Huh, That's Awkward...

In recent months, I have let my online presence dwindle somewhat. Back in September, I deleted my grindr, my Adam4Adam, my Manhunt, and my recon. Last night, feeling horny and lonely, I remade my grindr and my Adam4Adam, against my better judgement. Imagine, to my surprise, when I opened Grindr and saw a familiar face staring back at me. You see, my 18 year old neighbor and childhood friend, has a grindr. I knew he was gay, it's been rather obvious for the past... 8, 10 years, but I didn't know he was out. Furthermore, how do I even properly approach this situation? I can't really hit on him, and even though he's cute, it would feel weird to do so. At the same time, I can't quite ignore him either. He lives 300 feet away from me, and blocking him or ignoring him on grindr would be painfully obvious. So, I did the only reasonable thing available, I sent him a message that said "Well, Hello . Glad to see you came out." I didn't really have anything else to say.

Minions, I need your help...

I recently saw this video for the first time in a couple years yesterday, and I realized that I haven't seen this other boy's work. That's rather sad, because he's hot.

Anyway, his handle is Surferboy. Here's his video in question. Any help finding more of this guy would be much appreciated.




Wild in college dorm

as compensation for your assistance, here is slightly better porn, too:




Twinks Hard Working Gang

Why Ralphie?

Of all the boys I've fucked, there is none who I love more or am frustrated more by than Ralphie.

I can't feel nothing at all...

It's been five days since I had surgery. The surgery I had was for a hydrocele in my left testicle and a right side inguinal hernia.  To help me deal with the pain, I was prescribed Percocet, a mixture of oxycodone and acetaminophen, which I have been taking liberally since.

The result is, for the past few days while visiting family, I've been high as a kite.  Now that I'm home, lying naked in bed after a nice hot shower, I have time to blog. Let's how the quality is impacted by being absolutely stoned out of my mind.

Also, Repo: The Genetic Opera is a decent movie. It's worth seeing.

Surgery!

I promised I'd make a post about this whenever I last mentioned it.
I'm having surgery on the 22nd for a hydrocele and a hernia.
Details are being posted in this reddit thread:


http://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/nhpcu/on_dec_22_im_going_to_have_my_left_nut_sliced/

A note on tumblrs

Every gay kid with a tumblr ends up posting half naked pictures of themselves.

Which is fantastic.

Case in point.

Finals

With holes in my head
I can still get along
Because my friends still convince me
I'm not always wrong

Yoda Moments

I'm sitting here in the school dining hall reading the newspaper. I just got out of the gym a half-hour ago because I wanted to hide from my CS homework. You see, coding is one of those Yoda moments; moments when I wish I had a Yoda like figure sitting on my shoulder explaining everything I was doing wrong. So, rather than stare at my incompetence written out for me in Java on the screen, I decided to go to the gym. Not that that's any better. I hate the gym. I hate the fact that no matter when I go, there's always at least half a dozen people there. I hate that even if I go in knowing exactly what I need to work on, I still feel like an idiot who has no idea what's going on. I wish at the gym I had a little Yoda telling me what to do. I know, I know, what I'm describing is a personal trainer. Why don't I just go with a rugby buddy? I do sometimes. Usually either with Beastmode Facefucker or Crazy Elbows. Problem with that is 1) they're both crazy, 2) they're rarely free when I am, and 3) holy shit, Elbows is crazy. He's been the leading cause of injuries on the team since 2009. Regardless, the last time I went with Beastmode, he confided he hAd a lot of the same concerns I did. Now first, I need to mention I'm in pretty damn good shape. I'm 185 lbs of height and muscle, but compared to Beastmode, I'm puny. But Beastmode pointed out that every time he's in the gym, there's always at least one guy who is even bigger and more ripped than he is, a guy who clearly knows what he's doing. And every time I go to the gym, I feel like that guy and everybody is looking at me going "jeez, what a schmuck. That guy can barely bench half his weight." And fuck, that feeling sucks. That's when I wish I had a little Yoda standing on my chest going "Lift more, you will. 6 reps, half minute break then.". Then I could just follow his advice and ignore all the little doubts. But I don't. So, I have to be my own Yoda and force myself to lift more, to study more, to won on my code more.

Thanksgiving and Family

This post has nothing to do with sex.

Only family drama. You are warned.

A note on self-control

Straight guys will never have to deal with this issue.

The fact is that at any moment I want, without leaving my room, without even getting dressed, I could go on to Craigslist, Manhunt, Adam4Adam, Recon, Grindr, etc and find a hot twink within a mile of me begging for my cock. Within five minutes of finding that twink, I could be at his door. Within another five minutes, I could be fucking his ass, less if he warmed himself up beforehand.

The fact that this choice is available to me is terrifying.   There are ten 18 year olds alone who posted on Craigslist in the past 48 hours.  And I love sex, I crave sex.  For two days, I've resisted the urge to respond to boys who post images like this:

By the way, this? This is my ideal boy. He's 5'6" 120 #.

It's just so easy, so tempting. And why don't I? Because this is Thanksgiving, it's time I've specifically reserved for catching up on reading, for hanging out with old friends, for spending time with family.

And you know what? My will-power finally cracked. I messaged Hottie McAsian above here.  Him and only him. He probably won't reply, and I'll spend the rest of the holiday break doing what I should: homework and hanging with friends. But if someone sets a buffet of chocolate cakes in front of me, don't be surprised if I grab a cupcake in passing.

Shitshow 2011

It's 2:00 AM on Saturday November 12 and I'm blogging this from the bathroom of a hotel just outside of Washington, DC.  I feel like I have to rewind a bit.

Reblog: The Manifesto from A Bi Kid's Life

I've grown rather convinced that there's a huge segment of the male population that's bi, but too closeted to act on it.  Hell, if I was in college 20 years ago, or even 10 years ago, I wouldn't have come out.  I like girls, I like pussy, and back then liking dick was asking to get punched.  There still is a stigma against bi guys.  There's the old, tired refrain that no one's really bi, just confused.  That if you like dick, you have to be gay and you're just using the label bi as a stepping stone, a halfway point before actually coming out.

Now, I believe that there are a lot of guys who like dick and are bi.  Tough, masculine guys. Guys who will probably grow up, marry a girl, pump out a few kids, but still love cock.

Why do I believe this?  Because I believe that sexuality is something biologically based, that a man's attraction to another man is based on genes and hormones.  And I believe the percentage of guys who like cock has remained fairly constant throughout history. And I've read enough history to know that guys who liked guys are fairly common.

Think on this, of the first 15 Roman Emperors, only Claudius is reported to have not liked men. Now, I'm not saying the first 15 Roman Emperors were gay, I assume most of them were bi. Maybe one was gay (cough, cough Caligula).  But only Claudius was said to have not like men.  And even that historical fact is somewhat disputed, as it was reported by Suetonius who was using it as a larger charge that Claudius was overly influenced by women. [1]

The great figures of Ancient Rome and Greece abounded with flaming cock-loving. So, what happened? Were they faking it this entire time? Did those genes die out?  Or, more likely, did the social opprobrium against homosexuality condemn it to silence and whispers for a thousand years?  I feel the latter is more likely to be correct.

But now, we have a new generation of guys who are tough, manly, pussy-loving men who love cock. And they're coming out and saying "Hey, I'm here, I'm not a fucking queer, but I do like man-on-man ragers."

One of the best statements of this that I've read recently is The Bisexual Manifesto.  It's author says, in short, "I'm an athlete, a student, a college guy.  I'm tall, I'm athletic, I like to party, I plan on working hard after school, I fuck girls. But I also like to fuck guys.  I love my parents, I pray to God, I play football. I'm tough and I'm not a pussy.  But I'm scared as shit to come out, because if I do, everyone will think I'm gay, with all the stereotypes attached."

And I agree with every word of it.  I'm bi, and I'm out. I'm 20 years old, 6'1", 190 lbs.  I play rugby, I study hard, I drink and smoke weed socially.  I hit on girls, and I hit on guys. I'm bi, but that doesn't mean I'm weak, or queer, or any of those other stereotypes you want to throw at me. It means I'm me.

Perils of Penis Measurement (Aka more than you ever wanted to know about my penis)

Guys are obsessed by their size, especially in comparison to others. Or at least it seems that way in the gay community.  You can stop any gay man on the street and ask how big his penis is, and he'll tell you down to the inch.

Unfortunately, it appears that everyone really sucks at measuring.

It's called a tape measure. Use it.

Liam's Mistake, Part 10: Plotting

I almost forgot I was still writing this.  Part 10, for all three of you who enjoy this story.  Again, the usual disclaimers: fictional, do not try at home, yadda yadda yadda, if you post this somewhere else link back to me.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: Whaling

The other night, my roommate and I were talking and somehow the topic of whaling came up.
I asked "Whaling? What is that?"
He replied, "Seriously man? You invented it about three weeks ago when you were high."

I had no memory of this so he filled me in.

The concept is this: Apparently, I wanted to start a whaling club, the objective of which is for each member to sleep with the fattest woman humanly possible.   The act of sleeping with a fattie is referred to as "harpooning" and the man who succeeds in sleeping with the fattest becomes the club president, and is referred to as "Captain Ahab."  The woman he slept with to earn that title is known as "Moby Dick."  If, during intercourse with a fattie, a club members becomes overwhelmed by physical revulsion and/or finds himself in danger of being crushed to death, he is allowed to bail, known as "abandoning ship."

I didn't remember saying this, but it does sound like me, and it sounds hilarious.  Automatic kudos to whoever does this.  That said, I probably never will. The entire plans sound ridiculously awful and, while not the stupidest thing I've ever suggested, is close to it.

Who am I?

The most frustrating thing about keeping this blog anonymous is that when something happens to me - something so awesome that I want to shout it to the world - I can't say it here because it will reveal enough details about me that if a reader really cared to find out who I was, they could. So, I self-edit to ensure I remain anonymous.

That said, this Saturday, my rugby team won a game. A big game. A huge game. A holy-shit-we-never-thought-we'd-go-this-far game. A game that went back and forth the entire time, filled with nail-biting intensity and vicious hits.  A game that yours truly played all 80 minutes of and kicked ass the entire time.  But if I say who it was against, or why it was such a big deal, or even what the score was, then it becomes obvious what school I go to and what team I play for.  And as the only member of that team who openly likes cock, it identifies who I am way too easily.  Therefore, dear reader, you'll have to take my word for it that it was unbelievably, earth shatteringly awesome and that you should be duly impressed, even as I provide no evidence for why that is so.

Last night, after the game, we hit the pub where we had victory drinks and wings.  They don't card us there and they give us free pitchers of good beer because we bring in a couple hundred bucks worth of business and we're polite and don't break the furniture.  I headed home afterward, passed out in bed for a while, got up, and decided to go out partying for Halloween weekend.

I needed a costume, and I didn't have anything, so I called up my professor, and asked him if I could borrow some scrubs and a lab coat from the lab. He said sure on two conditions: 1) I return them later in good shape, and 2) I don't tell anyone.

Properly attired, I went to the frat quad, where I went to one of the frats that is partially owned by the rugby team (to make life easier for the team, there is no one frat which the team associates with. Instead, we have most of our players split up across several frats.  Two frats now have ruggers as presidents, and three others have them on their executive boards).  There, I was peer pressured into having a double shot of tequila. Followed by two more. Followed by one more shot.

Then, I and seven other ruggers crammed into a little compact car and drove over to the rugby house (which, the tenants of that house like to remind everyone, it is not the rugby house, it is merely a house rented by members of the rugby team, two of whom happen to be the president and vice president of the rugby club).  There, I played some pong, drank some beers, hit on girls, got rejected, and returned to the frat quad.  I returned to the frat quad mildly drunk, found it heavily occupied by security, and made out with a lesbian friend who's costume was a "straight girl." I also saw three girls dressed as, I shit you not, a slutty nurse, a slutty maid, and a slutty slut.  Seriously. A slutty slut.

I went home, fell asleep, awoke Sunday afternoon and went to campus.  I watched the Patriots-Steelers game with three of my rugby friends, all of whom were Patriot fans. I gleefully rubbed it in their faces as the Steelers beat the unbelieving shit out of the Patriots. Tom Brady can suck my dick. I then returned my scrubs, neatly folded, to the lab and worked on my application for a $50, 000 scholarship that's due Tuesday.  My professor and I went over the draft for his recommendation later. I suggested adding "He is also devilishly handsome and exceptionally witty." He replaced that with "He is also an exceptional Elvish Thief in D&D, I hear tell." We compromised on "He is the most qualified applicant I know of for this scholarship and I could not recommend him more highly."

With that, I have an ultrasound in the morning to deal with the hydrocele in my left testicle, so I am off to bed. Goodnight.

Return to Babylon

My ears are ringing. There are black X's on my hands. And I'm tired as fuck.

You see, yesterday, my friend Karla told me she wanted to go to Babylon tonight.  Specifically, she wanted to go with a boy she's just starting to date, but she didn't want to go alone, so she invited me and three others to tag along.

This time, I didn't get ridiculously drunk beforehand, and despite the loud music, had a good time.  Karla introduced me to a gay friend of hers at the club, and we danced a little together.  Later on, a cute boy caught my eye across the room.  He looked gay, alone, and slightly bored.  And a little bit later, it seemed like he was looking at me.  So, I did the standard eye flirting approach. You look at the person you're interested in until your eyes meet, look briefly away, and then look again and hold the look.  It ensures that neither is looking by accident and that both parties are interested.  I don't know how widespread it is, but I've always assumed that everyone uses this basic system.

I eye-flirted at him, he seemed to eye flirt back at me. Good stuff.  I had to work my way through the crowd to approach him, but I eventually, I did.  I tapped on the shoulder, smiled, nodded, asked if he was here with anyone.  He said he was.  And that's when I noticed the girl in front of him.  She was too short for me to have seen her across the room, but at that moment it became fairly obvious that she was his girlfriend.

Straight guys shouldn't be allowed to look that gay. It fucks up my gaydar.

After that little incident, I returned to my friends, and spent the night dancing. After it was over, we went to our famous favorite little diner and who should I run into but my two roommates, eating there with a couple of friends at three in the morning.  Some good food and some innapropriate jokes later, we called it a night and headed back to our respective homes.

Fuck You, Ralphie.

That was an overreaction. It's an overreaction now. It was an overreaction when I texted it to him Sunday morning shortly after midnight. And I knew that. Still, I sent it to him because I was pissed. And because he deserved it.

A few weeks back, Ralphie let me know that he would be back in town for his school's fall break and his birthday weekend. And that he really, really wanted my cock.  I was thoroughly excited by this news.

Between school work, rugby, and apathy, I've basically stopped chasing after sex recently, so I was looking forward to getting it on.

We talked briefly Friday night as he was driving home and he told me he would come over Saturday night. Definitely. Probably. Kinda, sorta, maybe... depends on his parents, yadda yadda yadda. He'd let me know.

Saturday night rolls around.  I had spent the day playing rugby, followed by a nice hot shower and a nice long nap.  I knew he was having dinner with his family around 6ish, so around 8:30, I fired off a text asking how dinner went.  No reply.

A half hour later, my roommates asked me if I wanted to go out partying with them. I sent Ralphie another text, asking point blank if he was going to come over.  Still nothing.

Around 9:40, he sent me a text saying he had just gotten out of dinner, but wasn't sure what was happening for the rest of the evening.  I replied saying alright, and asking him to let me know when he would be free.

Two hours later, I still hadn't heard from. I had spent all of Saturday evening waiting for him, and he hadn't even deigned to give a straight up yes or no.  I called once or twice, nothing.

I texted him again, a simple "?"

He replied "I'm watching a spooky movie now. I'm going to fall asleep probably. It's not *that* scary."

"So you're not coming over?"

Nothing.

I wait. I call him. Nothing.

I text him again "Either text back or answer your phone"

"No not tonight"

"When were you planning on telling me this?"

Nothing. I wait 20 minutes, silently stewing.  He knew I had been waiting all night. I had told him.  He must have known for most of the night he wasn't coming over. He never bothered to tell me. Not until I prompted him over and over again and after I had already wasted the entire evening waiting for him did he let me know he wasn't showing up.  Was it carelessness? Just an indifference on his part towards me? Or was he being malicious?

The more reasonable part of me wanted to point out he had spent all evening with his parents, it was silly to think that he might free enough to reply, let alone to hang out. I should have just gone out partying.

I ignored that inner thought and though I knew it was a bad idea, I started typing on my phone:

"Fuck you. If you didn't want to come over, the least you could have done is told me.  That would have taken less effort than ignoring me.  Instead, you spent the past two weeks telling me, in detail, how much you wanted my cock this weekend, and led me to believe you wanted to come over.  At no point until 20 minutes ago did you tell me you weren't going to come over.  I spent this whole Saturday evening waiting for word of your imminent arrival. I called you, I texted you, and you gave me just enough meager replies to keep me waiting.  Why the hell did you do that?"

After that, I facebook messaged a friend, explaining to her that I was pissed and inviting her to go get drunk with me and shout at ducks or something.  She declined, but did offer me some comfort.

I jacked off, spilling the load I had planned on spilling on Ralphie on my chest, and then climbed into bed.


The next morning, I awoke to a text from him, explaining that he was with his parents all evening and he wasn't going to rudely interrupt them just to talk with me.  I apologised, asked if he was free to talk.

We did.  He's coming over tonight, Monday night, at 9 pm. Or so he says. If he doesn't... fuck. I'm dropping him.

But the thing that irritated me the most was that this actually hurt.  I've broken one of my cardinal rules. I've become emotionally involved with a fuck buddy. An adorably cute, sarcastic, sardonic, all around enjoyable fuck buddy, but still. I don't do drama. Or, I didn't. And now, apparently I do.

The Pilgrimage

It's 3:30 in the morning on Sunday.

I smell like coffee grounds and desperately want sleep.  Let me explain:

I play rugby.  I'm not that good, but my team is.  We've had an amazing season and now we're in the playoffs.  Saturday was supposed to be the semi-finals, and Friday night we had a team meeting to plan strategy.

At the meeting, our captain explained that there would be no game tomorrow.  The other team had forfeited. "What huge, gaping vaginas!" "pussies!"  and other such slurs were shouted.  But, Saturday we were going to have practice during our usual game time and then that night have a mixer with a sorority. The theme was Dirty Disney characters.


Friday evening,  I grabbed some dinner at a local coffee shop with my two bisexual female friends.  We had a fun time, they gave me costume suggestions and how to pick up girls suggestions.  After arriving home, my roommates and I went to our favorite late night diner.  At the diner, somehow, we came to the decision to go to a strip club after the party Saturday night.

So, Saturday, I go dressed as Prince Eric to the party.

Exactly like this. But with clothes.

I spent the evening drinking, awkwardly hitting on girls, and after giving up on that, my roommates picked me up and we drove out to this strip club in the middle of nowhere. Seriously nowhere. Cornfields everywhere around us.

I spent nearly $80 on strippers, especially this one kinky girl who had an intriguing set of tattoos and pierced nipples.  Kinda hot actually.

There was this one kid in the strip club, he couldn't have been more than 16, wearing wife beater.  Smug little asshole. I wanted to take him outside and beat the shit out of him. Didn't have a reason to, just wanted to.  Hell, I wouldn't have minded raping him; just anger fucking the little prick.

He ended up leaving while I was in the back room with a naked stripper on my lap, so the point ended up being moot.

The other patrons were surprisingly stereotypical: a man in a suit who looked like he must have hated his career and his life, an old dude with stache who could easily have been the grandfather of all the strippers there, and just your average collection of podunk yokels.

There were only four strippers:  Peaches, Ginger, Jasmine, and Holy-God-She's-Ugly.  Ginger was the kinky one, Jasmine the rather hot one, Peaches the hilarious fat one, and Holy-God-She's-Ugly was the unsuccessful one.  Ginger was the one who I got the lap dance from, but Holy-God-She's-Ugly had a weird resemblance to Nate. I sent him a text as she danced, asking if he had a sister or female cousin who stripped.

After the strip club, we drove back to our favorite diner, got some waffles and coffee beans.  Sniffed the beans to get rid of the scent of cheap strippers.  We reeked of it.  I ground up my set of beans, poured some on my shirt just to rid myself of the stench.

Our waiter, a good friend of ours who actually lives up the street from us, pointed out that if I spilled water on my shirt it would be stained.  I told him I planned on burning the shirt. He's an awesome guy, this jolly 6'7 gay guy who always jokes with us.  Cool fellow.

After that, came home, about to crash in bed now.

Ralphie's coming to visit in a week. We're not dating, but I look forward to fucking him again.

I chatted with him online a couple nights ago, he watched me shower through skype, mentioned that rugby has been good to me, my muscles are better defined these days. I've got a new workout plan I'm going to embark on soon. We'll see how that goes.

The End of an Era

Over Labor Day Weekend, Ralphie came back home for a couple days and spent one last night in my bed. One last night feeling my big cock, one last night straddling my hips rubbing his smooth ass against my shaft, one last night whispering "Hey Tiger" and "it's so big" in my ear. And then he was gone.

I talked on Facebook with Max the other day. He's dating another boy now.

I emailed Joe. He's also dating again.

Over the past year, those three gents were the mainstay of my sex life.  Obviously, not the only three people I slept with, but those were the the three regulars.  They were the three who I enjoyed hanging out with, who spending a night with didn't just mean sex, it meant conversation, jokes, cuddling, company.  They weren't relationships in the standard sense of the word, but there was a commitment, a permanence to them that didn't exist with the others I slept with.

Between the three of them, I was practically guaranteed sex once a week, if not more (often more).  And not just the same vanilla sex, all three of them had wonderfully variant techniques and styles. With Max and Ralphie, I was the top, the big guy with the big dick tossing them around on the bed.  With Joe, I was the boy, tied up straining against the ropes, grabbing the sheets in ecstasy as my ass was pounded.  With Max, it was fast, passionate, sink teeth into the shoulder style sex. Animalistic and alive.  With Ralphie, it was gentle, soft body, soft sheets, sardonic comments and warm summer night breezes.  Between the three, it was an invigorating and exciting balance.

And over the course of a week, they're all gone. The core of my sex life, my stable of reliable fuck buddies, gone.

On top of that, I'm not really sure I want to replace them.  I don't know if I want to go back to having a stable of guys at my beck and call. These days, I might actually want a relationship.  And... that's weird.

Here's where it gets weirder. The other day, while mulling over these thoughts, my older sister called.
"Hello?"
"Hey Jack... um... can we talk?"
"Yeah sure, what is it?"
"We've always had a good relationship where we can talk about anything, right?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Okay... well, over the Fourth of July, I went through your phone..."
"Well... that can't be good..."
"Right... and... Look, I have a lot of gay friends, so I know about Grindr, and I know about the whole hookup culture... but... please don't hookup with guys you meet online. I mean, I know you already do... but... stop."

And so we talked for a good 40 minutes.  About life, about her work, my studies, about relationships and sex, and when it came down the end, she asked me to stop hooking up with guys I meet online.  And frankly, I've kinda run out of good guys online to hookup with. I've burned through most of the hot interesting ones.

So, even if I wanted to replace Max, Joe, and Ralphie, I'm not sure how I'd go about it. Online is out. Troll the bars? That's never struck me as savory. Become the campus slut? No, I have standards.

Maybe... and this thought strikes me as very odd, maybe I should abstain from sex for awhile. Reorient what it is I'm looking for.  Spend some time actually writing Liam's Mistake.  Start actually dating people, with no expectation of sex.  Maybe find a girlfriend, or a boyfriend.

Maybe... I should delete my online presence.  I've already deleted Grindr. That means going through Adam4Adam, Manhunt, and Recon, and taking down my profiles.  Maybe I should go further and sever myself from forums I used to frequent. God knows I barely check in with any of them anymore.

But then where would all of this leave you, dear reader? That implies I actually have readers. The stats say I don't.  And besides, I use this as a touchstone. This will stay up, even if I dismantle everything else.

One Night in Babylon...

Yes, I did just use two relatively obscure pop culture references smashed together for this post's title.  Deal with it.

But more importantly, last night (I wrote this post in mid-January) I was at Babylon, the gay nightclub downtown. Of course, like all names on this blog, that's not its real name.

To find out what the pop culture references were, read my story of last night, and find out what it all has to do with the boy below, please follow the jump:

Why I should stop drinking

It's been a while since I posted.  At first, that's because I was fucking Ralphie and emotionally I felt myself getting involved, which made me hesitant to post.  Then, Ralphie left, and I started getting wasted with far too much frequency.

Here are some notes from those lost weeks of drunkenness:
-On August 17, I celebrated a friend's birthday. His 21st, in fact. Since he's half-french/half-australian, he's been drinking since he could walk, but since we're in the states, he can now legally buy alcohol. Right, so with him and a group of friends, we hit the bars, and luckily, we weren't carded. Probably because it was Wednesday night and we don't look like teenagers.  Ralphie texted me while we were drinking. I invited him to join us, but he declined. He did indicate that he wanted to come over though. Since it was only a few night before he had to leave, I agreed.  Relatively early, at 11 Pm, the party broke up, and I drunkenly biked back home with a friend while singing Flobots - Handlebars acapella.  Ralphie arrived, we climbed in bed together, he told me I reeked of drinking. Which I did.  I was near blackout drunk at that point, and I struggled to perform well, but apparently, I performed adequately. Although, he did have to suck me off to get me hard.

-August 25.  That Thursday, my friends wanted to go to Babylon, the local gay club, to watch the drag show.  They let in 18 and up, but only serve drinks to 21+. Being the only one in the group under 21, I pre-gamed.  Specifically, I had 4 shots of vodka so cheap and strong it could be used as paint thinner, then some beers and ciders. And I did it under half an hour. By the time we made it to the club, I was smashed. I held it together long enough to get in, and had a good time, which is saying something. I hate Babylon. I made a post about the last time I visited back in February that I never posted.  I should, because I hate dancing and I hate Babylon, but I was drunk enough not to notice. A friend took a picture of me, sweaty, drunk, mastering the 1000 yard stare. Good times.

-August 27. Saturday night, the rugby house threw its first party. Which was mostly just rugby guys, their women, and some extra friends who tagged along.  As the night wore on and the drinks grew stronger, we all started wearing hats, which had appeared from somewhere.  So, as I was sitting there, drinking a cup of whatever was in the gin bucket at that point (probably sprite, vodka, and gin),  a tall lanky fellow wearing a bright red pimp hat and holding a bamboo pipe, pointed at me, and looking into my soul with wild crazy eyes, he majestically intoned "Good sir, would you care to blaze with me?"  And I said "sure."  So, standing outside in the warm summer evening, still wearing ridiculous hats, we lit up and smoked.  Shortly thereafter, the party began winding down. Tall McPimphat asked if I would care to walk back with him, as we were quite far from campus.  Since I lived on the other side of campus from the rugby house, I concurred, and hatless, we headed off into the night.  Somehow or another, I believe on his suggestion, we found ourselves in the middle of a cemetery.  Realizing that there are only three types of people who invite you alone into a cemetery, I asked him "Are you gay?" He wasn't. Since he didn't want to hook up, that left only axe murderer or just crazy.  Eyeing him, I thought I could take him, so I politely asked him not to axe murder me, and we continued along.  At this point though, enough alcohol had sloshed its way through my body to warrant a piss.  As cemeteries lack open public facilities in the middle of the night, I anointed one Chris Griffin, or Cliff Giffords, or Griff Cliffords grave with my piss.  May he rest in peace, as he has since the 1980s. Or the 1960s. Or the 1890s.  I don't really remember.

-September 1st.  Another rugby party.  This time, upon leaving, I elected not to go through the cemetery.  Partway home, I lay down on the sidewalk just to rest a bit, since I had previously consumed yet another gin bucket.  Security found me there, and after some fun but polite and coherent drunken antics, they politely drove me home.  Once home, my roommates and I went out to our favorite diner, where I got a philly cheesesteak and we talked with out favorite waiter. Crashing in bed later that evening, I realized: I drink too much.

Why I can't do this anymore

I haven't updated this for the better part of a month, and honestly, it seems like updates are probably going to come to an end soon.  However, leaving off without any explanation is unfair to whatever few readers I may have, so I guess I should explain.

This blog is my public sex journal. It's a collection of the sexual adventures I have and the fantasies of the sexual adventures I want to have. Some people are embarrassed when talking about sex. For most, it's a largely taboo subject. For me, though, the physical aspect of sex was never something to be ashamed of. I find it exciting, thrilling, invigorating. Stories of sex and sports are the same to me, filled with the nitty-gritty details, and the best draw me in to make me feel like I'm part of the action.  In the stories I've written here, both true and fictional, I hope I've described them in such a way that the reader feels like he was me, or at least there with me, and the fucking and kissing and grinding that goes on are part of his life too.

All that said, I'm a private person when it comes to my emotions and feelings.  For the most part, I've kept the physical aspect of sex separate from the emotional.  I've fucked some 19 boys at this point, and if I had fallen for everyone of them, or even a few of them, I'd be an emotional wreck. I know how to keep emotions and sex separate. Or at least I thought so.


Ralphie came back. A week ago, he climbed back in bed with me. The same Ralph who is reminded of his sister's death when he sleeps with me. Who told me a few weeks back that he couldn't sleep with me anymore. Who I held tightly in my arms when he told me that. Who I realized after he left that I actually cared for him.

I spent a day missing him, then I moved on.  But now he's back. Three times in the past week alone.  And I can't talk about fucking him. And I'm not emo enough to write four hundred posts about feelings. So, until this blows over, I'm not writing for awhile.

Partying as a Third Wheel

My apologies for not posting in the past month. After I finished recovering from surgery, I made it back up to upstate NY, and immediately found myself buried in classes, work, and boys.  All in all, it's not bad. I'll discuss them one by one.

First up: Classes.  The plan for this summer was to take two math classes, back to back.  I missed half of the first one due to health problems, but upon my return, I took the final exam I had missed and ended up with a B in the class. I consider that to be not bad, though it seems like everyone but me gets straight As.

The second math class, I missed the first week of while recovering, and upon my return was immediately handed a test. Needless to say, I failed the test, but I've kept with the class in hopes of bringing my grades up.

Second: work.  My job is awesome. I work in an underground lab with monkeys. Literally, monkeys. We have four of them and we've named them Calvin, Hobbes, Batman, and Joker.  I only get paid $8 an hour, but I get to do insanely cool with research with an amazing professor. Plus, it turns out the department I work in is filled with nerds who party hard.  Last week, I went over to a Professor's house for a party and saw that Professor do a keg stand in his backyard. Last night, I went out partying with two friends, a straight white boy we'll call Ryan and a straight Asian girl we'll call Ellen.  Ryan works in my lab, Ellen works in the lab next to us. Since we all live within a few blocks of each other in the student ghetto (conveniently located within the actual ghetto.  Seriously, we're all afraid of getting shot.), Ryan and I headed over to Ellen's house where a party was going on, drank some tequila and played some Never Have I Ever, went to another party, and then finally broke into the local public pool at about 1:00 Am and went swimming.

Ellen is a sexy, nerdy, fun girl.  She's thin and pretty with a tattoo of a feather disintegrating into birds above her right hip, she handles her tequila well, she's incredibly intelligent, she's a senior applying to med school, she likes fucking outdoors, and  she has the hots for Ryan.

Ryan is an awesome guy about half a foot shorter than me, also a senior applying to med school, has a girlfriend, and enjoys talking to Ellen.

I have the hots for Ellen.  The end result is Ellen spent the evening trying to get with Ryan, Ryan spent the evening talking with Ellen, and I spent the evening trying to get with Ellen and feeling increasingly like a third wheel.  I canceled plans with Joe to get shot down by Ellen. Ugh.

Third, boys. Ralphie is no longer a fuck buddy of mine. No longer will I have the pleasure of him crawling into bed with me, begging "Easy, Tiger" as I fucked him. See, the most recent time he was over, which was about two weeks ago, I think, as we lay in bed enjoying pillow talk the topic of cars came up. He asked my why I don't drive much, and I told him the story of how I fell asleep behind the wheel when I was 16. Three times, over the course of two weeks.  Those were terrifying, and my mom hadn't been too keen on me driving after that. Frankly, neither was I.  So, I got used to using public transportation, realized that not having to pay for gas or insurance was awesome, and now, over three years later, rarely drive.  That's when I noticed Ralphie silently weeping on my shoulder.  It turns out his sister, a few years ago, was killed when a driver fell asleep behind the wheel and rammed into her car.  The drive walked away. Ralphie's sister... wasn't so lucky.  After that, after I cuddled him some, he told me he didn't think he could sleep with me again.  He couldn't help but think of her now that he had associated me with her death.  That, I could understand. After we got dressed, he sat on my lap and I held him tight in my arms.  Usually, I don't get emotionally invested in my fuck buddies, but Ralphie was nice, sarcastic, sardonic, cute, and adorable in bed.  I didn't want to let him go.  Other circumstances, I might have even asked him out given enough time.  But that was that. He left, life moved on, and by the next day, I was over it.

Final story, and then I need to head out:  There's been a massive heat wave these past few days, and on Wednesday night, it was too hot to sleep.  Max texted me, told me he had air conditioning, and asked me to fuck him. Never mind that he was 2.5 miles away, that I had work in the morning, that my bike was recently stolen.  It was too hot to sleep in my room, so I sprinted the 2.5 miles there, showered, crawled in bed with him, fucked him in his wonderfully cool, air conditioned room, and drifted off to sleep with him in my arms, the sweet, cool air, drifting over us. Morning come, I ran back home, showered, changed, headed to work.  Gotta love life.

Liam's Mistake, Part 9: The Dynasty

The saga continues! All rights reserved, if you want to copy this elsewhere, please link it back to me.

One Week Later

Last Wednesday, I had my tonsillectomy.  The surgery itself went well, and between the painkillers and all else, I felt pretty well.

So well, in fact, that Thursday night I snuck out of my house for a few hours to hook up with a guy at the nearby University.  This is the same university that I fucked Lucius at back in January. He was a cute guy, about three months older than me. An asian kid, 6'3", but really thin, like 150 lbs.

Long term readers of this blog should know at this point that I have a bit of an Asian fetish (they have smooth copper skin and straight hair... whatever turns me on, turns me on), so even though I was recovering from surgery, I gladly fucked him.

It wasn't anything spectacular. Some making out, he sucked my cock, I fucked him missionary style, then rolled over and he rode me cowboy for a little.  After that, we jacked off, and I finished by straddling him and dousing him with my cum. I've gotten into that habit recently, it's a rather fun way to finish.

Anyway, Friday, my good friend, who I realized I have never mentioned before on this blog (how odd... I need a name for him... I guess I'll call him Todd), came by to visit me.

You see, Todd is one of my best friends from high school.  He was the second one I came out to (after my girlfriend) and one of my core group of friends who I hang out with when I come back to town. Hell, Geoffrey, in Liam's Mistake, is a loose amalgamation of him and another friend.

Well, Todd, despite living out in the suburbs, has a research internship this summer at the university next to my house (the same one that I fucked Lucius at and the other boy just the other night. In the naming schema, this boy should be S, so I guess I'll call him Sam).  He came over for lunch, which my mother prepared for the two of us. My mother, being a very talented cook, presented us with an extraordinarily delicious and aesthetically pleasing lunch, despite its relatively simple fare.  I believe it was chicken with mushrooms, green beans, and rice, with a light salad with cheese, mandarin oranges, and poppy seed dressing.  It was quite good.  Afterward, Todd and I had a pleasant chat in the garden, and they he bid me farewell.

Saturday, another of my friends, who we will call Eric, was hosting a party. Yes, yes, this Eric was the template for Liam's Mistake Eric too. And like that Eric, he and I share the same birthday, June 18, 1991.  He decided to hold his party a week late, June 25, and conveniently, I could attend.  As I am not allowed to drive while under the influence of drugs (Roxicet - it's a combination of oxycodone and acetaminophen), Todd came by to pick me up.  We had dinner first, then drove out to his house, where we hung out in his garden and talked for awhile.  After that, we went to Eric's party.  It was pretty much as described before - absurdly loud music, heavy drinking, lots of shady friends of Eric's.

I couldn't drink because I was taking acetaminophen, and combining that with alcohol causes major liver damage. Todd drank a little, but knowing he had to drive, he limited himself. So, the two of us spent most of the time playing pool.  We left the party early, at around 12:30, and Todd drove me to the train station.  The trains weren't running so late, so instead I slept over at Todd's.

The next morning, he made me scrambled eggs, and we went to church with his dad and dad's girlfriend.  It was one of those mega-churches. I, as a staunch liberal Anglo-Catholic Episcopalian, who's own gothic inspired church construction was partially funded by my family's wealth over a 100 years, am not really a fan of such churches. But, maybe because I was heavily dosed on painkillers, I had a good time swaying with the music.

After church, Todd, his mother, his sister, and I, grabbed lunch at a small Italian restaurant where our waiter was one of Eric's lackeys. Like, the type of lackey where I've had that kid deliver weed to me in a park before, free of charge.  Todd was there, too. Of course, we couldn't say that in front of Todd's mother, or Todd's sister, so instead we were just like, "Oh! Casey! Good to see you...." yeah. Awkward.

I also had to watch my tongue around Todd's family, which was rather fun while on drugs. "Hey, Todd, I hear Justin Bieber blankety blankety but it belongs to Usher blankety blankety blankety."  And then Todd and I would share a good, hearty chuckle as his little sister, who loves the Biebs, would look on in confusion.

For those who don't get it, the uncensored version of that joke is: I hear Justin Bieber has a ten-inch cock, but it belongs to Usher and is shoved up his ass.

That night, I returned to Sam's bed, and fucked him again. However, for reasons I don't fully understand but believe are due to the painkillers, I could not cum. As I left, I casually asked Sam if he knew Lucius at all. He replied he did, that he actually lived in the same dorm as Sam, and that Sam didn't know him well, but had heard that he was clingy. Oh, gays and their gossip...

Monday, Todd came over for lunch again, and then I followed him to his lab, where I worked on math problems (never a good idea while high) and he worked on correctly the Langevin function to better described magnetic fields and account for interaction fields.  He's a math and physics nerd.

Tuesday, Todd and I grabbed lunch at a small crepe place near my house (and, by extension, near the university).  Now, if you ever get your tonsils removed, the doctors will tell you that days 5-8 are the worst. The doctors aren't lying.  I woke up Monday in so much pain, I would punch toddlers for my medication.  I woke up Tuesday in even worse pain.  I'm awake right now, in the middle of the night between Tuesday and Wednesday, because holy god, I can barely swallow saliva, I'm in pain. Thankfully, the Roxicet keeps it under some control, and I should be healthy again soon.

In other news, I've almost finished Part 9 of Liam's Mistake, and Part 10 is progressing nicely. I should post Part 9  in the next few days.

On Thursday, I have my follow up with the doctor, and I should return to upstate New York sometime this weekend. Which is good, because I have an internship starting July 5, and a math class that started Monday.

There Will Be Moaning

In a little under 11 hours, I will go under the knife.  Following the whole hospital incident last week, my family and I decided I should get my tonsils out. I returned home in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, grabbing breakfast with my dad in a little diner that we've been going to since I was little around 7 in the morning.

After coming home, where my mom crooned and sighed over me about worried she was and all that, and where my dog pounced up on me, smiling and wagging her tail and being absurdly cheerful as only dogs can be, my mother and I went to the ear, nose, and throat doctor.

One quick look at my tonsils and he scheduled a surgery for the next day.

Tonight, as I was staying up and fearing for the morrow, I got a message from Ralph: [my home city]? you alright, tiger?


I replied I was getting that I was getting my tonsils out and would be back in about two weeks.  He gave his condolences, and then described everything he wanted me to do to him after I get back, which proved for some pretty hot reading.

Ralph: (1:02:19 AM) first thing we do when i come over is we take off my pants and pop in the curvy dildo you've got
Jack: (1:02:41 AM) I like
Ralph: (1:02:41 AM) after that idk we stand there, compare cocks. marvel at yours
Jack: (1:02:59 AM) always my favorite past time
Ralph: (1:03:11 AM) you can keep a hand on the base of the dildo, moving it around, pushing it in and pulling on it
Ralph: (1:03:12 AM) etc
Ralph: (1:03:26 AM) then i suck your cock for a while
Ralph: (1:03:32 AM) in a some cool positions
Jack: (1:03:43 AM) very hot
Ralph: (1:03:57 AM) like you sitting on the edge of the bed, me kneeling on the floor sucking on it
Ralph: (1:04:18 AM) or my laying on my back on the bed, with my head at the edge of the bed and you feeding me your cock
Jack: (1:04:32 AM) see if you can deepthroat it?
Ralph: (1:04:39 AM) at least try
Ralph: (1:04:49 AM) if not it'd be hot to just lay it all on my face
Ralph: (1:04:57 AM) really drive the point home that it's a biggy
Ralph: (1:05:05 AM) slap it on my face
Jack: (1:05:25 AM) sounds like fun
Jack: (1:05:29 AM) I look forward to it
Ralph: (1:05:46 AM) me too
Jack: (1:05:52 AM) I notice that none of your ideas include me fucking you
Ralph: (1:05:58 AM) i'm getting there
Jack: (1:06:06 AM) I know you are
Ralph: (1:06:21 AM) so all this time i've got the dildo in me, and my ass is relaxing
Ralph: (1:06:50 AM) i should be pretty damn loose
Ralph: (1:07:09 AM) at least loose enough for you to just go in with me on all fours
Ralph: (1:07:29 AM) just go in, for the soviets it was called 'shock therapy'
Jack: (1:07:51 AM) just plow you into the bed
Ralph: (1:07:52 AM) hurts at first, but you get used to it sooner and it's easier in the long run
Ralph: (1:08:14 AM) i'll just have to bite the bullet and let you plow all the way into me
Jack: (1:08:30 AM) you make it sound terrible
Ralph: (1:08:44 AM) you'll like it
Jack: (1:08:45 AM) you'll be moaning like a whore the entire time, I promise you
Ralph: (1:08:49 AM) i'll like it too
Ralph: (1:08:51 AM) oh yeah
Ralph: (1:08:55 AM) there will be moaning

A Truly Awful Story

I was just discharged from the hospital a few hours ago.  I'd been there for a couple days due to some badly infected tonsils (yes, yes, the same damn thing happened three weeks ago).

It's also my 20th birthday. That feels weird to type.
I'm no longer a teenager.

Here's what happened:

On Wednesday, I woke up with a raging sore throat. Horribly inflamed and awful feeling. I spent the entire day at home, hoping that through rest and fluids it would improve.

Thursday, there was no improvement, so I went to my university's student health service, who  then sent me on the emergency room. Four hours later, I was discharged with a few prescriptions, a pat on the head, and "if you don't feel better in five days, go to this clinic."

Later that night, I was back. My tonsil had swollen so large that it nearly blocked off my throat. Swallowing was impossible, breathing could only be done through the nose. Sadly, I only noticed the swallowing part when I was in the midst of watching Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and I nearly drowned in my own saliva. The movie wasn't bad though.

After returning to the hospital, I was rushed into Trauma where they drained my peritonsillar abscess of pus once again, this time removing 18 ccs of pus (for those of you keep score at home, that's 25 ccs of pus that has been removed from my right tonsil).  The two doctors treating me and I had made friendly bets on how much pus we thought there might be beforehand.  The three bets had been 2 ccs, 5 ccs, and 7 ccs.  The ear, nose, and throat doctor said it was the most pus he had ever removed from a tonsil before and that it might be a hospital record.  He also sincerely hoped that the hospital didn't keep a record book for things such as this.

As it was, I spent all of Friday in the hospital and a good bit of Saturday as well. Finally, they released me with scripts for antibiotics and powerful painkillers.  The antibiotics alone were over $70. The painkillers... they didn't have them at the pharmacy, since what was prescribed was a solution (I still can't swallow well), so they put in an order for it.

At this point, the young male pharmacist looked at me rather concerned.  He is an intern still in pharmacy school, with a small piercing in his left ear (he had my gaydar twitching a little... plus, he was cute, so wishful thinking, too).  "Um... you prescription here is for some pretty powerful painkillers, are you sure you'll be okay without them for a few days?"  I was prescribed Oxycodone-Acetaminophen (Roxicet), which is used for moderate to severe pain.  I said of course I'd be fine, it was the antibiotics that were time critical. He looked at me strangely and asked how long ago I'd been released from the hospital, and when my last dose of painkillers was.  It had been some time before, and I confided in him that I thought sometimes doctors over prescribe necessary pain killers. Still, his concern was touching.

Afterward, as I was picking up popsicles in the drugstore, Todd, a good friend from home called and wished me a happy birthday, remarking at the strange fact that I always seem to be either coming or going to the hospital around my birthday.

Hot Chocolate: A Haiku

Should be made with milk
Made with water, tastes like shit
Like shit, drink coffee

This is a cup of hot chocolate, shit, or coffee. Any way you look at it, it's still appropriate.

My Type of Problem

Since nearly all of the posts on this blog are about sex and my adventures, writing for this blog requires two things. 1) For me to be horny enough to write about it, and 2) for me to have recently had adventures worth writing about.

This creates a mild paradox, because if I've been getting laid a lot recently, then I'm generally not horny and unwilling to write. If I haven't been getting laid, then I'm horny enough to write, but don't have anything worth writing about recently. This is something my roommate refers to as the "Fuck you, I'm the only one in this house who hasn't gotten laid in the past year" paradox. Maybe I should get him to write this for me as I dictate to him...

Take May for example.  In the month of May, I got laid six times in two cities, spent some time in the hospital, took my final exams for the year, had a battery of STD tests taken, and moved twice.  That's a lot of stuff to write about.  About my life alone, I probably could have written 11 or 12 posts.

Instead, during that same month, I posted on this blog five times. Only one was a hook up story (Sleeping with Friends, Part 3).  The others were a collection of tumblrs I enjoy (mostly used as my own directory for when I forget), part 7 of Liam's Mistake, a brief summary of what I had drafted and not posted, and a short update on what was happening in my life.  Two posts, total, on my life.

Maybe I should post more, but I don't really see that happening.  This is a porn blog, yes, but very little of it is actually porn. Tumblr is a much better format for reposting porn, and there are already dozens, if not hundreds of blogs that already post all the porn that I enjoy watching, so there's no pressing need for me to add to the chorus.

Really, the only thing worthwhile I produce on this blog is my exclusive content: stories of my life and Liam's Mistake.  And roughly no one (okay, one or two people, tops) reads those.  So yeah... I'm just going to continue posting whatever shit randomly passes through my brain.

Liam's Mistake, Part 8: Hungover

Right, part 8. Enjoy.

To Hell and Back Again

Ralph lay there, covered in my cum. It dripped down his slightly raised left shoulder and down his chest and stomach.  It dripped from his left cheek, where a large splotch had caught  him. It stuck in his shaggy brown hair and some of it clung to the wall beyond him.
"I had no idea you were a shooter."
It was an understatement.  I had just fired a week's load of cum at Ralph like he was the canvas of a Jackson Pollack painting.  I rolled off from where I had been straddling his legs and lay next to him as he mopped up my cum with my discarded shirt. "I'm still horny," I said. "I think I can do it again, want to see me try?"

Sleeping with Friends, part 3

I'm living with Kevin now. No, we're not sleeping together (my dad kinda awkwardly asked that last night when we talked on the phone... or at least, I think he did... he sorta rambled on for a half-hour and I wasn't paying attention, but he did mention his view that I didn't have to sleep with all of my close male friends).

The reason I'm living with Kevin is because I'm spending the summer here for classes and an internship.  Living on campus is expensive and irritating, and I was sick of it, but the house I leased for next year I don't get to move in to until August.  Kevin has two housemates, but one of them was returning to our hometown for the summer, so I get to move into his old room. There was one slight problem though.  The college that Kevin and his housemates goes to has their finals week this week. Meanwhile, the college that I go to had its summer session begin Monday.  So, for a few nights, I was stuck in a house where I didn't have a bed.

Thus, on Monday night, after an epicly bad day (I lost my wallet, front tire of my bike is flat, I was hungry), I went over to a friend's house.  Quinn just finished his Master's degree in Biochemistry and is applying for med school... sometime in the near future.  Point is, even though school's over, he's still hanging around in town for a few weeks. I headed over to his house where he consoled me over the loss of my wallet, reheated some Chinese takeout for me, and we watched Family Guy while I ate.

Afterwards, we cuddled in his bed and watched August Rush. By the way, that is an excellent movie to cuddle and/or have sex to. The plot is so predictable that you can ignore it for half an hour and still know exactly what's going, but both the cinematography and music are beautiful, so it's nice to have in the background. Plus, it's sappy and sentimental and romantic, which makes everyone feel cuddly.

All of this combined meant that for most of the movie, Quinn was curled up in my arms as my hands roamed about his body under his clothes, mostly playing with his chest and nips.  By the time the movie was over, he was so randy that it didn't take much to strip him of his shirt and boxers, where I found that his downward curved cock was hard and leaking.

I lay on my back while he rolled on top of me and straddled my hips. He's tiny, about 5'6 and probably only 125 lbs.  We kissed out and teased and ran our fingers along each others bodies until he pulled out some lube and sat on my fat cock... admittedly, with some difficulty, but eventually he got used to it.


...

You know what? These stories about sex are fucking boring.  They're only really good if I'm willing to put the time and attention into writing all of the hot steamy details. And I'm not.  I'd rather spend that time actually fucking.

Maybe I should delete this blog...

Bad Hair Day

Sometimes, a man must ask himself the question, "Can I cut my own hair?" The answer is no. It's always no. It's a dumb question. That's why I currently have three bald patches on the back of my head.

Earlier today, I returned to my old stomping grounds of upstate New York.  After taking a nice hot shower to rid myself of the hobo stench that inevitably clings after a night ride on a greyhound, I realized that my hair had grown longer than I tend to like. So, I gave myself a haircut.

The result caused my housemate to first look at me in shock and then to start cracking up. Glancing in the mirror, I didn't think it was that bad, until he took a picture of the back of my head and showed it to me.

I texted Max and Nate, asking if either of them knew a good place to get a haircut.  Nate did, but his place was farther away than I willing to travel. Max responded that he didn't, and that further more, he hadn't gotten wasted at a party the night before and was stuck way out of town, so we might have trouble getting together later tonight.

No big deal, I thought. There's a nice haircut place on campus. I'll just get a buzz cut and have my little experiment cleaned up there. Unfortunately, upon arrival, I discovered that the haircut place is only open on Wednesdays and Fridays during the summer.

 So yeah. I'm stick with raggedy, patchy hair for two days. At least I don't have to look at myself.

Tumblrs I Love

Sticking with my habit of being at least three years behind the times, I do not have a tumblr.  This is probably a bad thing because there are about four different tumblrs that I follow on a daily basis.

I'm thinking about switching this blog over to tumblr, and probably will since I have an Iphone and a mac.  Really, the only things stopping me at this point are that I'm too lazy to google how to switch over and that if I do switch over to tumblr, I'll have to become a hipster in more ways than I'd like.

Right.  That said, after the jump are a bunch of rather good tumblrs.  Some of them are gay, some are bondage, some are both. Sample pics will be included with each.

Least Interesting Man in the World

Originally, I was going to title this "How Not to Study for Finals."  That was because two weeks ago, when I realized I needed to be updating this more, finals were just around the corner.


To put that in perspective, my last final was Friday. So, I apologize for not writing more.

Stay and read, my friends. (XKCD)

That said, the reason I have not been writing is not that I lack material to write about, but simply that I have a life and that writing for this blog isn't a high priority for me. Also, I tend to draft stuff and then just not publish it for awhile.

So, after the jump, I'm going to list all of the things I'm currently working on for this blog.  If anyone actually reads this and cares about what they read, leave a comment just mentioning which of the things I mentioned you would like me to prioritize.

Liam's Mistake, Part 7: Evocati Cabal

Yes, yes, we killed Bin Laden yesterday. But this blog is about sex.  So, here's part seven.  All disclaimers still apply:

Liam's Mistake, Part 6: Eric's Party

Another part of this terrible piece of fiction.
Usual disclaimers apply.
Follow the jump to read.

How To Fuck Up Hitting On People

Earlier this evening, I was working on math homework when I decided to check out A4A.  There was  a cute guy on there who seemed like he might be sane, close by, and my type (the hookup trifecta right there), so I wen with my patented pick up line.  What follows after the jump is the transcript of that wonderful train wreck of a conversation.

You think my actual username is Jack?

Rugby Quote of the Day

"It's good to be versatile" - My Coach.

Granted, he was talking about how I know how to play every position in the pack, but my mind still went to this:

Sora Aoi

Yes, I know, this is primarily a gay blog. And yes, I know, this picture is of a female.

It is? What gave it away?

But first, no one reads this blog anyways, so fuck you.  Second, I have an asian fetish. Third, holy fuck, she's hot. Those boobs are probably fake, but she has a fantastic rack all the same. Seriously, despite their massive size, they're nice and perky. Absolutely perfect.

Anyways, her name is Sora Aoi (Japanese for "Blue Sky"), and this post is just going to be a bunch of pictures of her (with links), mostly because I don't want to google search her every single time I want to jack off to her body.

If this is your type, please follow the jump. And if you're like some gays I know (ahem Nate ahem) and are disgusted by lady parts, go read another post instead.

Whores and Sluts

Woot! Provocative title!  Here's the thing:  we often refer to people as "sluts" and "whores" 1) as if it's a bad thing, and 2) without a really clear definition of what we mean. I jokingly have referred to myself as one before, and more than once have called the boys I've slept with such titles.

It never really crossed my mind as something to worry about until a couple weeks ago.  I had gone to Chicago for the early part of spring break to visit my sister, and while I was there, I remembered that Lucius was originally from Chicago and that he was likely there for spring break as well.

On March 4th, as I was headed to the airport to catch my flight, I sent him a text confirming that he was in the Chicago area.

He replied in the affirmative, but noted that he didn't recognize my phone number.
I messaged him back my "Jack - Jan 10" hoping to jog his memory.
There was a pause.

Grindr: Another Reason to Make Sweet, Sweet Love to My Iphone

For those of you who don't know, Grindr is an Iphone app that takes advantage of the Iphone's GPS capabilities to let you know who else has Grindr nearby and how far away from you they are.  Also, it lets you see a picture of them, chat with them, and see whatever information they've scribbled down on their profile.

Oh yeah, it's also advertised as a way to "Find Gay, Bi, Curious guys nearby."  Pretty much it's an easy way to hookup.

Now, I haven't used Grindr much, largely because I got an Iphone all of two weeks ago. However, I did use it a couple nights ago.

To read this story, follow the jump:

Liam's Mistake, Part 5

Since sadistic fiction is always more interesting than real life...

Usual disclaimer applies: everyone is fictional, none of this happened, rape is bad, yadda, yadda, yadda. Don't read it if you don't want to.

There is a surprisingly lack of good bondage online. But I stole this from here.

Sleeping with Friends, part 2

First, I know, I haven't updated the blog in a month.  I apologize for my inconsistency, but, in my defense, I have a life.

That said, as way of apology, have this boy:

Unapologetically stolen from this tumblr.

But now for the real reason that you're here: to listen to my rambling tales about awkward sexual encounters.  That's not why you're here? Too bad. That's what you're getting.

I met Kevin the summer I turned 16.  We spent the summer interning together doing robotics research.  At the time, he was pony tail, goatee, and black shirt wearing part time hacker, full time nerd.  We got along well that summer and stayed in touch after the summer was over, largely because we shared a mutual interest in robotics.  After high school, he went to a college in my hometown for a year before transferring to a college in the town where I go to school.  Conveniently enough, the house he and his roommates rented was actually closer to my college than to his, so we spent time hanging out during the brief periods when we were both free.

One fine November day, we were talking on Facebook chat about life, the universe, and everything where he brought up that ever since he broke up with his girlfriend, he's been tempted to experiment with his sexuality.  I paused, then asked "are you making a pass at me?"

To read more of this fascinating tale, follow the jump:

Wacky College Adventures...

I'm decently sure I just spent the past five days in a wacky college comedy or stoner movie as a side character and nobody bothered to tell me they were filming.

Exactly like this, with the Tom Green character being played by Yours Truly.

Remember that short post I made earlier called "Real Life Adventures?" After the jump is basically an expansion of that concept. 

Liam's Mistake, Part 4

Because everyone loves my writing...

Real Life Adventures

Yesterday, I got back to my dorm from Joe's place at about 1:30 in the afternoon.  My suitemate, Mick. had two of his friends over, Jeff and Avi.  They were old high school friends of his and Jeff had joined the Navy and was shipping off next month, so he and Avi had driven the six hours to get up here for one last hurrah with Mick. There had been a concert last night on campus followed by some raging parties, so the three of them were massively hungover and hungry. Mick's band was playing a concert tonight, so he needed to prepare.

"Dude, Jack, these guys have never been to Hot Stuff BBQ!"
"I've never been there either."
"What?! You need to take them there."

And that's how I was drafted into taking Jeff and Avi to a BBQ place I had never been to (though I knew where it was). We piled into Jeff's car and drove up.

"God, that show was awesome last night! Did you go to it?"
"Nah... I was out last night."
"Oh? Where?"

Political Nonsense: Santorum

Rick Santorum, former Senator from PA, seems to be thinking about running for President in 2012.

"The idea is that the state doesn't have rights to limit individuals' wants and passions. I disagree with that. I think we absolutely have rights because there are consequences to letting people live out whatever wants or passions they desire.(1)"

Now, this would all be fine and dandy, except he's a homophobic bigot who supported the war in Iraq and believes in "intelligent design."

Thankfully, he has no chance of being elected and has a particularly vicious google problem.  That said, I'd like it to stay that way, so if you ever see Santorum on the ballot, don't vote for him, and here's my link to Spreading Santorum.

Now back to the usual smut...

Descent into Chains, part 1

No, this one isn't a piece of fiction, as might be suspected due to its melodramatic title.  Rather, this will be my attempt to put into chronological order my interest in bondage and its intersections with the rest of my sex life.

Granted if you've read the erotic story I post on here in bits and pieces, or even just that more recent post about Nate, you've probably gotten some idea that I'm into bondage...

That's a boring and terrible beginning to this post. Restart:
I was rubbing my hard cock through my pants and staring intently at the screen.  The website in front of me was covered in hundreds, if not thousands, of pictures of naked women provocatively displayed. For a 12 year old boy, it was a godsend.  I clicked on one, and was immediately brought to another gallery.

There was a distinct pause as I took in what I saw and realized what it was. As I stared in wide mouthed, open eyed ecstasy, I nearly jizzed my pants...

Once again, to sample more of my wonderful writing, follow the jump...

Sleeping with Friends, Part 1

Most of the guys I sleep with are random hookups.  Usually not complete strangers; I like to get to know someone a bit before I sleep with, but still people who outside of the bedroom I'd almost never encounter.

There have been a few exceptions to this.  Alex, for instance, was my hall mate. And Mei, obviously, I was dating.  But only twice in life have I ended up sleeping with a friend.  And surprisingly enough, I was dead sober both times.

To read more please follow the jump.

Repeated Hookups

Remember Nate?  The twink I slept with a couple weeks back? The guy who I worried that I'd drive away by texting him too much?

Yeah, turns out that despite my concerns, he is decently into me.  We stayed in touch over the past couple weeks, and texted little nothings back and forth.  Due to tests, and homework, and all of that stuff, we hadn't been able to meet up. Last night though, he was able to come over. And that excited me.

For more of this fascinating tale, follow the jump.

Body Image

I'm in damn good shape.

I'm 19, 180 lbs (it varies between 177 and 183 lbs), 6'1.  I play rugby, I swim 50 laps in the morning a couple times a week, I run 5 miles in 40 minutes other mornings, I don't look half bad with my shirt off.

But: I don't keep track of what I eat, I don't know how much body fat I have, I don't have a distinctive six pack. I look absolutely nothing like Marky Mark.

Mark Wahlberg used to be a male model. What the hell.

I'm fine with that. I have a healthy body image, but damnit, I want more.

Dangers of Hitchhiking

I've never hitchhiked.  There was a time (the 50s and 60s) when it was considered practically normal for young people without cars to thumb a ride if they needed to get somewhere.  It's one of those things that we seem to have lost our innocence on. Sure, statisically, it's probably just as safe, if not safer, to hitchhike these days then it was years ago, but nowadays, everybody's afraid of hitchhikers and those who would hitchhike are afraid of everybody else.

My dad hitchhiked when he was my age.  And he told me a story about one of the last times he did.

Turning Down Older Guys

I got this message on a hookup site I'm on.
"YUM YUM Jack..........i want some, lol"

Now if a 5'7 blond 18 yo freshman over in the other dorm had sent this, I'd be over there in three seconds flat. Hell, I wouldn't even put on a shirt first despite it being cold as balls out.

Liam's Mistake, Part 3

Yet another Thursday update of my magnum opus, Liam's Mistake. Because everyone loves gay, bondage fiction starring underage teens.

Emotional Blowback

One night stands are great. The sex is hot, there are no complicating factors, both people get exactly what they want. There is, however, a downside.  Sex has an inherent emotional component.  To deny it is to deny a part of sex that is hot and beautiful, but to open up to it is to open yourself to the emotional blowback.

Poppers and Protection

For those of you who don't know, poppers are any one of a number alkyl nitrates inhaled during sex.  They give you a quick rush to the head, relax your muscles, and fill you with warm sensations.

Also for those of you who don't know, protection refers to condoms.  This is a sex blog, that one should have been obvious.

Yesterday afternoon, I met a guy who, for the purposes of this blog, we'll call Nate.  He was 5'7 or so, and the perfect definition of twink. Boyish, blond hair, tanned (which considering the fact that we're in the icy north, that's an accomplishment), and stunning blue eyes.  I went with my patent pending pick up line "Holy fuck, you're cute. Climb into my bed now."

Because he was a gay guy and, say, not a straight girl, that worked perfectly. Rather than calling the police on me and having me arrested for sexual harassment, he said "I've got class, but I want to soon." We exchanged numbers and he agreed to come over to my dorm after rugby practice.

To read more, follow the jump.

Here We Go, Steelers!

Okay, so this has nothing to do with fucking dudes.  Or sex at all, for that matter. But I'm a Steelers fan, and tonight's been a good night.

Here we go, Steelers, here we go! Pittsburgh's going to the Superbowl!

Liam's Mistake, Part 2

Because everyone loves poorly written gay erotic fiction, here is part 2 of Liam's Mistake.  The usual disclaimer; everything here is fiction, any resemblance to persons in real life is entirely coincidental, rape of all kinds is bad, etc.

So, without further ado, whip out your dicks and enjoy part 2:

Deep Throating

Before I say anything about sucking dick, I'd like to thank the wonderful university I attend.  The excellent internet connection provided here lets me rip massive porn videos off the internet in seconds.  And that, my friends, is why we live in the future, where hot naked twinks riding dildos can be displayed on our laps in record time.

That said, blogger is being a bitch and won't let me upload the video. No, it's not that I don't know how to use blogger. Stop looking at me like that. I'm not incompetent, just technically challenged.  I'll just show you screencaps instead and you can pretend you're me.  You know you do already.

Anyways, to here my thoughts on deep throating,  and far more importantly, to see more of this boy:

Follow the jump.

Liam's Mistake

I began writing this story in May of 2009.  Those of you who are keeping careful track of my life's chronology may notice that was six or seven months before I had ever slept with a boy.  I was also 17 at the time, as is the narrator, who's name, conveniently, is Jack.  Make of that what you will.

I wrote a couple parts of it the summer of 2009, abandoned it for a year, took it up again in the summer of 2010, and published the first 5 parts of it online on BDSMLibrary and had written a sixth part before I dropped it again.

As you can imagine from where it was posted, the story is a bdsm fantasy. If you are into that sort of thing and care to read it, please follow the jump.  Without further ado, Part 1 of Liam's Mistake:

Hooking Up Frustrations

The single most frustrating thing about random hooking up is that it relies on The Shotgun Theory to work.  Shotgunning is the art of hitting on as many people as possible until one of them hooks up with you.  The downside to this is the absurd amount of rejection you will encounter, or, since this blog is about me, that I encounter on a regular basis.

Take, for example, this past winter break. Darryl is a close friend of one my good friends.  He is also fabulously gay and I find him to be fantastically hot.

This is not Darryl, but he's similar enough for our purposes:

For more of this story and for more images of hot naked boys, please continue after the jump.

First Time

At 5:00 AM on Friday, December 4, 2009, I sat down at my computer, shaking a bit.
And I began typing:
"Alex just left my room.
Well, most of him did. His cum is still on my chest..."

But before I relate all of the fun adventures that happened that night, I feel some background is necessary.

First off, I didn't want to use any actual pictures of Alex, so I just grabbed some of a porn star who looks kinda like him. Alex looks like this guy, but hotter:

To see more of him and to continue to sample my scintillating writing skills, follow the jump.