The Hooksexup...
5/4/2007 1:04:19 PM
Three years ago, I submitted writing samples to the Hooksexup editorial staff. The pieces demonstrated my capacity to write about dating, sex and relationships and included commentary on my genitals, sex life and dating foibles.
A month later I was asked to come in for an interview with some key players - which for some reason was videotaped. I think I told a story about spanking a teenager and ejaculating in someone's hair. Needless to say, there wasn't an HR person in the room.
Soon after, I was selected as one of 6 bloggers who were chosen to share their naughty escapades with millions of online daters. My condom broke. Write about it. I'm cheating on my boyfriend. Write about it. I farted on a first date. Write about it.
And I did. With boundless pleasure.
But alas, all good things must come to an end.
It's been long enough for all involved. Hooksexup readers deserve someone who can dedicate more time to this endeavor. And I deserve to alleviate the guilt for not sharing more regularly my stories of gay pleasures in New York City.
I finish this blog as I started it. Single and looking. In between, I've seen handsome boyfriends, enormous penises, broken hearts and frightening stalkers. No longer will you have to endure the long absences between my postings and hopefully, I will no longer endure the creepy naked pictures that Hooksexup readers send me with graphic descriptions of what they want me to do to them.
[Rest assured my Hooksexup bretheren that whatever dark sercret drives you to get your freak on, there are many others who are much more disturbed than you.]
Thanks for all your support over the years. It's been a tremendous pleasure.
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Summer & Some Him
4/22/2007 9:28:28 PM
In Minnesota, when temperatures finally reach 40 degrees in March, people wear shorts to the Mall of America. In an instant, one is bombarded with a mélange of pasty white skin stretched to the limits over morbidly obese shoppers of Norwegian decent. It's a cottage cheese nightmare of gargantuan proportions.
The same warm weather wardrobe shift occurs in Chelsea as well but in a much more appetizing way.
As I made my way to Murray's Bagels for coffee in the beautiful weather this morning, I encountered shorts so short that I could determine the owner’s penis length and circumcision status.
I witnessed backs so freshly waxed that traces of soothing baby powder could be seen staining the bodices of tightly stretched tank tops.
I enjoyed the winter built biceps, trimmed chest hair and streaky fake tans. Oh...and the bearded men with dogs, the shirtless guys on bicycles and the Speedoed boys on the Pier.
Guys frolicked.
Boys posed.
Men trolled.
The summer gay libido has been unleashed.
Thank God it's summer.
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Nuts About Nuts
4/16/2007 10:44:04 PM
I don't understand all the fuss about nuts.
I really like my own nuts but more as decorations than play toys.
My friend JO dated a guy who apparently had nuts the size of chicken eggs. God knows his testicular endowment was a constant source of amusement for my friends. He became known as Big Balls and stories of their escapades traveled the land. Apparently, they were so big that his normal sized penis looked like a tiny acorn. If that were me, I’d have my nuts removed. Balls should enhance your package not drag it down.
My friend JF asked recently how hard she should suck on a guy’s balls. I recoiled in horror. I informed her that nuts were not to be sucked on like a jawbreaker. If anything, they should be cupped gently or licked gingerly. That’s it. However, she informed me that one guy she sleeps with like to have them yanked. I recoiled in horror again. She demonstrated the force of the pull on my hand and I nearly passed out. If I could, I’d wear a cup during sex. Aggressive ball play belongs on the field not in the bedroom.
My friend DG sliced his nut sack open while shaving said nut sack with a razor. He explained that it felt like a paper cut but bled like a head wound. I started to see stars as he explained how the shower looked like a scene from Psycho, with blood running in a trail toward the drain. The hair on my nuts serves a purpose. It keeps them warm in the winter and cool in the summer. It provides a cushioned nest for them to lie in deep inside my underwear. And now, it will remind me that I’m one razor slip from being a woman.
I think my aversion to nuts happened in college when I had testicular torsion – a condition that causes the spermatic cord to get twisted around your nuts causing hideous pain and severe tenderness. I remember standing in front of a doctor with my pants down and my nuts hiding up somewhere behind my abdomen. After a painful digital exploration, he managed to coax them down and untwist them back to their original position. I don’t really remember the process as I was biting down on a leather strap and drunk from the medical whiskey I had chugged prior to the procedure.
Ho Hum Scro-Tum.
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Cutting Things Off
4/5/2007 5:53:46 PM
Man Holding Knife & Torch: Whose balls do we want?
Angry Villagers: Marking_Ups!
Man Holding Knife & Torch: Whose cock do we want?
Angry Villagers: Marking_Ups!
Man Holding Knife & Torch: Where do we want them?
Angry Villagers: ON A PLATE!
Admittedly, I deserve public castration for my recent abandonment of this blog. My hope was that I would return with tales of forbidden anal exploration, stories of cock worship and episodes of love making.
Like my date three weeks ago with a Brazilian lawyer that turned into 6 hours of high-impact butt-robics in a SoHo loft. I was never sure if I was coming or going with this uncircumcised bombshell with a penchant for Speedos. At 4:00 a.m., after a full body juicing, I fell asleep staring at the tattoo of an ancient South American symbol for “warrior” inked in black on his stomach.
Or the bartender in Orlando who pickled me with wine until closing so that he could accompany me back to my room. This 25 year-old Iowan was one part Nick Lachey and one part porn star. Upon closing the door of my suite, he started bossing me around like a filthy truck driver. It’s amazing what someone will do in a hotel room that they would never consider doing at home. Now I know why one should never sleep with the comforter in a hotel.
Or the boy I call Perfect Man who I’m fairly sure I’m going to marry. We’re like Velcro. My prickly parts fit nicely into his soft areas. He had me at, “Is anyone sitting here,” at the bar at 60 Thompson. He’s a bit young, a bit beautiful and a bit hot. We’ve been on 4 dates in 3 weeks and my nuts ache every second we’re together. I don’t listen to anything he says really. I just stare at his perfect lips and listen to his soothing voice as I plan our wedding in my head.
These are the stories that I wanted to share with you while I was away.
But alas they didn’t happen.
For two reasons. 1) I’m a busy. 2) I’m a pussy.
And since I’m a pussy, I shouldn’t have a cock and balls.
And so when the villagers do find me, I will pull down my pants in accordance with their wishes and ask for what I deserve.
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Mexican Fruit
3/18/2007 11:55:11 AM
Here is a blog I wrote before I got sick in Mexico.
Nothing illuminates my faggot factor more than a quick villa vacatione south of the border.
I had to hide my piñata-hard boner and Charo-like giggles every morning when a deeply tanned Mayan God named Miguel came to clean our pool. My nuts would dance like jumping beans as he would thrust his long pole into the dirty water-filled hole. Occasionally, he would glance at me reading a British gossip rag or practicing my dirty Spanish with mis amigos. And every time our eyes would meet, my penis would rearrange the pesos in my pocket. ¡Guy, caramba!
Three minutes after falling asleep the first night, I was ripped from a Julio Iglesias dream by the terrifying sound of giant beach badgers angrily rummaging through the garbage outside my bedroom window. After quickly checking the sheets for freshly-squeezed shit stains, I started screaming like a girl and grabbed for my masculine boyfriend who is custom built for emergency badger attacks. Upon remembering that I don’t have a boyfriend, I directed my Maria Carey screams out the window, forcing the nocturnal predators into retreat. Screaming faggot 1. Beach badgers 0.
I've always been fascinated with pocket gays. So you can imagine the carnival-like pleasure I receive from trolling a Mexican beach. At 5' 11" anyone walking along the water here feels like a circus freak. But I find the pasty white skin coupled with the vertical advantage an excellent combination for maximum gay exposure. Mexican queens from as far as two miles up and down the beach are able to use visual gaydar to identify my presence. Note: finding gays in Mexico is not difficult. However, getting used to a sibilant "S" in Spanish is. "Hola SSSSSSSenioritasssssss!
I don't camp (insert joke here) because it requires scrappiness, a cool hand and tools. Cut to me on night three when the power to the villa was cut by a raging storm, plunging us into complete darkness and me into cardiac arrest. My first inclination in these situations is usually to begin crying while simultaneously eating through my wrist. Straight men always seem to have an extra flint in their jeans for such emergencies. I carry lip balm. For hydration emergencies. Thankfully, I travel internationally with a breeder who camps. Dinner by candlelight. Zanax for dessert.
I'm not suggesting that all gay men are as horny or helpless as I am. But I am suggesting that Mexico comes with its high and low points. ¿Muchos chicos guapos? Si. First world country? No.
Date 3 with Human Resource man this week. He's back from Argentina. I'm back from Mexico. I'm inviting him over for dinner. And this fruit plans to impress with his best fiesta cockware.
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