grunting “WOOF!” and whimpering “daddy”

Saturday was the Gayrotic Sexpo (okay, okay, it’s called the Gay Erotic Expo, but I like my name better).  It seemed that all of New York City had either run out of printer ink or paper because nobody could seem to come up with the email coupon for most of the day.  But, like the trooper she is, Bottomless Pitt came through with copies to spare!

Our group pays the reduced cover, and each of us is presented with a goodie bag.  With PORN!  “Well, shit!  I done got my money’s worth already!  Everything from here on in is extra!”  

It was like your normal expo, a large room with vendors who have booths lined up into aisles.  But these booths were filled with condoms and cock rings and toys.  Oh my.

We wandered over to a booth full of guys in leather and various forms of thongs and jock straps taking turns on the go go platform.  Dancing, making out, feeling each other up and basically adding to the sexual tension in the air.  And we stayed there.  For nearly a half hour.  Most of my speech oscillated between grunting “WOOF!” and whimpering “daddy”.

A sampling of the sights we saw:

You should have seen him from the front!

And my favorite new studio:

I had to do some major cropping.  The actual NSFW photo is here, and it's hilarious!

Just an observation: you know you're poor willing to give to a good cause when you spend 20 minutes filling out a survey for a free movie ticket.  And at least 30 guys were doing a good deed when I "walked by".  

Then there was the show.  Can we have a short conversation about how much of a mess this was?  Sherry Vine hosted and did a mildly amusing parody of a very popular song (not the one above, I feel like it might have been "My Humps").  Next: 3 guys from some strip club in Montreal.  It was mostly 2 of them making out and the other trying to find a way to integrate himself to the soundtrack of a popular song.  One of the guys didn’t get the memo about American laws of public decency.  Good thing, too, because he had a beautiful cock. 

Then some 7’ tall black drag queen that I didn’t recognize at all comes on stage with like 10 black and Latin guys in tank tops and jeans.  They get into some kind of formation waiting for the music to start, and I'm thinking we’re gonna get some kind of hot choreography from a dance team.  Nope!  They start out just grooving to the music.  Then grinding on each other.  By the end of the song, a few couples are making out, and one guy has his jeans pulled down and is getting his ass eaten at center stage.  Huh?  Turns out they’re all porn ‘models’, which totally explains why one of them looks eerily familiar (I later confirmed that his name was Sexcyone [NSFW]). 

Forbidden Funk Media was next on stage.  It's a black leather porn studio out of Brooklyn, and the owner did a presentation that was about 3x as long as it should have been.  The same company whose owner hit me up on Adam4Adam 6 months ago asking if I wanted to be in one of his movies (god, you pierce your nipples, and people think you’re into fisting!).  Then, some tall skinny white guy in a tragic suit addressed the crowd, ending his presentation with an aptly short display of auto-fellatio on his disturbingly long dong (supporing my theory on Tall-Skinny-White-Boy Syndrome). 

More people and groups come on stage.  More ass and dick gets shown.  By the time the show is over (ending with another dose of the boys from Montreal), it’s the last hour of the Sexpo, so we decide to leave for the Village.

“Hey, doesn’t the Hangar have 2-4-1 drinks on Saturday?”

“That’s only 2-3am, hun.”

After dinner at Maracas, we wandered over to Pieces.  There seemed to be a lot of commotion when we got there, and that’s when I remembered that Pieces was hosting a fashion show/fundraiser.  Part of the fundraiser was a $5 “donation” at the door (small boo, but one of my friends got out of it: “I’ll come back when I have change.”).

As you can see, it was quite the runway.  They spent about an hour (that we saw, probably more before we got there) scurrying around to get things set for the 3-minute show. 

“Hey, doesn’t the Hangar have 2-4-1 drinks now?”

“Let’s go.”

We arrive at the Hangar, and I order a Bacardi O and cranberry for old times sake (that used to be my drink of choice 2.5 years ago when I used to go to the Hangar 3 days a week, and they’re still one of the few gay bars that carries that liquor in NYC). 

The Hangar.  Sometimes it's better not to know.

“Hey, D. Kareem, that guy in the hat was checking you out.”

Indeed he was.  "Well, I am feeling a bit parched.  Another Bacardi O and cran would be marvelous.  Thanks!"

Did I mention that sometimes it’s a good idea to stay up til 7am?  Yeah.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

My wedding = biggest party ever.

I'm so tired of hearing about this,  but there's one sure-fire way to make it go away.

 

An important issue that affects us all.  Vote no on Prop 8.  Not sure if any of you live in California, but you can always donate to the cause: http://www.actblue.com/page/thegaylist

Props to Z for posting this and Jeff Campagna for setting up the gay list linked above.

Bloggers, you never know who's clicking on your page and where they stand.  So repost and spread the word.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled Blackout.

anything with an accent

Not every night out with the Ivy League Crew is a glammed-out fun fest (okay, it's rarely glamourous, but you get my point).  We're actually notoriously bad at Fridays.

(the following vid may not want to be what you want a co-worker to walk in on you watching)

 

I had received less-than-stellar news at work, but I had also gotten $8 tickets to Naked Boys Singing.  I offered a few friends to see it on me (b/c let’s be honest: it’s rare that I can justify paying for anyone else before I own property).  Home, change, Gatorade bottle.

And I forgot the tickets at home.  Cue the 3-second temper tantrum on 8^th ave.  Okay, deep breath, regain composure, and turn the corner.

“Hey, girls.  I heard this show sucks, so let’s go to Chelsea Hotel instead.  We still have 45 min of open bar left!”  The only protest was from Urban Sprawl, who couldn’t bear to part with $3 for the cab ride.

Me: “You know, a drink in each hand really isn’t cute.” 

France Pants: “Où est yours!  Je suis know (sic) you had two!”

Me: “I gulped the first one down before anyone cute saw me double fisting.  Take notes.”

We were mighty quick to ditch Chelsea Hotel after the open bar (after a brief run-in with the Long Island gays).  Next stop: Chi Chi’s.  Surprisingly, there was no line.  France Pants and I had a brief discussion about how we liked Caribbean guys, his preference being for Trinis and my preference being for anything with an accent.  But watch out for the Jamaicans.  No, really. 

After about four(teen) screwdrivers there, we go somewhere else (Pieces?), but nothing noteworthy happens there, and it closes down around 3.  At this point, it's just Bottomless Pitt and I.  We end up going back to Chi Chi’s (hey, it’s the only place south of 96^th st that’s still interesting after 2:30).  Bottomless Pitt ends up talking to some Trinidadian guy (of course, I promptly text France Pants), who is accompanied by the two biggest queens in the bar.  The fat one insists that we go to breakfast (of course).

I suffer through the meal, and I'm so disgusted that I end up speaking only when I’m spoken to.  Pitt keeps on trying to justify himself to his trick's cunty friends for some reason.  He gets all, “I just want you guys to like me!”  Everyone at the table (including me) all responds, “WHY?!”  And in my head, you’re never going to see this trick again, so definitely don’t worry about his friends.

The bill came to about $90.  Everyone had gotten beers except for me.  I put in about $20 for my $9 meal.  The fat one put in $40 for all 3 of them.  Really?  And you’re still taking this free-loading bitch home, Pitt?  Did I mention if he can't pitch in for breafast and beer, he probably doesn't have a place to host you anyway?  Nope.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Swap Body Fluids Here

What’s a better house party theme than White Trash?  A baby shower for Bristol Palin and Jamie Lynn Spears!  Tag line: “Come Happy; Leave Pregnant!”  Hopefully CoLaw has already taken a copyright law lecture because Louisiana State probably still owns that saying.  CoLaw sent out a Facebook invite requesting that all guests come dressed as white trash, Republican.  Or pregnant. 

I wrestled with what to wear to this event because there are quite a few ways one could play this.  I ended up not even getting home to change until about 10:30, so I grabbed a pair of stretch jeans and a collared shirt that I had cut the sleeves off of.  Tie a bandana around my arm, draw in some facial hair, and bam: redneck in 20 minutes!

CoLaw was going for the Latin vote, donning bright red lipstick and a tattoo of her ex's name.  “I got 2 babies by 3 different men!  What!” Bottomless Pitt and his roommate, Double Dutch (from what I’ve heard, if you saw it, that’s the ony thing you’d be able to do with it… remember when we rode home with him from Fire Island?) came in matching tank tops and jeans. 

“What the hell was in that punch!  I had one, and I’m drunk!  Granted, my roommate and I have been drinking since 4, but I had some balance when I walked in!”  Bottomless Pitt somehow hadn’t spilled anything on his tank top yet. 

A few of the boys who had gone to see Choke made a rather late entrance.  The last one to come in was Bitter Commie Grad Student.  And what an entrance she made.

Apparently, he was supposed to be John McCain, but how can this read as anything but Bush!  The party stopped when he walked in, and, staying in character, went around the room and greeted the guests with a handshake and an accent.  To tell you the truth, Bitter Commie wouldn’t make a bad Silver Daddy.

I’m standing in the kitchen, and I feel something splash lightly on my back.  WTF?  I look back and one of CoLaw’s friends, who could barely walk in her heels at this point, was trying to make more punch.  She’s got a vodka bottle upside down, and it was mostly full when she started. “Suite, anyone?  Guys?  Suite soon?”

Remember what I said about Bottomless Pitt not spilling anything on her white tank top?  Yeah, nevermind.

“Oh my god!  In that room over there, there’s 4 guys going at it!  One guy’s sucking, and the other guys are slapping the guy’s ass with their cocks.”  Nice, houseguests.  Now I didn’t see this happen, but apparently a few of friends of the Ivy League Crew decided that one of the hosts beds was up for grabs.  This kind of made sense because a) the bottom was a friend of CoLaw’s staying there for the weekend (I think) and b) a there was a sign above the door:

It wasn’t long before CoLaw came storming through the living room.  “Everyone who was in that room, get the fuck out!  I don’t care if you were doing anything or not.”  She starts pointing, “You, leave right now!  You, too!”  Oh my.

D. Kareem: “Guys, we should all leave.  109^th and Amsterdam.  Let’s go!”

 

We got to Suite, and 3 of the 'performers' gave us an encore before taking their 'show' on the road (most likely somewhere east of 5^th ave). 

Bottomless Pitt’s night was almost as successful.  Well, he didn’t hook up with two guys at the same time, but he did end up making out with some “straight but curious” guy before ditching him for a slightly less cute, significantly more stable guy. 

I happened to run into a singer that I had met when I had first moved to the City over 3 years ago.  We hung out a few times, and I totally had a crush on him at the time, but a) he was with someone and b) I had self-esteem issues.  You should have hit on me then, buddy.  Not now.  I gave him my card with my myspace music link on it, and he asked me to sing.  You mean, like, right now?  To this song? Why is “Lady Marmalade” playing?  Why is “Lady Marmalade” playing every time I go to that goddamn bar?  I was going back and forth between singing seriously for him and joking with En Vogue.  Keep in mind I’m still in recovery from karaoke and drinking too much the night before.  

Somehow, whatever I croaked out must have sounded good over the track because he told me to come some performance he’s doing with some guys who run a business that books singers for weekend events that pay well.  “I’ll do my set and then bring you up to sing.”  What?!  Then again, how many times have I been flaked on by someone artistic.  And contacts made at 2am aren't exactly the most reliable.  Did I mention that I'm not a fan of empty talk?  Yeah.

got slammed on the hood of a car.

Friday around 5pm, I got a facebook invite for a Karaoke party for Bottomless Pitt’s birthday.  Sweet!  I looked at the start time: T minus 3 hours.  Oh.

I arrived to Sing Sing Karaoke (not to be confused with the prison), and I saw CoLaw and Pubic Finance standing in the hallway.  About 10 minutes later, we acquired a critical mass of Ivy League Crew et. al. and moved into our own room. 

At one point in the lobby, I ran into about 10 people from my non-Ivy school that lived together on a different floor of my freshman dorm (which was random b/c this isn't Boston).  Is there a non-awkward way of saying, “Actually, I’m not with you guys.  I wasn’t invited.”?  Then again, there are very few people that I’m close to that I’ve known for more than 2 years.

A Sample of Our Karaoke Selections:

“My Lovin’ (Never Gonna Get It)” (all of En Vogue was there)

“It’s Raining Men”

“With or without You” (Bottomless Pitt and I claimed ‘cultural disadvantage’ when we didn’t know the words to this song)

“Damaged”

“Emotions” and  “All I Want for Christmas” (because all gay boys love Mariah… all of them)

“Gimme More”
“I Don’t Need a Man” (Me: “I called the black girl’s part!”)

I was still a bit worn out from Thursday, so I only had half a voice.  Turns out MicHELLe can actually sing (I forgot... turn her mic back on), but she could barely talk by the time we were done from belting out all those high notes.  We had more than a few connections over harmonizing and chiming in on subtle background parts to songs we love.
 

When faced with the question of where to go for the next part of our night, we followed the Birthday Bitch to (where else) Pieces.  The 14 people in our group piled onto the M14 across town but ended up getting separated on the 8-block walk from the bus stop to the bar (“They’re big girls; they’ll figure out how to get here.”). 

A friend from my non-Ivy school was in town from Boston for a modeling gig (I love that she graduated from my school and ends up being a model… maybe I should have gone to an Ivy... not).  We had separated from the group to get a sandwich from a deli since she hadn’t eaten in about 3 days (did I mention she was a model?).  The hair stylist for the fashion show she was in was trying to channel Naomi (sans handcuffs).  


Best Passed Out Prank Ever - Watch more free videos

As we’re walking up to Pieces, we see this guy (probably in his 40s) practically fall through the door of the bar, a bouncer following not far behind him.  He literally stumbled to both sides of the very wide sidewalk before trying to catch his balance on a wall and falling on his back.  He hit his head on the concrete at full force.  We stood and watched for about 30 seconds before Naomi noticed that they guy had dropped his glasses as he fell.  She went to go give them to him, and came back to report that the glasses had broken and that his head was bleeding.  Readers: if you’re not in college, you’re not allowed to get that drunk.  Ever.  Well, time to go inside.

“Oh my god!  Dina Lohands just got arrested!”

Slight flashback: Dina showed up at Karaoke with an entourage.  She.  Was.  Wasted.  I’m sure between Karaoke and Pieces she tried to pet some cop and got slammed on the hood of a car.  Maybe even handcuffed.  I saw none of this.  What I did see was Dina walking into Pieces about 20 minutes after the alleged arrest.

Beer pong (or Beirut)?  Seriously?  I’m sure the combo Bottomless Pitt's patented nipple purification method and the cup of water you have on the side will eliminate the floor-of-Pieces taste from the ping pong ball that's landing in your beer. 

The collared shirt Bottomless Pitt’s started the night with is still MIA.  I pulled his “modified” sweater vest off of him no fewer than twice.  Did I mention it’s only Friday?  Yeah.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

“Um, that’s a police officer.”

House party?  Are you sure you wanna do that with us?  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

It was the start of an upsettingly rainy weekend, but since when has that even stopped us from partying?  I bus-and-trained it over to the Almost East Side, past the Mercedes in the parking lot of the Projects (huh?) to MichHELLe’s place.  Apparently, MicHELLe had gotten a new job, and her roommate had gotten a job (I really wish I could afford a newly renovated apartment in the double digits with no job… are Branjolina still considering adoption?).  And I’m always down to celebrate someone’s good fortune (read: drink). 

I arrived a bit before Urban Sprawl, who had brought  a 1.75 L of vodka.  But don't think for a second she didn't have the flask and mini bottles in her pockets.  Do you guys remember Don Juan from San Juan (you may have to scroll waaaaay down to see him mentioned in an entry)?  He actually showed up, and I almost didn’t recognize him.  And speaking of ghosts, TTT showed up.  You mean TTT from the LA adventure?  TTT that’s been in New York for 2 months and hasn’t shown his face or said/texted a word since he got here? Yup, that TTT.  Well damn! 

Don Juan had brought along one of his friends… another black ‘girl’.  Don’t worry, I was totally nice!  We connected immediately over music (mostly learning dances to popular songs, of which she knew significantly more than I).  Turns out the bitch can sang, too.  Once I saw her actually get started, I had no doubt this was a Broadway Queen.  Of course, we harmonized (love it!).  Timon (what?  She’s black and a performer… and she knows Simba.. obvi, she’s been in The Lion King) seemed like a keeper. 

“Hey, guys.  Could you take your shoes off?  Our downstairs neighbor has a baby…”  Oh wow.  Shouldn’t they be upstate somewhere with that?  Like Westchester?

I’m having a grand old time mixing myself drinks.  Danity Kane comes on, and I do my dance.  Timon takes over DJ duty, which rocks b/c we have similar music tastes.  I figure wherever we go after this is going to be an absolut(e) riot with the whole Crew, and this is the perfect warm-up.  I look at the kitchen counter, and Urban Sprawl’s 1.75 L of vodka’s gone.  Same with the other vodka handle.  I think there might be tequila left, and I'm definitely not going there.  Mm, maybe it’s time to go.

A sampling of the responses to my suggestion of going to No Parking:

“Nah, I don’t really feel like going to No Parking tonight.”

“Are you really going there?”

“Yeah, I know I said I’d go, but I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

Well fine!  I’m ditching.  I hopped in a cab uptown, and about halfway there, I got a call from Freak-Ho, who sounded pretty damn wasted, asking if the party was still going on.  You really wanna crash a house party at 2:30am?  Good luck with that. 

2:40am

MicHELLE: “Who invited her!”

Roommate: “Um, that’s a police officer.”

Remember: when D. Kareem leaves, the party is over.

Saturday was Bronx Newbie’s party at his new place.  I had to chuckle when he specified on the invite that there was “no theme beyond housewarming” and encouraged people to bring “food.”

The Ivy League Crew decided that the night needed to include Pieces, so we took the D train from the Bronx to the Village.  Luckily we brought a couple of Gatorade bottoms, uh, bottles for the ride.

It was a long, loud trip.  And as always, there was pole dancing.  Once we got there, we found that Pieces was having a White-Trash party that was brilliantly decorated!  

 Is that Freak-Ho on stage?  How did she get here?!

Hey, go go, did she mention she has a boyfriend (also with Tall Skinny White Boy-Syndrome)?  Yeah.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Not a single top in the whole place!

6 Flags + gay = too easy.

Finally, the planning for the Fairgrounds event was over (about 2 hours before I actually left the city), and I could enjoy the trip!  We finally worked it out so that all 14 people for whom I had bought tickets had rides in people’s cars.  I was riding with Dill Pickle and a couple of her friends.  She had said, “I want to leave the city no later than 4.”  Fine with me.

Dill Pickle lives in Brooklyn, and she was picking me and Rutgirls up in Chelsea.  The next logical step would be the Jersey Turnpike, right?  Not when you’re dealing with the gays.  Around 4:30, Dill Pickle pulls up in her gay-flag-blue Dodge Ram quad cab by herself.  Turns out we have to go back to the east side to pick up her boy situation and a friend of his.  In late afternoon traffic.  The boy situation turns out to be pretty prompt (well, relative to our timing), but we definitely have to wait for the friend.  Apparently he’s one of those gays you have to tell to arrive an hour before you plan to leave.  Godot finally comes, and he’s kinda hot.  I text Rutgirls (from the other side of the back seat): New rule: the late one rides naked.  He responds: Well he is in the middle…

It was about 6 before we were actually on the road. 

Once I got over my internal temper tantrum, the ride was pretty uneventful.  I caught up on some of my favorite blogs on my phone, actually laughing out loud a few times.  We made up a narrative for a blue-collar-looking guy who drove a new Cadillac with “Surbivor” on the license plate.  Some poor, unfortunate (obvious) gays had broken down on the side of the road.  We would have offered them the truck bed, but they weren't cute enough to stop that's illegal.  

We finally got off the Spermpike, which felt like a good time to pull out a bottle of “juice with extra pulp.”  We proceed down the interstate, past the front gate (they could have easily made each of the flags on the gate one of the colors of the gay flag… honestly), and to the $15 (?!) parking lot.  “I’ll put this on my credit card and owe you a drink,” I slurred from the back seat.  So we pull up to this 15-year-old kid with a quite unfortunate case of acne.

“Hey!  How you doin’!”

“That’ll be $15.”

“Alroight!” I handed him my card with a wink and a smile. 

He hands me back the receipt to sign.  “Thank you.”

“Oh, thank you.  And don’t work to hard.”  The car was roaring with laughter, but the whole time the kid had no reaction.  No blush, no rolling of eyes, nothing.  Jaded bitch.

We go through the metal detectors, and the 80-year-old security guard asks to see my bag, the bottom of which contains a Gatorade bottle completely filled with “pulp”.  First, they make me finish the “pulpy juice” we had started on in the truck because you can’t bring drinks into the park.  Then Gramps asks me what’s in my bag as he opens it. 

“A change of clothes, a couple of Red Bulls…”

“Oh, you can’t bring alcohol into the park.”

“It’s not alcohol; it’s an energy drink.”  But aren’t you not allowed to bring any drinks?  Whatevs.

Then some young woman comes over and literally pokes inside my back with a stick a couple of times and says, “He’s okay.”  Sweet.

The first thing I did was pay $16 for a burger and a Sprite that came with carbs fries and onion rings I didn't want (they only served full “meals”, but you have to pay extra for a drink).

The woman hands me my tray with no lid for my Sprite: “We’re out of tops.”

“You’re out of tops?!”  *yelling* “Looks like they’re out of tops, girls.  Not a single top in the whole place!  Let’s go!” 

The other cars had gotten there earlier and had started on the rides already.  We shot out some texts to bring everyone together.  Everyone came to the feeding area for about 10 minutes before splitting up into their original groups.  Great. 

I ended up being the odd man out since Dill Pickle was with his boy situation and Rutgirls was trying to put his dick in Dill’s friend.  In fact, at one point, I went to go get more mixer a fruity drink, and everyone said they were cool with waiting on me.  By the time I got back, Dill and her jar had already gotten in line for a ride, and Rutgirls and her new “friend” (who, I later learned, has a boyfriend) wandered off to get food together.  Nicely ditched.

Of course, the Ivy League Crew was happy to see me.  Not because I’m so fabulous and they can’t have a good time without me.  No, they knew I was packing alcohol.

Careful, BRITney.  Come to think of it, that was the first time I'd seen (or heard about) her gagging.  As we walked around the park, I noticed a disturbing theme (keep in mind it was about 58 degrees):

Did they change it up for the gays, or does this family park always promote water sports?  Anyway, we yelled a lot and managed not to get kicked out of the park, leaving on our own accord around 11.

Dill dropped me off, and I met up with BRITney and Urban Sprawl for some Baña action.  It was half off admission with your stub from 6 Flags, but that worked out to the same admission price as being 25 and under (i.e., Urban Sprawl’s old ass was the only one that got out-of-the-ordinary discount). 

After leaving our clothes with the hot-but-cunty clothes check guy (who had checked all of his clothes), we headed directly for the… bathroom!  We’d been drinking all afternoon and had just gotten out of an hour-and-a-half road trip.  The bar could wait 2 minutes.

Unfortunately, the hot bartender was wearing a speedo, but I figured it was still early yet.  We grabbed our drinks and headed upstairs to the pool. 

This is where things get a bit cloudy (open bar!).  At one point, I ran into Loosefur, who was accessorized by two hot sidekicks. She said hey and immediately ditched (to avoid my wisecracks?).  I took the boys to the (low self-e)steam room, but Urban Sprawl acted like he couldn’t breathe with all the humidity.  Like her slutty ass has never been in a steam room before (I think she saw an ex she wanted to avoid).

An hour later, the hot bartender’s speedo was still on!  Must be “razor bumps”. 

Lady Bunny was scheduled to perform, and perform she did!  She did a medley of parodies on pop songs, one of which was Leona Lewis and featured a Fleet bottle full of fake blood.  Then she did her new single, which I couldn’t hum to save my life right now, but I feel like I liked it at the time. 

Not long after that, BRITney and Urban Sprawl went home with someone, which was fine with me because I was drunk enough to explore and be voyeur extraordinaire!  I grabbed myself a towel and got quite the show in the stream room.  For a second, I wished I had lived in ancient Rome (except they didn’t have a cure for syphilis… and I’m black).  After watching someone ‘s “appetite” be “satiated,” I took a walk to the pool where everybody was watching some guy get fucked on his back.  I’m more of a face-down-ass-up kind of guy, so I wandered on.

I noticed there was no one by the door of the VIP area, so I casually walked in.  In the massage area, one guy was actually getting a massage.  But that quickly changed into a blow job (personally, I’d rather a tip).  Then a couple of guys went for hands-free prostate massages.  The room with the pool table (and very little light) featured… well, a lot of fucking.  A group of guys passed around one or two bottoms at a time.  I can’t say I would have touched any of them with an 10-inch, uh, 10-foot pole.  But I had a great time watching.

Maybe it was just my drunk observation skills or the fact that I was at a distance, but the whole time, I only took note of one condom.  Not that they weren’t provided and conveniently located.  I’m hoping I just got distracted and didn’t notice the application.

Did I mention that SoHo Crush was out of town, so I had to make my way to WaHi from Wall St at 5am (but at least I didn’t run into the French guy from last time)?  Yeah.  

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

that's a Penthouse, btw

I figured if we can get 20 people to come to View Bar, we can get 10 people to come to 6 Flags Great Adventure.  Easy right?  NOT!  The people who plan NYC Pride were doing a gay night at 6 Flags and offering discounted tickets for groups of 10+.  My original plan was to get a group and buy the tix (you have to pick them up in the Village in person during office hours) on one of the days around Labor Day that I had taken off (because I get paid by the hour).

 Everyone was expected to pay in cash in advance and to remind me to make a note in my phone that they had paid.  It took a good two weeks after Labor Day before I had money from enough people to buy the tickets (there goes an hour of overtime)!  And then I had volunteered to coordinate rides.  Did I mention that I’m an idiot?

I told the girls to meet me at View Bar on Thursday at 11:15 to pick up their tickets.  Meanwhile, the Architect, who is now serving as part-time professor at his alma mater, had his students in the City for a field trip that just happened to coordinate with a fabulous rooftop party.  Remember the party he took me to on Fire Island?  Same couple.

The Architect texted me that his phone was going to die, so he gave me the address, which includes PH1 (that's a Penthouse, btw).  Oh, yes!  I breezed past the doorman (who didn’t even bother calling up), and arrived at the top floor.  Luckily, the Architect was right by the door when I walked in; I would have really been uncomfortable with a can-we-help-you/who-invited-her moment.  The Architect took me around and (re)introduced me.  “Did you eat?  The caterers just put the food away, but they had some amazing halibot and filet…”  That’s exactly what I need.  To be seen as the gold-digging date stuffing his face with rich-people food.  I’ll just stick with the first half, thanks.   

According to the Architect, this place was a $10 million property that they had on the market. And they had decorated with even more than that in art (including a Picasso original sketch that they had gotten from an art dealer as a thank you for all their other purchases… because people on that level really need freebies).  The older of the couple headed up a firm that took on Johnny Cochran as a junior partner and then let him go because he wasn’t pulling in enough billings at $30 million. 

Selected quotes:

“He’s 77, and his partner’s 37, and they’ve been together for 17 years, so they’re planning a huge celebration in 3 years: he’ll finally only be twice as old as his partner.”

“The Fire Island wax museum couple.”  Not the hostesses, but two of the guests.

“I’d introduce you, but both those clusters have at least one person whose name I don’t remember.”  Story of my life!

“No red wine?  Darling, you have a $10 million home; you can afford to replace upholstery!”

“Well [insert guest] has invited me to stay at his place on the marina in Ft. Lauderdale, but [the host couple] is always in South Beach when I go down there, and it’s so nice to stay in their guest property [across the street from their residence] and be within walking distance of [list of South Beach amenities].”

“They own the penthouse next door to this one as well, and one of the showers in there (they have 4 or 5 showers) is never used.  So they just filled it with watches in water-resistant cases.  For a while, [host’s name] bought one every time he won a case.”

After realizing how worthless my life is/will be the party, I had a half hour before I said I would be at View Bar, so we stopped at one of Hal’s favorite restaurants for a drink.  We ended up not leaving until 11:15 (when I was supposed to be at View), and there was not a cab to be found in the Village!  The Architect ends up jumping into a van that some tourists had stopped and barking out View’s address, closing the door on the guy trying to call over the rest of his group.  It took me a full second to realize what was happening (I didn’t think he would ever do that), but I got over it and hopped in.

View was a mess for me.  Everyone had a million questions about 6 flags and getting transportation down.  And I had forgotten someone who had given me money, which meant I was one ticket (and a seat in a car) short!  I gave the guy my ticket since it was totally my bad.  Eventually, I just told everybody, “There’s nothing that can’t be solved tomorrow.  I’m not talking about 6 Flags anymore tonight.” 

The group wanted to go to Splash, but they took forever to leave View (I don’t think they even got to Splash until about 1).  I had left them at View, and I was literally a few seconds from walking out of Splash before I saw Bottomless Pitt (shirtless) leading the others down the stairs.  I figured why not. 

There was shaking.  There was grinding.  I even got to see a prelude to a 3-some.  I remember someone pointing to the bar and saying, “Who’s that guy Bitter Commie Grad Student’s talking to?!”  20 minutes later, he’s in the middle of a grinding oreo.  I think he ended up dancing with everyone in our Crew, but I’m not exactly sure how that story ended because I had to get home. 

Did I mention there was a Baña Party the next night?  Yeah!

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

“It’s all torsos and cocks!”

Before Soho Crash arrived, I asked SoHo Crush about him, and one of the things SoHo Crush said was that Crash was very “old fashioned” as far as dating.  I responded, “but he’s never lived in New York.”

SoHo Crush had somewhere to be pretty early in the afternoon on Sunday (okay, 3 pm), so he left me at his place with SoHo Crash.  I wasn’t really planning to hang around, but I had about 3 minutes of battery left between my phone and my computer, so I desperately needed the electricity.  SoHo Crash invited the female friend with whom he had moved to NY to come over for a bit.

The 3 of us start talking, and the subject of online dating comes up.  SoHo Crash insists at first that he's “old fashioned” about dating.  But you’ve never lived in New York.  He asks what sites were free, and at first I tell him Adam4adam , but we opt for Manhunt since he’s cute (and, most importantly, white).  His friend is loving the idea, but he only agrees to go along "as a joke" (riiiiight).  Thinking back, maybe I should have directed him to Gaydar , but if he can survive Manhunt (which is much more popular but more hook-up-focused than date-friendly), he can do any site.

So he goes to write up his profile, and of course he has no idea what to write.  “Well, why don’t we sign on to my account so you can get a look at what other profiles look like.”  We scroll through, and I teach him the Add Friend Trick (basically, if you don’t pay for manhunt, you can see other members’ secondary profile pictures a bit larger by clicking “add friend”). 

“This has to be the site my uncle was talking about,” says the girl.  “It’s all torsos and cocks!”  She yells, “Beef!” at the profiles with muscles.  We like her (but we gotta teach her WOOF! ).

So he gets a vague idea of how the site works.  We send a guy an email from my account, which gets no response (surprise, surprise).  After about 20 minutes or so, it's time for him to spread his little manhunt legs wings and make his own profile.  Plus I want to sign off before anyone relevant notices I'm signed on ("I thought you said you never go on Manhunt!").

A list of things to avoid in one's screenname:

            One's age (that’s what the age blank is for)

            One's race  (there’s also a race blank)

            The word boy/boi/etc. 

            The current year (who knew 'SoHoMuscle2001' wouldn't be clever today?!)

He actually comes up with a very cute screenname.  I chuckle to myself as he avoids all the predictable blanks of someone who “would never actually meet anyone on this site” (cock size, role/position, what he’s into, etc.). 

Then it comes time for the pictures.  Being an actor, of course, he has some professional headshots.  They're nice and all, but anyone who actually thought about it would avoid someone with exclusively professional photos (see Jackie Beat's “Retouch My Body”).  It comes up that we can take pictures of him with our iPhones (luckily SoHo’s place gets a lot of light). 

“Oh my god!” exclaims the very excited female friend.  “Take off your shirt and—“

“No.  I’m not taking a shirtless picture.”

“Oh, come on.  It’ll be brilliant!”

10 minutes later, we have the following photo:

Brilliant, no?  Did I mention the jacket’s actually really small on him and says “Six Flags Magic Mountain” on the back?  Yeah.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

having gotten her fill of Bologna's Dirty Friend

Saturday, I rushed downtown to Spash to meet up with SoHo Crush and his softball team (he’s so masc!) for their “awards ceremony” (i.e., happy hour with free food and some guy talking way too much while handing out trophies).  I also met SoHo Crush’s friend and new temporary roommate, SoHo Crash, a young(ish) actor who just moved here from LA.  SoHo Crush’s team came in first place and got a huge trophy as well as individual trophies with their names.  The youngest teammate (who was being very 'affectionate' with the date he brought) tried to make me take the trophy with his ex boyfriend’s name on it (since homeboy had broken up with the Team as well).

Much to SoHo Crush’s chagrin, we stopped at his place to drop the trophies off before we went to Bologna and Dill Pickles’s for Bologna’s birthday party.  You know how when you were a kid and someone brought a kitten to class, and the whole class ran over to the kitten trying to pet it, and the kitten got all scared and started freaking out?  That’s more or less what it was like when I walked into Dillonga’s.  Every single Long Island Gay was there in addition to a significant portion of the Ivy League Crew, and they all wanted a How-You-Doin' hug at the same time! 

Following the Attack of the Greeting Gays, I needed a drink.  Badly.  Dill Pickle helped me locate orange juice for my screwdriver, with which I was greatly pleased.

“Hey, D. Kareem!  You know Fung Wah brought Fried Chicken for you.  He said it’s from Crown!”  Note: my grandmother used to buy Crown Fried Chicken (or Kennedy Fried Chicken ) when I lived with her in Hollis.  I no longer live in Queens, and I no longer eat Crown.  Much. 

After about 5 mintues, I didn’t see SoHo.  He had mentioned he might ditch after a while since we were planning to go to a club later, but we had just gotten there!  I figured he’s not that tall, he’s white, and he’s wearing a solid, primary color, so he'd be easy to pick out in this crowd (pictured, in part, above).  But when I did a lap of the party, I definitely didn’t see him.  Not in the kitchen.  Not in the bathroom.  Why would he be in the bedroom?  So I texted him.  Turns out his friend had called, so he was outside talking to her.

I join SoHo outside to cool off for a bit, and a few people are outside smoking.  One of the guys has a Dirty Sanchez mustache, which is kind of hot in a porn star sort of way.  BRITney is chatting with someone next to the door to the apartment building, and Dirty Sanchez is farther from the door.  After about 5 minutes, Dirty Sanchez walks towards the door, putting his hand on BRITney’s shoulder as he goes by.  But he keeps walking and grabs BRITney by the shirt, practically dragging her through the door.  BRITney yells (with the accent) “Hey, excuse me.  I’m not done yet.”  No response from Dirty Sanchez, just continued dragging.  BRITney manages to throw down his half-smoked fag as he’s passing into the doorway.  I barely hear, “Wow, you’re really dominant.”  Guess that answers which box she checked for that question on Manhunt. 

We return to the party.  BRITney and Dirty Sanchez are making out on the living-room wall.  At. Bologna's.  Party.

Bottomless Pitt and Bitter Commie Grad Student are ready to go back to Manhattan.  What about Sugarland (which would be a blast with a whole mammoth crew there)?  They inform me that Urban Sprawl is waiting for us at a party in the Village.  

“Is this the same guy that was hosting that pride pregame where I showed up and all of y’all were downstairs because there wasn’t anyone cute there?”

*Disappointed look* “Yeah.”

“This had better be good.”  As much as I wanted to invade the Williamsburg club scene, I didn’t want to be left for dead by the Crew and SoHo in Brooklyn.  BRITney, having gotten her fill of Bologna's Dirty Friend, decided to join us.

It’s a lot more fun to wait for the train as a group.  Especially when you’re packing a strong drink.  We’re sitting on the train being loud and obnoxious (as per usual).  Please tell me why Bottomless Pitt pulled a can of beer out of his back pocket!  How did she even fit it there?! 

SoHo walked us to the party before catching a cab home.  We go up, and… well, basically, I saw why everyone ditched during Pride.  The hottest thing going on was the 2 girls going at it in the corner (wow, I’m a voyeur).  Bottomless Pitt was dancing with something tall, but once we saw it in the light, we both looked at each other and said, “PIECES !” 

As soon as we got on the street, Bottomless Pitt and I took off our shirts.  

We make our entrance, and there are about 15 drag queens prancing around.  Turns out they’re doing a fund raiser for some charity.  Being the big baller that I am, I buy an arms-length strip of raffle tickets .  What I didn’t know was that they only had one prize for the drawing!  Boo!

Oh, wow.  Bitter Commie Grad Student’s chatting up some cutie in a red shirt!  She better wooorrrrrrrk!

At one point, a lesbian and a straight girl (both with huge tits) get into a dance off that basically turns into a boob fight.

And as usual, Bottomless Pitt claims another victim.

Wow, that looks familiar.

Pitt: "I'm a top!"

Me: "Slash vers."  He manages to take his shirt off while keeping his hat on.  As I said, I don't ask questions with that girl anymore; anything's possible with her.

Pitt eventually gets bored, as she often does with boys, and wanders off.  And Bitter Commie Grad Student is still talking to this Red Shirt Guy.  I text: Pull the trigger already!

A half hour passes.

Lalala, dancing to some song.  Drinking yet another glass of champagne.  Hold up!  Is Bottomless Pitt making out with… Red Shirt Guy?

Did I mention I need to leave Pieces right now?  Bye!

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.