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."