable from life and memory, I expected him to not remember me if he saw me. It turns out he did remember me. Greeting me when he saw me. And from that we started making out again. This time, we didn't wait. We found a corner in the backroom, he undid his pants, and I immediately went down on him. While I was sucking his dick, I undid my pants and reached into my pouch and lubed my ass. Perfect timing. Because once he got rock hard, he picked me up, and turned me around with a quickness. Snatched down my pants. Put a spit lube on his cock, and put it in my ass.

He thrusted away at my hole. I reached back a few times to squeeze his nice ass as it flexed while he plowed into me. I grinded my ass on his cock a few times also because when I bottom, I am not a lazy bottom. There were guys watching this, but they were of no concern. However, my always multi-tasking mind did realize something about the crowd that was wrong, but too familiar.

With racism in the gay community being alive and well, the initial optics of this gorgeous shorter White man putting, then thrusting his eager cock inside a slightly taller Black man with an equally eager hole stunned many enough to make them look. But just for a moment. For many of the white guys, once the sexual racism ingrained in their so-called minds made them realize they were seeing something that "broke the rules", they left. So in my haze from the pleasure of my playmate's dick in my ass, I noticed that we were surrounded by mostly men of color.

I didn't really give a damn about whether the crowd watched or not. As far as I'm concerned, as in all my public sexual escapades, the mood to fuck hit me and a hot guy in a space I could release the tension, so I took advantage of the space and time. Whether or not people are there, or if they watch is not a necessity to make me do what I do. Therefore voyeurs are of no concern to me for the sex to be satisfying.

And speaking of satisfying, my playmate thrusted in my hole until I felt those throbs of a man's cock that I love to feel when bottoming. He shot his raw load into my ass. So I finally got that ass pounding from him that I had been craving since the night he was just 10 seconds away from completely fisting me.

So now, I'm wondering when I will experience that full-on fisting. If it happens, that next time I am determined to do it without the slightest bit of poppers. For I allowed myself to stray from my rules once, but it will not be a constant thing. Because within my loathing for hypocrisy, I view poppers as a hazardous crutch. So if I can't get fisted without poppers, then I am not meant to be fisted.

I Said I Was A Sex Blogger, And He Ran Like A L'il Biatch!

I was standing in front of the DJ booth. In this deep dark, I felt myself being watched. So then I had to figure out by whom. It turned out being a tall, slim, dark-haired white guy at a diagonal to my right. We slowly started exchanging glances. As this continued, 2 others guys came on each side of me, closing me in, which I hate. So I moved over to stand against the wall to the right of the DJ booth, which actually put me still at a diagonal behind the guy, but a very slight one. He turned, and the exchange of glances continued. He then proceeded to stand against the wall next to me, but still not saying a word.

This made me think back to my playmate from "French Kiss, Big Bliss". Introducing himself to me by saying, "Either we can keep looking at each other, or one of us can say 'Hello'." So instead of us continuing to gawk at each other, even with him standing next to me against the wall, I initiated conversation by saying hello.

We exchanged names. His name was Robert. He was White American, but born in Spain. Well, whatever the case, he definitely adopted the too typical American attitude towards sexuality that I've encountered.

For during our conversation, we talked about what we do for a living. He's an actor. As for his liking what I do, he was okay with me saying that I worked in a sex shop as my day job. However, when I added that my side job is that of a sex blogger, Robert did the oldest escape line in the book by saying, "I'm going to go use the restroom." Then added to show the finality of how this was a move to escape, "It was nice talking to you."

This is not the 1st time a guy has turned tail and ran when I tell them I'm a sex blogger. It has happened enough times that as with all such blog posts, I'm forced to make it public knowledge because it is indicative of a greater problem in the American gay community. And I must say American, because that is who this has most often happened with. With European suitors, along with the initial fascination most Americans give, they've also at least allowed me to say the truth of how I practice discretion. They at least allow that much to be said. Hence why I'm still in touch with my playmates from my years old blog posts, "Sexy Sweet Swedes" and the aforementioned "French Kiss, Big Bliss".

As my most loyal readers have seen, I don't put you on blast by name unless you have wronged me.

With that I'm sure some of you are asking: How did Robert wrong me? He did so by wasting my time. For so many gay males give off this idea that since we're out and proud gays, we don't have to abide by the sexually oppressive norms of the hetero-normative. Well, if you are a gay person with an issue with talking about sex, then you're a hypocrite to that bullshit hype about all gay males. A hypocritical hype often found with American gay males. Hence why in a sexually permissive space, a visiting European is often underwhelmed. Since they are not above lowering themselves to the colorism and racism I often write about, I have found myself passed over for a white/light American. But you can see they were just settling for the optics. For they later come back around trying to get me. Due to finding the sexual energy of who they settled for disappointing.

If you want to know what exactly I write about with sexuality, then simply ASK. One can very simply ask me questions like:

• Do I write about sex in general, and/or do I talk about my own sexual experiences?
• And if I do the latter, how discreet am I?

2 simple questions I could very simply gave the answers to with the evidence being throughout this blog in posts telling of my sexscapades. Unfortunately, members of this Grindr generation (like Robert) are too socially inept to communicate in one-on-one conversations. So they are totally oblivious about asking any simple question(s) that can put their mind at ease on a matter. 

I'm sure some of you are quick to say that not everyone wants to be written about. I am totally aware of that. Hence why with my 1st Amendment right to freedom of speech, I use discretion. However, with that discretion, if you've done nothing to be ashamed of, then you should have no problem knowing that such a tale of your sexual prowess (or lack thereof) is out there. Those who have allowed shame by activity, ethnic, religious, and workplace cultures, etc. to impose upon their pride in their sexual behavior are those most uncomfortable about such tales.

Being insightful, I can very easily surmise as to what some guy's apprehensions are. They feel my being a sex blogger means:

• I'm studying them. Well, isn't that what anyone is supposed to do when they meet someone? You should be getting studied by the person you meet even if they are a mortician. So my being a sex blogger should not make a difference. The insecurity that males try to hide just makes them more aware of it. For they believe;
• I'll be more critical of their sex skills. This is a threat to the typical male because as I have said in a post for Thotyssey NYC, we males are taught to think we're all-knowing when it comes to sex. So being in the presence of a sex blogger threatens a blow of that cover. Exposing how much males are not omniscient about sex as they pretend they are. Well, truth be told, if the guy possess such unfounded arrogance, blowing that cover is what he deserves. Otherwise, if I'm unsatisfied, I would do as I advised in that Thotyssey article, and honestly and respectfully communicate my dissatisfaction.
• I'm going to without a doubt write about the encounter. At one time, that might have been the case. Because contrary to what many believe, I don't have sex as often as people think. So each sexual encounter was  a celebration simply because it happened. Especially after my late coming out. Now however, with my maturity, I've made the rule to write about the encounter when the sexual experience has actually taught me something. Knowledge to pass on to you, my readers. And since I don't have sex that often, and am sober when I do it, it makes the details to pass on that knowledge easier to remember. With that being the case, sexual encounters that are all about pleasure may or may not be spoken of in articles. And if they are, as long as I'm practicing the aforementioned discretion, there should be no need for worry.
• they are actually doing something shameful and fear exposure for it. Such as those who fetishize one because of their color, ethnicity, age, religion, etc.; or those leading double lives because living their truth would be hurtful to the ones they have never lived their truth with from the start. And if you are doing such shameful things, you are concerned about being exposed to the public for it. Well, there's an easy solution to avoid being called out for those things, be it by a sex blogger (like myself), or a random person you crossed needing to vent on social media...
  
  DON'T DO THE STUPID SHIT THAT MAKES YOU DESERVE BEING CALLED OUT FOR!!!

The problem is that all of these are based in guilt and shame about their sexual behavior. The first 3 bullet points though might very well be for no good reason. As some of that sexual behavior that guys are feeling guilt and shame over is simply them being gay. Hence those who drink to the point of drunkenness even when they don't even plan to so much as kiss a guy. They want to numb themselves to their action as a gay male.

This leads to another wrong of Robert. His alcohol consumption for liquid courage. Many, too many a gay males are okay with this. Completely ignoring the fact that using liquid courage to express any part of yourself, especially your sexual self is not a man.

And liquid courage is why Robert  tried coming back to me. Yes, you read correct. He was fooling around with someone else. I was standing nearby by paying him no mind. Then I saw a hand reach out for me, and it turned out being Robert. In response, I swatted his hand away and my inside voice made its way outside for me to say "Alcoholic faggot!"

He evidently heard me, and tried growing a pair of balls with his tone by saying, "Excuse me?!"

I leaned forward to give him a closer look in the eye and responded, "I said 'alcoholic faggot!'", and then walked away.

Don't try showing me the pair of balls that grew from being tiny seeds on you only because you poured liquid courage into them. Because I will get a sadistic joy from embarrassing you for it taking liquid courage for you to seemingly grow a pair.

I make no apologies for what I said either. For we, the American gay male community have too many "Roberts" among us. So while "faggot" might be an ugly word to use, as I said before, needing alcohol to be the sexual self you want to be is not a man. Thereby making it ugly behavior. And someone needs to call all such people out on that ugliness. The reason it took me so long to come out was because I did not want to claim I "needed" substances in my body that morph my judgment in order to be the sexual being I want to be.

So in short, this behavior by Robert, and there being so many versions of him among us shows that we need to do better for ourselves. Doing so will hopefully cause a chain. One in which doing more right to ourselves will lead to us doing more right to others.

He Called My Asshole A Pussy,... And I Liked it

One night I went to Incubus NYC. While I was getting undressed, my peripheral vision caught the frame of a hot naked body. I then got inspired to look more directly at the person. That's when I saw that as he continued walking, a beautiful semi-erect cock swinging, and a profile of a nice ass. An ass that as I watched his back showed itself to be a sweet, juicy bubble butt.

At which point, I could foresee me and him fucking. And even though I was trying not to set myself up for disappointment, I did say to myself, "Damn! I want a piece of that."

And I didn't want him as my bottom. I wanted him as my top.

After I got undressed down to my underwear, I went upstairs. That's where he was. Sitting on a couch with guys crowding him. While they were crowding him, I saw him looking at me. So I wound up in the mix. The guys swarming in seemed to become too much for him, and then he left. I knew I wasn't part of what overwhelmed him, but my suspicions of how they made him feel made me leave as well.

We soon after met up in the backroom of Paddles. We started making out. He then did something to me that I often do to guys when making out with them. He started massaging me. It was making me melt, and I let him know that. So he offered me a full-on massage.

I laid down on the medical table in that backroom. He started massaging me while he stood on the floor. Every time part of his massage positioned him moving pass my face, the sight of his swinging dick, hanging balls, and thick well defined thighs made my dick start growing underneath me. So much that I started wondering if I could end up cumming from the friction of his massage making my repeatedly growing cock rub against the soft cushions of that medical table.

My repeatedly growing cock stayed hard when he decided to continue his massage by getting on top me with his naked body. So now, I had those fit thighs on each side of me. As well as his equally fit calves. And it was heaven on earth feeling his dick and balls rubbing against various parts of my backside. Especially when his massage moves made his dick slip down the crack of my ass.

He was massaging me for so long that for a moment I thought  he was only going to give me a massage. But I was more so hoping that the massage was to relax my body for a nice hard butt-fuck from him.

Then he said something leading to me to an answer...

He said, "I want to fuck your pussy so bad". When he first said it, I felt a little weird because of what I told myself about calling the asshole by any other name but. However, I was also kind of turned on. Because of that being "kind of turned on", I hoped that after I said yes, and he began thrusting into me that he say it to me again. For I wanted to see if my being kind of turned on by my asshole being called a "pussy" was a passing moment, therefore making me need to stop him. Or was it something I could get into.

I got my answer by him putting that cock that I enjoyed the holy hell out of sucking, being hard enough to put in my ass, him slipping a condom on, and thrusting away at my hole. As he thrusted away at me, while I laid on my stomach, and his crotch massaged my also bubbly ass. He asked if I liked him fucking my pussy, and I told him I did. This time, his voice calling my ass a pussy turned me on more than it did the first time.

We soon change positions. Missionary. I was more than pleased by this because I was finally going to be able to massage his bubbly butt, while he massaged my hole with his dick. So good that when he asked if I like him fucking my pussy, I mirrored his words by responding, "Yes. Keep fucking my pussy, Baby!"

Yes. I referred to my own asshole as a pussy. And I didn't care. At first, I thought it was something that happened in the heat of the moment that I would regret in the hindsight that kicks in immediately following the afterglow of sex. Well, to this day, and as I write this. No such regret has hit me. He and I both called my asshole a pussy, and each calling of it as such sparked the word-perv in me, and got me closer to getting off.

Hindsight being 20/20 may not have given me regret, but it did teach me something. It taught me that the annoyance (expressed in a article I wrote 2 1/2 years ago) with guys calling my asshole any other names besides an asshole did not pertain to someone calling it a pussy. My annoyance was more about those idiotic names like "mussy", "bussy", "man-gina", "boy-pussy" were names that were made up as an attempt to gender an asshole --- a body part that is not specific to a gender.

I said in "A Sexually Geeky's Why I Heart Sex", when one refers to a vagina as a "pussy", they are often speaking of it as a female's canal to receive and give pleasure to the sex partner. During anal sex, when done right, the asshole does the same thing. However, I see now that I stayed away from calling one's asshole a pussy out of respect for allowing women to have a name for their unique body part that is a means for sexual pleasure for them. After all, females have had enough taken away from them by cisgendered males for millenniums. Plus, we cisgendered males have a dick, which the head of is actually the equivalent of a female's clitoris. So how would most males feel if women started referring to their clit as a dick? Many males would probably feel like females are trying to claim something that is unique to a male as their own, even if that is not their intention at all.  I see a male calling his asshole a pussy the same way. Hence why if you've followed my writing long enough, you have read me referring to my means for anal pleasure by the term "ass tunnel".

So while I have no regrets about my playmate referring to my asshole as a pussy, me referring to it as such myself, or me getting pleasure from either, out of the respect for women I spoke of in the previous paragraph, I won't be making it a habit of calling my asshole a pussy. I'll enjoy it in that moment, then move on.

I'm HIV+: No Bravery Applause Required

I always knew the day of me going public with my HIV+ status would come. My original plan was to come forward with it within in the pages of my autobiography that I have long been working on. But at the rate I’m going, scientist might actually find a cure by then, which would make not much need for the revelation. 

The thought to come forward with this revelation came when I got an invitation for Vladimir Rios’ exhibit of “I Still Remember” to be held at his gallery La Via Galerie in Livingston, NJ on World AIDS Day, December 1, 2018. I was one of the models in the photo narrative. The invitation also offered some guests to speak. Upon reading this, a conversation with myself started. It said: 

“NOW!” 

“’Now’ what?” 

“Now is when you’re going to publicly reveal that you’re HIV+” 

The idea of going public with my HIV status is not a new one for me. It is actually been a thought of mine for a long time. What might have caused a postponement was a potential playmate being a know-it-all.

He was someone I met at a condom-only party. We made out, I went down on him, giving him a mind-blowing blowjob, then we cuddled and chatted in the afterglow. During that conversation, I mentioned my day job and my being a sex educator via my blogging, which piqued his interest even more. We exchanged numbers to hook up one-on-one, then one night, we chatted via text. He said that outside that condom-only sex party that he liked to play raw, so he wanted to know my HIV status. I told him the truths of how 1)the joy of playing raw was mutual, and; 2)that my being positive, but undetectable. After disclosing my HIV status, I confided in him that I often considered going public with my HIV status.

Well, I have always said that my brain works like a both a male and a female's. Confiding in him with my thinking about coming out publicly with my HIV status was my female thinking, as females just tend to vent, and not necessarily seeking a solution. The male thinking is what this guy did. He considered my venting as an ask of "What should I do?", when even if I was seeking advice, the right thing to do was to recluse himself from giving it because he was in no position to offer a suggestion.

For he was HIV-. Therefore, he has no first-person experience as to what I have to consider by publicly coming out as HIV+. The most he may have ever done is watch someone else’s life from the outside looking in. And coming out as HIV+ is very much like the coming out as gay, bisexual, pansexual, transgender, etc. An outsider can demand that you be honest with yourself, but they cannot by any means so much as suggest when you tell such a truth about yourself to the outside world. Especially, if you’re a public persona on even the smallest level. 

Well, for the record, that hook-up outside of that party never happened. It was not because of his suggesting that I come out publicly. Although, it should have been the 1st sign of his being a know-it-all who talks too much as all know-it-alls do. It was about something else completely in which he unjustifiably showed himself to be a know-it-all. Therefore, an annoyance in the long run.

So while that might have caused me to postpone my coming out publicly with my HIV status, part of what definitely kept me quiet is that so many people have come out as HIV+. To the point that as I said in my speech at “I Still Remember”, saying you’re HIV+ is for me now just stating a matter of one’s being. Then I realized that while that may be the case, that too few of those faces of healthy HIV+ males in the media are those of Black men. Of course, they exist, but the biggest names in gay media still being the racist behemoths that they are still paint white and light complexioned males as the heroes of our society. Meanwhile, I have either heard tales and/or been eyewitness to some of these white/light faces partaking of the very same unhealthy practices that I speak against. So where are the many healthy Black males to disprove the negative stigma of what HIV looks like? And do so without the hypocrisy that the racism of many gay media outlets allow white/light males?

Too few on both counts. 

And I believe that is what incited that conversation with myself to make World AIDS Day 2018 be the day I publicly admitted to being HIV+.

So now that I have put the truth out there, I know I have incited many questions. Many questions about some things I've said in the past about safe sex, barebacking, HIV, and STIs. Well, let me warn you... we are talking about ME here. So while you may think you can surmise an answer, you will likely find you need to talk to me a little more for the correct and honest answer.

For that reason, I am open to emails, interviews, discussions as a moderator, guest speaker, or participant to expand on this. Plus, I am realizing that this revelation is an opportunity to expand on my knowledge I can share as a sex educator.

So let the expansion begin....