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So I'll commemorate the occasion by retelling my Tuesday trip to NYC. I went there to audition for Prather Theatre's upcoming season of musicals. Following the longest wait to audition I've had in years (about 3 hours), I rendered a not-so-hot 16 bars of Hard To Say Goodbye from the musical VIOLET and beat it back to the holding cell...I mean waiting area. It wasn't long before the monitor came out and said, "thank you to all in the group that just auditioned, but they've seen all they need to see from you today." Okay, kid. Time to scram. Free at last. Free at last. Thank fucking christ I'm free at last to get the fuck outta here already! It was around 6:15p and I had just enough time to hurry to the TKTS booth and get the last seat they had for The Addams Family. I knew I was going to like it, but I didn't know I'd love it and become obsessed by the music. By show's end, I had a little less than 30 minutes to hustle over to the Megabus depot, grab a ticket and head home. It wasn't to be, though. I won't get into all the particulars but, suffice it to say, I had nearly $600 cash in my wallet and couldn't get a ticket (even a reasonable one) home. There were two people I knew between Harlem and Brooklyn, but I didn't feel comfortable calling either at that hour. Consequently, I decided to just tough it out. It was only going to be one night, but oh what a looooong night (late December, 1963). To add insult to injury, Rainbow Station's $10 Boom Boom Room was undergoing renovations. So I couldn't even pay to prop myself against a wall or put folding chairs together there. I did a lot of (painful) wandering about. I was also carrying a Coach bag filled with a MacBook, head shots, sheet music, DVDs and magazines (for entertainment); travel toothbrush and paste, baby wipes...ugh. My shoulder and feet hurt so much by the time I got back to Boston that next afternoon, I nearly removed my shoes. My very handsomely crafted, leather Frye lace-ups were scraping the skin off my toes (no socks) and the nearly 9' (that's right, feet) of functional zippers on my Dolce & Gabanna pants were snatching leg hair. I was a wreck!

So where, you may ask, is the good stuff you're used to reading about on this blog? Where's the fucking? Ah, yes. I'm (ahem) coming to that.

During one of the meanderings between Chelsea, Times Square and Hells Kitchen (there were a few), I walked past a slim white guy. He looked to be in his mid to late 20s and, despite the somewhat chill of the evening, was wearing a red and black flannel-type shirt and slim jeans in dark denim. His blond hair was neatly trimmed in a buzz cut and he tossed me a sly grin along with a shamelessly open look at my freeballing package as we passed each other. We know the saying "if looks could kill," but if looks could slap, my balls would've been hurtin'. Our subsequent connection almost didn't happen, due to the scientific truth that an object in motion tends to want to stay in motion (la la la [the gay equivalent of yadda yadda yadda, etc etc etc]). We kept walking, but we also kept turning around grinning at each other like idiots. I thought, what the hell? I've got all night. Might as well see where this goes. I stopped. He stopped. Then we both met in the middle. I swear I could hear the bow-chikka-bow-wow music pouring loudly from the buildings all around us (in NY nothing is subtle). Seriously. This is precisely how every gay porn that was ever invented has happened: "Hey, what's up?" "Nothing much. What's up with you?" "Just walking around." "Oh yeah? I just finished having a drink with a friend. Headed home now. You Look good, man." "You, too. So what's up? What do you get into?" "I'd really like to play with some dick right now." Mmm. Keep talking. During our brief dialogue, there was scarcely a foot of space between us. (Nice). I took advantage of that fact and nuzzled his neck with my face. To show just how much he wanted to play with cock (namely mine), he grabbed a handful and jiggled it around. I started to get hard. He wanted to play, but didn't know how he felt about inviting me back to his place. I understood and told him I was happy he'd said hello. I got into the city regularly and maybe we could connect then. He thought that was a good idea and asked for my number. I couldn't place his accent and didn't ask where he was from, but he had a slightly Slavic lilt. If I'm remembering correctly, his beautiful teeth had a sexy slit between the two fronts. He took my number, copped another decadent feel (right there in public) and walked away. (Damn, he knew how to make an exit.) And I was left...with a raging boner. Oh, and sore feet and an aching shoulder. Don't forget the sore feet and aching shoulder.

About an hour later, when I was trading blowjobs with black dude swinging a big fat dick through a booth (pics below), R sent a few texts asking if I'd gotten any yet, if I was into threesomes and if I take it raw. (Yes on all counts). I told him I was getting my dick sucked at that very moment. In his own words, he was still debating whether we should fuck or not. I immediately went into what is known as Must Get Sex Mode. I started telling him I wasn't a stalker or dangerous in any way and could give him some online links of mine he could check out. I won him over because he gave me his address at 55th and 10th. I swallowed the black dude's nutt and walked from Port Authority. When he asked if I was walking, I lied and told him I was cabbing it. (Didn't want him to change his mind. It was already after 4a, but I'm a fast walker. I made it in less than 15.) After 10 minutes he asked where I was. (Impatient Rude Yorkers *grin*). I sexily texted back: almost inside u. He was already in his underwear by the time I got up to his floor. His body was suh-weet: buzzed hair covered his developed chest and his bubble butt was amazing in those undies. Following some preliminary heavy petting, the clothes were completely out, poppers were snorted and I was inside him. If I'd had to bet, I would've pegged him as more of a bottom. And that may have been, but he seemed to really enjoy my ass. We didn't fuck long. We were both tired. But it was just how I like it: compulsive and piggish. After about 30 minutes of bare bliss, he gave me his load doggie. He draped over my back and said 7 of the most romantic words I'd heard all night: Now, your ass is full of my cum, baby. (Oh, wait. Those are 9 words. I'm delirious.) He boasted that he shot big. It was true. I didn't abort until I got home nearly 7 hours later and there was still something to drip out. You know? I hope we stay in touch. I'd like to get to know this guy and possibly have a long distance, open relationship with him :)


A redheaded rentboy who's too hot to handle.
My edging came to an end when I saw this (pun intended).

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Well, it's down the Xtube Rabbit Hole we go, but, seriously, I don't see Asians like this everyday. Gotta start hanging around some (or all) of the campuses around here.