Monday, December 31, 2007


Well, a new year is upon us.

Time to make a few resolutions and changes.

For starters, no more married men for me - nothing but trouble. Exciting, yes, but stable, no. I think this year I will stick to men who are single and openly gay.

Next, I'm going to try to make a new set of friends. The problem in Manhattan is that its population is very transient; and in 2007 I lost many friends to the West Coast and other worldly ports. Of course, "friends" are a dime a dozen on the island of lost souls, but I'm looking for a new "smart set" to hang out with.

I'm also going to attempt to date again. I mean, it's been five years since my partner died from bladder cancer, so I guess it's time, right? It's hard watching the love-of-your-life waste away in front of your eyes - and I don't think you ever get over it. Last week, while I was in recovery from a minor operation, I kept insisting to anyone who would listen that "Denny was coming to get me", so I guess it's something I live with even in my Ativaned subconscious.

Well, this year I'm going to try to let another man love me - and not just in the biblical sense.

Wish me luck.

Sunday, December 30, 2007


You know what I don't get?

Televised sports and the millions of dollars that are paid to the athletes.

Oh, I know what you're thinking: What do I know? I'm a big queen who would rather dance around my apartment to the soundtrack of "Dreamgirls" than watch sports.

Probably true.

However, I just don't understand what is so great about watching other men/women tossing a ball around. I mean, I could understand if you were actually playing the sport, but to sit and watch and cheer from a sofa?

I don't get it.

I should also point out that most professional athletes are dumb as rocks, seldom vote, and if they do vote, it's Republican. Furthermore, when questioned as a group, very few even knew about global warming. I mean, how could they know about global warming when the majority of them drive Hummers. And I won't even go into all the sex scandals, rapes and drugs these athletes get involved in. Oh, did I mention they make millions of dollars a year?

As I said, I just don't get it.

Saturday, December 22, 2007


I love this great quote from Andy Warhol superstar Brigid Berlin.

"My mother wanted me to be a slim, respectable socialite. Instead I became an overweight troublemaker."

Thursday, December 20, 2007


I found this little tidbit while I was cruising the men for men on Craigslist - I think it's hilarious.

i have an STD but wanna get blown anyway. (serious) - 27

Reply to:
Date: 2007-12-20, 3:33PM EST

i know this is irresponsible of me but i don't care.
I have had a burning when i piss, a little bit of discharge, etc. It seems like a textbook case of the clap.
my doctor is on vacation until after christmas so i can't do anything about it until then.

the obvious, adult thing to do would be quit screwing around.

but i am one horny beast right now. jacking aint cutting it.

so if you wanna get with a 27 year old, 6'1" 170lbs athlete with good abs, tight ass, and thick cock. . . get in touch.
Of course i'll wear a condom.
and its syph. . its curable.

pics for trade

serious only. . . and don't preach to me. i could just keep my trap shut about all this but i'm being up front. so don't preach to me.


It's high season for parties in Manhattan - and I'm not missing a single one.

Last night, I attended the one-year anniversary of the Rapture Cafe - a decadent and divine coffee shop on Avenue A. Of course, all the hipsters and dragsters were out, but it was the stage show that was truly amazing. Many clubbers got up to talk and sing, but the highlight was most definitely the stripping rabbi with the eight-inch shlong and prosthetic tits.

Yes, only in New York City, kids.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007


OK, we all know the health care system in America sucks, but I've never experienced it first hand - until now.

My mother - a senior citizen - had an operation this past week and was sent home within 2 hours of the procedure. I mean, she looked like death warmed over.

Once home, she moaned and groaned for three days.

My parents have excellent health insurance and this is the treatment they received.

God help the rest of us.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007


It's a colder than normal in Manhattan. I mean, it's mittens and scarf weather. I had just come from a painfully dull straight person party - all wrinkly faces and bad clothing choices. I couldn't wait to leave. Once home, with the cold winds blowing against my cheap rent stabilized windows, I began to feel lonely - and horny.

It was too cold to go out looking for love, so I turned to the Internet; and within minutes, I had found a trick.

The man that showed up at my door was beautiful, but when he opened his mouth, Fran "The Nanny" Dreiser came dancing out.

"I'm just a queen from Queens," he laughed in a nasal voice when I inquired his origins.

OK, I strategized as I looked at his muscles and cute dimples, let's get this over with as quick as possible and with little or no talking. With my mouth clamped over his, I led him into the bedroom. Once undressed, his Internet pictures did not lie - his body was rock hard with a bubbled ass and a dick that was both gargantuan and beautifully shaped.

Things were going as scheduled until he questioned the music in the background.

"Is that Dusty Springfield," he squeeled.

"Yes," I said running my hand over his lips trying to get him back into the moment.

"I have her greatest hits," he said. "But she isn't one of my big three - Cher, Elton and Whitney. Oh, I just love those three. I used to love Barbra Streisand, but she didn't answer the fan letter I wrote to her last year."

OK, the sex was over. I had now discovered the piece of the puzzle to this beautiful man's singlehood.

He then went on and on about his love of all things Bette, Celine and even Reba.

I couldn't get rid of him fast enough.

I mean, it's fine to be a big queen, but for the love of God, please butch it up a bit for an Internet hookup.

Thursday, December 06, 2007


The thing about living in Manhattan is you never lack for things to do.

Let me explain:

Last night I attended Dirty Thoughts - an event that invited writers to share their thoughts on sex.

A pre-op tranny spoke of her love for her fully functional tranny cock. At times, her penis prose became quite graphic, but since I was sitting in a slick downtown coffee shop that considered itself a vision of nowness, I couldn't wince. One of my best friends is a tranny, and although I think of her as a 100 percent female, we seldom talk sex. I mean, I'm a 100 percent man-loving gay boy, so the thought of a pecker in lace panties is non too appealing to me. In other words, some sex acts are better left behind closed doors.

A bearish looking man was up next. He told a moving tale of searching for love via unsafe sex in a world filled with HIV. He held the audience in the palm of his hands as he spoke of his journey to find the right man to give him the "gift". Once HIV positive, he found it wasn't all parties and pride marches as in the HIV medication advertisements. Not surprisingly, his story turned into a story of regret and sadness.

Finally, an older man of about 70 spoke about his sexual trysts with two brothers in catholic school. The timeline was the 1950s. He detailed hidden meetings and hidden signals that seemed so foreign and unbelievable to his young audience. In the end, both brothers became priests and were later involved with molesting alter boys and sharing them with the writer on the stage. He didn't seem to have any regret about molesting young boys. In fact, he had a sickly sweet smile on his face when he spoke of the alter boys.

As we left the coffee shop, my friend looked at me: "I don't know about you, but that was way too much information."

Sunday, December 02, 2007


The world is full of married men.

Let me explain:

A good friend - I'll call her Bess - told me over the weekend she is in love with a married man. Of course, she said, he is going to leave his wife.

As she told me of their steamy afternoon delights, I ordered another soy latte and bit my tongue.

Yes, I know better.

I've had experience - lots of experience - with married men. At first the passion is amazing and it all seems so refreshingly naughty - as if your dull life suddenly has a new sense of purpose. But then it gets messy. Feelings get involved, and eventually someone gets hurt. And yes, he never leaves his wife.

I didn't tell my friend any of this. Love is always on loan - never the nest egg we can depend on, so who was I to burst her heart shaped balloon.

I smiled and wished her well.