Gas Prices and Getting Laid

Has anybody else had a trick tell him that he didn't have enough money for gas? Therefore, he couldn't make it over to your place. And when you offered to help him pay for gas, he responded that the offer wasn't enough...I assume, to fill the tank of his SUV? And he doesn't host...ever. OK, no problem with that, I understand and respect the desire to keep things anonymous, a lot of guys don't want tricks to know where they live. I used to be like that, until I started hosting last year...mostly because I wanted to be comfortable and I couldn't have sex in the some of the bedrooms I traveled to, they were too goddamned tacky and by the way, not sexy...they were anti-sexy. Enough of that. I hope this gas issue isn't a trend, especially in oliocentric places like LA, Dallas, Houston and Atlanta. Hooking up was made a lot easier through the internet, but now high gas prices are keeping guys home, as guys have to worry about wasting gas on a flake, or worse yet, having to worry about having enough gas to get to work tomorrow. Who would have thought that gas prices would have to be factored into your plans for a slutty evening?

Necessary Roughfucking

Every self-respecting bottom needs to get roughfucked every so often. About once every six months, at the least. It keeps him on his mettle. When a top talks about 'long and slow' sessions, I want to get myself loose from that guy and right away, too. Suggestions of passion or tenderness, or god forbid, romance, are enough to chill my fire. I like it vigorous, athletic, spirited and hard. Maybe I need to get roughfucked more than the average bottom. Among the couple hundred tops who have fucked me in the past 12 months, only three have been roughfuckers. One is my fuckbud who gives it to me on regular basis (praise the Lord!), another is a certain Latin toppozfuckr down in the desert and whom I've blogged about, and the third worked me over last Friday night. A roughfucktop grabs the bottom without the slightest bit of gentleness and puts him where he wants him. He doesn't talk much, nor should he...the most I want to hear is...maybe...'fuckin' hot ass!' While I've commented on the various fuckstyles of the men who've fucked me, I can say that all three roughfucktops fucked in the same way. Oh, they'll go through all the various positions and that's all great, but when they're driving a load home, what they do is, first, put you flat on your stomach, two, put your legs as close together but still allowing himself to get his dick up your ass, and three, pin your arms and/or shoulders down, putting most of his weight on the upper half of your body, giving him plenty of room for full throttle thrusting. This is the best type of fucking, and the bottom has to concentrate and not lose the beat. This is what makes a true power bottom: he never loses the beat, he knows when to lead and when to follow. And with necessary roughfucking, the bottom follows. Even the most confident power bottom gives way to a roughfucker. Problem is, I doubt any body, even the most dedicated and effective bottom, can afford to get roughfucked night after night. That's what makes roughfucking so special and wonderful when you're lucky enough to get it. So, to 'Goliath'...any studly built top with hair down to his shoulders is 'Goliath' in my book...thanks for the roughfuck which I so desperately needed last Friday night. Hope to see you...in six months, but I wish I could call you whenever...necessary.

Bastard Junior's Auspicious Debut - Porn Review

If 'Raw Stallions Hung Hot Rods' isn't a debut for Bastard Junior, it might as well be. Just who is this new name guy? Whoever he is, he's a new talent, and hooked up with Frank Stein's SlutMachine, he should do well and go far, if this new dvd is any indication. The action is beautifully captured; we get great insert shots, sequences that are just right in length, great lighting, camera angles and a combination of veterans and newcomers. Sage Daniels and Ian Jay are the veteran bottoms taking hung hot rods, the likes of favorites Hot Rod and Chase Coxx. Ian Jay has never been better presented...through medium range shots where we get to see his face and his feet as he's getting viciously fucked by Hot Rod, and the contrast of skin tones is artfully caught on camera. Newcomers Jake Brentwood and Luke Bennett are manly young bottoms and we can't wait to see more of them. And then there's Antonio Biaggi, who seems to branching out, working with various studios. This splendid specimen of manhood is beautifully presented here...a great performing talent matched with great directorial talent. Buy this one without renting it first, you can't go wrong. This rates 5 stiff dicks!

Silent Breeders

I'm in Las Vegas and his dick is very small...as small as a short pencil used for jotting notes, but like most small dicks, it's as hard as a pencil, as well. Small dicks are often good for jabbing pussies, coming out and thrusting right back in again, but this one had a hard time getting in, so when it was finally in, I took care to keep it in. I squeezed that baby as tight as I could and massaged it earnestly with my talented buttmuscles. At that point, the top just stopped and held his dick in place and within a minute, withdrew completely and left. Oh, well, I thought...there's always the next one.
But as I fingered my hole, I realized that it was rather sloppy and then a blob of cum oozed out. I fingered some more and got enough to lube my dick for some playing of my own. Then as I got up off the bench, I noticed there was a pool of cum on the floor. Imagine, all this cum from this tiny bit of meat, and the top gave no indication he was cumming at all, a real silent breeder.
The next night I'm in Palm Springs at the CumUnion Party. I'm on that annoying mattress that's actually three long, narrow pieces that don't stay together. A top climbs on my back and tries to get in. He's not really hard nor is he that big, but he does get in and he fucks me briefly with a loofah-type cock. This action lasts for only a minute, and then he's off my back and I never see him again. That's all the action I get at this party, which I will describe in greater detail on another blog. But when I get home, I get the urge to crap and I realize there's actually a load up there...a big one that just flows out of my butthole. Again, as in Las Vegas, this was a silent breeding...there was no thrusting nor pounding, no change in tempo, no grunt nor sigh of pleasure. Just some silent breeding but with a couple of big loads. Some guys breed silent, breed deep.

Fucked by a Salesman

The funny thing is I didn't realize it was he until we talked, after he had fucked me to heaven and back. I used to be a client, and he used to service my account. I guess now he serviced me in another way. I wasn't sure it was he but he started a conversation and then he asked me, 'Is your name...?' And then I realized who he was. It's funny getting fucked by somebody you've known for years in a business context. A spirited, longlasting top...adequate equipment...uhm, and no discussion of HIV status after the fact, a bareback fuck in a bathhouse with anonymous-friendly lighting...and a hey, how are you...but no asking further questions. I guess I can assume he's poz also, but the situation though not exactly awkward, was certainly new and it still has me thinking...next!

2 Load Squat

I headed to Palm Springs for a few days and one of my favorite sex venues, a sex garage on the north end of town. I've described this place before; the fuckspaces are divided by hanging panels of black fabric, there are slings (3), a fuckbench, and two spaces with big mattresses dumped on the floor...there's not too much lighting and the guys are there to fuck, not stand around. It's a mostly older crowd and I guess that's why there's a lot of action, even though there's never been more than 30 guys or so. It also tends to clear out early...I was one of the last guys to leave and it was only around 11:30.
I got totally fucked by a series of tops I'd never met and oh yeah, the Energizer Bunny who pounded my ass off and on throughout the night...I think five times in all. He also fucked every bottom who was there, and I really enjoyed watching the bottoms in slings getting worked over by all sizes of dicks...I especially liked seeing the bottoms' dirty feet (from the garage floor)as their asses got pummeled.
I took at least one load, a big one that the top really worked hard to get off. When I got home, I took a squat, collected the cumload in the palm of hand and then used it as lube to jack myself off, a nice way to close the evening.
The next morning, after I awakened, I simply lay in bed for a while thinking about how great the previous night's action had been, and I got that nice feeling of being pregnant with cum, you know, that urge to take a crap but you know it's not crap. I just lay around a bit longer, thinking back and hoping it would be another copious load. Finally, I did another squat and shat a smaller but still nice blob of seed, which I smeared over my dick so I could play with myself a bit longer. What I don't know is...was it all from one, massive load, or a second load shot deeper into my hungry ass? Don't know, don't care. Cum's the best.

Demise of the SF Eagle and Chris Burns Remembered

The news around town is that the SF Eagle, the legendary leather bar, will close at the end of this month. My information is all second hand but essentially, the lease and liquor license have passed on to new hands who have no intention of maintaining the Eagle as we have come to love it over the decades. For me it is the quintessential leather bar, although there are Eagles all over the country and I have been to all the West Coast ones, LA, Seattle and Portland, as well as our own San Francisco...they were united in sensibility but not in management. If somebody visiting from out of town wanted to hit the leather bars, you started at the Eagle.

There was a time when gay bars were supposed to be dark holes and the best ones really were dark holes. The Eagle, its outdoor patio (the place to be on a warm Sunday afternoon) notwithstanding, was a dark hole, especially in the after midnight hours. Now that is not to suggest that it was a dismal, gloomy place for habitues of the twilight netherworld...I recall many happy boisterous times, such as the Mr. Eagle or Mr. Leather talent contests, live rock concerts, some vibratious drag appearances, and notably, when Miss Connie Francis brought down a crowded house by launching into 'Where the Boys Are,' or when the crowd cheered THE Tom of Finland. Dark as it was, with its black walls and stategically placed lighting, the SF Eagle was memorable to anyone who dropped in. Like Danny AKA Chris Burns, the 1980's pornstar and champion analist of the era.

To those of you too young to remember the pre-condom porn era, there was some really great bottoming talent who excelled despite the limited capacity of videotape. Some names easily come to mind: Cory Monroe, Kevin Wiles, Michael Cummings, Brad Mitchell. But the three that really stand out, and all worthy of the Bareback Bottom Hall of Fame were Kevin Williams, John King and Chris Burns. I saw only Chris Burns perform live...and that was a dildo show at the Nob Hill Theater. He was famous for putting his hole to the test; he wanted to get fucked by a horse (he'd already been fucked by everything else) and I heard through the grapevine that he had attained that goal (it's on tape somewhere) but the effect was more comical than erotic. After the death of his longtime companion Jim Ed Thompson, a leather great of high repute, Chris hit the Eagle to find tops to fill that demanding hole of his; dick, dildo, fist, whatever.

Chris usually showed up after midnight, dressed as if he had just worked out: baggy sweatpants and tank tops with armholes that almost reached his waist. With his pumped up arms, his trim collegiate haircut, and sly smile, you knew what the game was. Chris was a predator, looking for a dick or fist that he could control to do whatever he wanted it to do. Chris Burns may have been the first and essential power bottom. In the days of the dark holes, a guy would enter the bar and everybody would turn to see who it was. Even now, after these many years, I have vivid memories of how Chris entered the Ealge and stood there, looking everybody over, who would it be, who was tough enough? To bottoms like me, Chris would give a quick, knowing nod and move on. The guy was in control from the get-go. But actually, thinking back, I never saw Chris leave with somebody...maybe I just didn't happen to wait long enough. But I know what had to happen: his trick would get on the back of Chris' motorcycle and they'd head for Chris' place. He used to buzz around town in a leather jacket and somebody once commented to me, 'there's Chris Burns with a load up his ass,' you have to understand that people didn't talk like that in the '80's...Chris' reputation was secure at the time, not just in retrospect. Chris didn't need a bike to get to the Eagle, he could have walked and maybe he did...he lived in a modest Victorian next door to where Stompers Booth shop is now, on 10th St., two whole blocks from the Eagle. When Chris lived there the house was painted a faint shade of lavender.

So as the Eagle closes its doors, gone is more than a leather bar, and more than a chunk of leather history, gay history, San Francisco history. Gone, too, is a big piece of our lives. At least we'll have stories about people like Chris Burns, as long as there are people to remember and to share with the world.