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2012/01/27

Acquired Tastes, Chapter XVI: Vintage 70’s Porn

What is the allure of vintage porn? How and why does one come to appreciate it? Personally, I find even vintage ‘Playboy’ magazines titillating – probably stemming from the number of times I ‘accidently’ came upon them while searching through the dresser drawers, under the mattresses, and in the back of the closets of any home I was hired to babysit at (don’t worry the kids were already asleep). On one occasion, I found a stack of them in a large, open wicker basket in the living room. There they lay for all the world to see, sitting aside copies of ‘McCalls’ and ‘Time Magazine’. In particular I remember a pictorial depicting the making of ‘Deep Throat II’, featuring lots of pictures of a very furry, mustache sporting porn star. I also remember an article on the making of a Kris Kristofferson film – ‘The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea’. Vera Miles did very little for me, but, oh, Mr. Kristofferson! That one had me unzipping.

In college I hummed the theme from ‘Mission Impossible’ as I snuck into the janitor’s lair in order to steal a set of scaffolding I needed to hang some lights for a theatre production. I also happened on their stack of Playboys, so I took those as well. A picture of Raquel Welch pegging a blonde stud in the movie ‘Myra Breckinridge’ got a lot of attention from yours truly. After a point those pages were so glued together they were inseparable. As are my many memories of:

Vintage Porn

Scope of Activity:

The collecting of, seeking out of, viewing and appreciation of, pornographic images and films from the golden age of porn – in my case, the 1970’s.

The Official Line:

Is there one? I mean to each their own, but because my initial exposure to pornography took place during the ‘70’s that is how I define the term ‘vintage’ (God, I’m old!). Though, in fact, porn has been around in the form of images since man first began drawing on cave walls. It also comes in many forms – many of which only received widespread recognition with the birth and success of the internet. That said, for the purposes of this entry I’ll be focusing on vintage gay porn.

There is something iconic about the images associated with that post-Stonewall time period. With the rising profile of gay folks as a force to be reckoned with, these images came out of the backrooms of dirty bookstores and found a place in the mainstream of gay life. This particular era of porn would come to end once the AIDS crisis came into sharp focus, robbing us of many of the era’s great porn stars. The crisis would also result in a ‘cleaner’ type of gay porn – featuring sterile backgrounds, little backstory, ample lighting, bodies sans pubic and body hair, and, as mandated, the use of condoms.

During its heyday, boundaries were pushed and explored. The greats of the era – Joe Gage, Al Parker, Jon King, Jack Wrangler, Kip Noll, Bob Noll, Lee Ryder, Peter Berlin, Michael Christopher, Gino Canali, Michael Braun, Clay Russell, and countless others, whose faces graced these films and magazines, but whose names I do not know – created or were part of works that helped define it – capturing the essence of a time of excess debauchery and unbridled celebration. A community kept down for so long could not help but move to the farthest reaches of the opposite end of the decorum spectrum, all underscored by the insistent thump of a disco beat. Outrageous? Of course! For, as a community, they were outraged by the injustice that had kept them in the shadows and on the edges of society for so long. The time had come for balls-to-the-walls honesty. Make us hide and live in fear? Then is it any wonder that when the opportunity finally presents itself that we’re going to shove it right down your prudish throats!

Pornography as a form of political expression! Who knew?

With information from Wikipedia:

Homoeroticism has been present in photography and film since their invention. During much of that time, any kind of sexual depiction had to remain underground because of obscenity laws. In particular, gay material might constitute evidence of an illegal act under sodomy laws in many jurisdictions. This is no longer the case in the United States since such laws were ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court in 2003 in Lawrence v. Texas.

However, hardcore pornographic motion pictures ("stag films," as they were called prior to their legalization in 1970) were produced relatively early in the history of film. Most historians consider the first American stag film to be ‘A Free Ride’, produced and released in 1915. But in the United States, hardcore gay sexual intercourse did not make it onto film until 1929's ‘The Surprise of a Knight’.

‘The Surprise of a Knight’ ushered in a brief period of homosexual hardcore pornography in the stag film era. About a year later, in ‘A Stiff Game’, an African American male would engage in fellatio on a Caucasian man without the need for drag. The appearance of gay sexual contact on film would soon end, however, and not reappear until the advent of legal gay hardcore pornography after 1970.

During the 1960s, a series of United States Supreme Court rulings created a more liberalized legal environment that allowed the commercialization of pornography. MANual Enterprises v. Day, 370 U.S. 478 (1962) was the first decision by the United States Supreme Court which held that magazines consisting largely of photographs of nude or near-nude male models are not obscene within the meaning of 18 U.S.C. § 1461. It was the first case in which the Court engaged in plenary review of a Post Office Department order holding obscene matter "nonmailable." The case is notable for its ruling that photographs of nude men are not obscene, an implication which opened up the U.S. Postal Service to nude male pornographic magazines, especially those catering to gay men.

Wakefield Poole's ‘Boys in the Sand’, starring Casey Donovan, can be considered one of the first gay pornography feature films, along with the works of filmmakers such as Pat Rocco and the Park Theatre, Los Angeles, California, circa 1970. ‘Boys in the Sand’ opened in a theater in New York City in December 1971 and played to a packed house with record breaking box office receipts, preceding ‘Deep Throat’, the first commercial straight pornography film in America, which opened in June 1972. This success launched gay pornographic film as a popular phenomenon.

The production of gay pornography films expanded during the 1970s. A few studios released films for the growing number of gay adult movie theatres, where men could also have sexual encounters. Often, the films reflected the sexual liberation that gay men were experiencing at the time, depicting the numerous public spaces where men engaged in sex: bathhouses, sex clubs, beaches, etc.

Peter Berlin's 1973 film ‘Nights in Black Leather’ was the first major pornographic film designed to appeal to the gay leather subculture and drew some mainstream gays into this culture.

The 1960s and 1970s also saw the rise of gay publishing with ‘After Dark’ and ‘Michael's Thing’. During this time many more magazines were founded, including ‘In Touch’ and ‘Blueboy’. ‘Playgirl’, ostensibly produced for women, was purchased and enjoyed by gay men and featured full frontal nudity.

Psychological Aspects:

Porn is as addicting as sugar, caffeine, or nicotine. Many a future sex addict has gotten hooked thanks to its allure and promise of pleasures yet experienced. We invest these images with our own sensory memories – fueled by our desires, fleshing out the story of the picture, coloring it with personal meaning. Therein lies the appeal of vintage porn. Like a good lover, we seek out these same images hoping to replicate the feelings aroused during that first experience, that first contact. That’s why these images remain so powerful to us, for they represent those first moments of our sexual awakening.

My Experience:

The first pornography I ever saw was a black and white newspaper that my father had in his dresser drawer. I came across it while searching for ‘candy. The images depicted were crude and heterosexual in nature. The primary purpose of the newspaper seemed to be connecting swingers – a concept I wasn’t even remotely familiar with. Still, I enjoyed the images. I knew they were naughty and forbidden. I also knew that if I got caught looking at that newspaper my ass would be in the confessional in no time and I would be saying ‘Hail Mary’s’ until the cows came home.

My next major exposure came in the form of a small stack of magazines in the back of one of my older cousins closets. We were visiting from out of town. This was the same trip where a female cousin of mine introduced me to the music of Bette Midler and her first album. I couldn’t have possibly made the connection at the time, but now it seems sort of ironic that my first exposure to The First Lady of the Baths and gay porn took place at the same time. Yes – gay porn. I remember just being in awe and having no idea why my cousin – who seemed at that time to be significantly older than me – would be in possession of this kind of smut. Needless to say, it titillated me to no end and I took advantage of every opportunity to steal back into that closet for another look, for my eyes could simply not contain it all. Creepily, I also recall full page advertisements for man/boy sex magazines in one of these mags. But being just a youngster myself, I merely found the idea odd, not repugnant. My cousin, much later in life, had two children (one out of wedlock) and is married to this day. I know he has no idea what I know and I have no desire to ever bring the subject up. To each their own.

During my first year of college, I helped the first guy I ever fucked move out of his tiny off-campus house. He was on his way to California, so he was throwing everything away, including a sizable porn collection. I tried to set some it aside, but he would not let me have the stuff, preferring instead that it be thrown away. I thought that was weird, but porn still carried with it a stench of shame – and gay porn? That shame was magnified to the nth degree.

Once I moved to the cities, I discovered one of Ferris Alexander’s porn palaces. I would sneak into the bookstore portion on occasion and buy a ton of porn in one fell swoop. I did this to avoid the need to have actual sexual contact with anyone and keep my visits to this particular establishment to a minimum. In the attic of the house I lived in I would revel in the powerful images that I would spread across the floor before my naked self. And with over-stimulated hard-on in hand, I would proceed to bless and shower those images with my abundant seed. Each mag would then receive a good wipe down, for I was well acquainted with the adhesive powers of cum by this time. Then they were stacked and hidden, until such point that they became so numerous that hiding them was no longer an option. On those occasions, I would place them in grocery bags, steal down the back stairs to the alley and find the empty garbage can of a complete stranger to dump them in – so great was my need to distance myself from their potent imagery.

This ritual would be repeated over and over again in my life, until such time as I came to terms with my sexuality and informed others about it.  Now, I have a whole cabinet full of vintage pornos that I tracked down on the internet.  I'd buy more, but realized I liked the idea of owning them much more than actually taking the time to watch all of them.  Sometimes I put them on when I invite a trick over and they play in the background.  They've gotten me through a coulple of really boring fucks. But back to those magazines of yore...

You can’t imagine (or perhaps you can) the joy I feel when coming upon an image from one of those magazines. It’s like seeing the photo of an old friend – one whose dick you’ve seen hard as a rock. I collect them on a USB flash drive I drag around with me. No, I don’t jerk off to them anymore. But there is a part of me that yearns to.

What is it I like about this particular period that causes my heart (and dick) to soar heavenward?

I love all the backstory that the editors and filmmakers invested their works with. I love the younger brother who sneaks into the closet in order to watch his older, much hotter, brother jerk off after school. I love it when that older brother catches him watching and then fucks the interloper silly. I love the baseball jock with the big nut sack and the space in his teeth, showing off his nicely curved cock in the locker room. Looking at the photo, I can almost feel the texture of the ribbing of his beautiful jock strap. The fate of the stupid blonde bubble-butted man who comes in to try on swim suits, not knowing that the curly-haired clerk has other things in mind. The heady nights on the road in a big rig truck. The allure of an abandoned house in the middle of the desert. So many stories, so many men, so much dirty, dirty sex.

I love the hair – the horrible, granola, 70’s hair, the mustaches, the beards, the chest, back, and ass hair! And the pubes! Big mountains of curly seduction! In the day you could kill two birds with one stone – give a blow job and floss your teeth at the same time. Beneath all this hair, were less-than-perfect bodies, some of which never saw the inside of a gym – with all that fucking going on, who had time? I guess this is at the core of my appreciation for real men; men with physical flaws, men without body trimmers.

The rawness, the crudeness. The bad lighting, the poor editing, the corny backdrops and sets. The stilted dialogue, the naked earnestness of it all.

And – ultimately - I loved the ‘me’ from this time – the stupid, naïve future perv, who desperately needed to believe that one day he would be worthy of men like those showing off their wares in all those magazines and films. That freak of nature who had no clue, no fashion sense, and no sense of how the real world worked, or the times he was living in.  I wasted my sexual prime and have been desperately trying to make up for it ever since!

For there lies the real power of these images; they connect our present selves with our former selves. They remind us of the power of youth and first impressions. They bring us home to our most basic, primal selves once again.

My Conclusion:

Everyone’s definition of vintage is dependent upon when they grew up. I think first exposure is what marks that time for each us – the moment when those images are seared onto our brain, igniting our loins and desires. The gay porn industry has gone through so many periods and I truly believe each is a reflection of the bigger picture of what was driving our society – straight and gay – at the time. The golden era of ‘70’s porn can never be recreated. For we as a group of men will never experience the feelings that came to light during the post-Stonewall era. That first flush of freedom was heady. Apparently, it went straight to our dicks and our dicks went straight into someone’s hole – pubes and all.

There are several other blogs that cover this material in much greater detail and offer plenty of pictures. I would encourage you to pay a visit and even subscribe to them, as I think they are doing a great job of capturing this particular and peculiar part of gay history.

Vintage Gay Media History
http://vintagegaymediahistory.blogspot.com/?zx=47b65f9724a8f919

Vintage Gay Men
http://gayvintagemen.blogspot.com/?zx=f54f18b78908b1c5

Next Acquired Taste: Rimming

2012/01/20

Ass Play at the Movies: I'm Ready for my Close-Up!

I wandered onto this site called Recon about two months ago.  It is a kink site, featuring dudes getting their freak on in any number of nasty, perverted ways: bondage, water sports, feet worship, leather, gut-punching, exhibitionism, sports gear worship, and the like.  All of it tends to be very extreme – especially if you look at the profiles of those from outside the United States (those Germans are real sick fuckers!).  In comparison, the listings for Minnesota seem very tame – but keep in mind that this is not your ordinary hook-up site and on Recon the word ‘vanilla’ is nowhere to be found.

After setting up a profile, I dive in and start moving my way through the profiles of dudes on-line.  Surprisingly, I’ve encountered very, very few of these men on the other hook-up sites I frequent, although I do recall seeing a few of them at the Eagle the once or twice a year that I get there.  The refreshing thing about the profiles and the men on Recon is the fact that all their freak flags are right out there in the open, presented without embarrassment.  The many pictures also reflect this openness, as they are of a more graphic nature than you might encounter on say, Adam4Adam or Manhunt.  In other words, you know exactly what you are in for, warts and all.
In short order, I start hitting the cruise key on those I find share similar interests to my own, keeping in mind that my role is passive and theirs active.  One of the individuals I recognize from the Eagle is on-line and responds positively to my cruise request.  Soon we’re talking specifics, with email addresses and pictures being exchanged. We decide to meet and he proposes something he thinks might appeal to the exhibitionist in me: that we meet at a movie theater where he will play with my ass throughout the film.  I’m game.  I have a pair of rip-away running pants that are held in place by a series of snaps and know these will work perfectly for what he has in mind.  He chooses the movie theatre and the movie, which just happens to be at a time when I can make it.  Game on.
Arriving early, I sit in my car and change into my snap-away pants.  I’m more than just a bit nervous.  Not only does the whole idea of playing in public have my heart racing, but this dude happens to be someone I have always wanted to play with.  I’ve seen him in public in the past and never worked up the courage to go over to him and say ‘hi’.  He’s shorter than me by at least six inches, has thick, black, wavy hair and a rather handsome mug with a nice square jaw.  Just the sight of his lips makes me melt, his winning smile a promise of great things.  He’s the kind of dude that is never interested in me, and even when they do give me the time of day, it is only as a courtesy, ultimately leading to rejection. 
A few minutes before the movie is to start I make my way into the movie theatre.  No one is around.  The place is a ghost town.  That is the beauty of matinees and the magic of this particular movie theatre.  It is situated in an area of town where parking is not free or easy, so other than date nights, the theatre is probably not that busy at all.  I purchase my ticket and a soda.  Thankfully, my attire doesn’t raise any suspicion.  Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of my movie buddy.  He’s standing in the middle of a big archway with a kind of smirk on his face.  Making my way to the movie theatre, he trails me, remaining a good three yards behind me. 
Enveloped by the darkness of the theatre, I choose the back row and sit in the seat next to the outside wall.  The projectionist is situated on the opposite side of the room, so I feel fairly confident that our escapades will go unnoticed by management.
 My new found friend (let’s call him Mr. Dom) slips into the seat next to me.  He’s wearing a ¾ length black leather jacket and has quite a bit of scruff going on his face.  Still, he is very handsome, very cute.  He has a sly look in his eyes and I am pretty sure I’m in for a good time.  Without really looking, he begins to unsnap the side of my pants.  His hand slides under my bottom and his fingers begin to probe.  I have a tiny tube of lube with me and am wearing a cock ring, but other than that, I have no supplies with me.  Leaning forward in my seat, I grease up my hole with the lube and then sit back.  Soon I find myself scrunching deep down in my seat with my legs up over the back of the seat in front of me.   This allows my friend maximum access and he takes full advantage of it. 
There are only two other people in the theatre when the movie begins and they are both seated a good distance away, toward the middle of the theatre.  I am thinking we are going to have full run of the place.  My confidence growing, I slip a hand between the legs of Mr. Dom and discover a nice hard eight inch wonder.  It is nicely thick and feels fucking meaty in my hand.  He smiles and I take a risk, lean over and kiss his cheek, hoping that he responds with more.  He doesn’t.  Instead he scans the theatre for prying eyes.
This entire time his fingers are going to town on my hole and I am loving it.  The movie?  Not so much.  But then we picked this particular movie because of the time and the fact that it had gotten negative reviews, which meant that the theatre would probably be fairly empty.  Not that the quality of the movie has any impact on the good time I am having.  I now know why teenagers like to go to movies on dates – you can fool around a lot in the dark!  I am nuzzling into Mr. Dom’s neck in a vain attempt to convey just how much pleasure I am getting out of having his talented digits up my ass.  By this point he has popped all but two of the buttons on my rip-away pants, so he has full access to everything.  It is at this moment that an older dude suddenly appears at the back of the theatre.  He scans the seats, spies me and Mr. Dom and promptly sits his fat ass in the row opposite us, across the aisle.  Bummer.
This momentarily causes me to panic and I swiftly button up my running pants.  Getting caught is not part of our plans and Mr. Dom helps cover my activity by removing his leather jacket and placing it on top of the seat in front of him, successfully shielding me from the prying eyes of the recent arrival.  Soon, snaps are undone once more and Mr. Dom has a wicked smile on his face once more.
He’s cool with me nuzzling into his neck.  There is even a part of me that wants to climb on his lap.  My right hand takes up permanent residence in the crotch of his pants, working its way up and down that magnificent shaft.  His balls get lots of attention, too.  Needless to say, I am hard for the full two hours, which is no small feat for me.  I think it is due to the fact that there really isn’t any end game in sight – as in, neither of us really has any expectation of getting off.  There had been a brief, on-line discussion regarding my cumming as the credits roll, and that is definitely playing in the back of my mind, so I’m in no hurry to lose my load.
Eventually I work up my courage and go in for a real kiss and am totally surprised when my efforts are welcomed.  Mr. Dom possesses some generous lips and he puts them to good use.  He’s a great kisser.   Yep, that's why teenagers love the movies so much.  More true than not, the kissing is probably much better than the movie! In this case, I am only too happy to turn my attention away from the screen.
During the last quarter of the movie, I decide to change it up a bit.  I begin leaning forward in my seat, using the seat in front of me as leverage.   This allows me to actually fuck back on Mr. Dom’s fingers, of which he has managed to work three up my hole.  This type of extended butt play is new to me.  Usually fingering is merely a five to ten minute part of foreplay and not the main course.  All told, I find it to be an oddly satisfying meal.  As I am carefully lowering and raising my ass, I glance over at the older, fat dude across the aisle.  I am pretty sure he knows exactly what we are doing and has been watching us the whole time.  And you know what?  I don’t care.  In fact, it kind of turns me on.
You see, I missed out on all the dirty movie theatre action of yore, when Ferris Alexander had a porno movie theatre empire in Minneapolis.  I visited the one on Lake Street a couple of times before its doors closed, but I was terribly naive and had no idea what men did to one another in the dark.  That I discovered much later in life, while on tour in Kansas City.  There, I happened to visit a very active porno theatre on a Saturday afternoon.  I had so much fun working my way around that theatre; it was almost as good as going to a bathhouse.  One of the things I discovered on that trip was just how turned on I get when other dudes watch me being a total slut, going down on some random dude in public.  Turns out, despite my recent decision to curtail the number of sexual encounters I partake in, I am still turned on by being watched by others.
The movie ends.  I button up and follow Mr. Dom out of the theatre.  We talk as we walk, commenting on how much fun we just had.  He then guides me to a bathroom off the main part of the shopping complex we’re walking through.  He goes into the handicap stall and I remain near the urinals, taking the pulse of just how busy this restroom is.  The coast seems clear, so I duck inside his stall.  I immediately unearth his dick and go down on it.  As soon as my lips reach the base of his cock, the main door flings open and someone hustles in.  I swiftly climb up on the toilet seat and crouch.  Mr. Dom, who is once more wearing his ¾ length leather coat, stands in front of me, his dick just out of reach of my mouth.  From the outside, no one would ever know that two people occupied that stall. 
The other dude leaves, and, remaining crouched on the toilet seat, I begin playing with Mr. Dom’s dick.  It is as nice looking as it was nice to touch.  He’s hard as a rock and just as I manage to deep throat him again, someone else comes rushing in to use the urinals.  This individual is followed by about ten others.  Suddenly the room is full of dudes.  All play ceases as we both hold our breath, praying that we remain undiscovered.  The place is so full even the stall next to us is in use.  We wait out this flurry of activity.  At the first sign of calm, Mr. Dom exits the stall.  I do the same.  We wash our hands, and yet another small group of 20/30-somethings invade the mens room.  Obviously this place is a lot busier than Mr. Dom assumed.  We abandon all play and I walk him back to his car.  On the way, he tells me that he noticed how turned on I get exposing myself in public.  He thinks that’s hot.  He fondles me in the elevator and we kiss a bit more before he gets into his car.
We make promises to one another to do something similar sometime soon.  He suggests a sledding date, but the idea of my dick out in the frigid cold makes me turtle, so I decline.  I’d rather stick to indoor activities and he understands. 
In the time since, we have tried to find a time for another movie date, but our schedules just haven’t jived.  Having written about this experience, it does make me want to do it again.  So I have a feeling he’ll be getting an email from me today proposing something for next week.
Well, fingers crossed.  Maybe this time something will work out.  If it does?
See you at the movies!
(P.S.- The featured pic is of yours truly.  Yeah, I know, not the greatest, but hey, it does the trick - so to speak!)

2012/01/13

Mechanics are Mechanics: Good sex is dependent on more than just having the right tool

Maybe it’s a winter thing… but I’m currently not interested in hooking-up just to get off or to get someone else off. There’s got to be a bit more to it than that. A kiss. A look in the eyes. Some kind of connection. The whole 'wham-bam, thank you ma’am’ just isn’t cutting it for me.

It may have something to do with the weather. I always have a desire to hibernate in winter; to hunker down with a blanket or two. Missing the sun and the ability to be outdoors as much as I like, (with as little clothing on as possible) I find this time of year bereft of life and oxygen. Give me fresh air and blue skies, please.


I’m less inclined to define myself as sexually addicted these days. I had sexual contact with others only 10 times during December! Compared to 53 times in October, I’d say I was making some progress. Yes, I remain a sexual opportunist – if an opportunity presents itself, I will more than likely go for it. But the whole mercy fuck thing is over. You could say I’ve become more selective.


Recently I got together with a favorite fuck buddy of mine. He has this Timothy Hutton thing going for him, a charming/disarming smile, a quick wit, and a nice, thick dick. He’s also a great kisser. On this occasion, things were heated and passionate, but he was having trouble getting hard – something which he assured me was no reflection on me. Oddly, I was hard as a rock the entire time, and if he had been a flip/flopper, I would have happily corn holed him, but, alas, he is a diehard top, so I had to be patient. He did manage to fuck me twice, but he was only half hard and I ended up coming before he did (even though I did my best to wait), unloading on his nicely furry chest.


We talked after. He was really concerned about his performance, which I assured him was no biggie. Fact is, we are both of an age where our testosterone levels are not what they once were and missile launch failure is the occasional result. For some reason, I thought it was okay to talk about that. We both love Viagra, but neither has any (although I am now thinking I can ask my physician for some) – and that is a definite cure for the soft dick blues – but, ultimately, and of course he didn’t believe me at first, that part of the act is becoming more of a secondary consideration for me these days.

Let’s face it – mechanics are mechanics. And I have been around the world enough to know what good sex is all about, which is also why I know that the mechanics of sex are only part of the equation. Even the most casual of sex needs to have some sort of emotional component in order to work. Sometimes that component is fulfilled purely by our own adrenalin rush, or something about the non-traditional environment we find ourselves playing in spurs us on to orgasm. Factors such as the possibility of getting caught or seen can also play a part. But the most satisfying encounters always contain some form of emotional connection with my sexual partner – whether I know his name or not is immaterial. It’s in the eyes, it’s in the kiss, it’s in the touch. Urgency helps. So does physical attraction. Being at our best (well rested) and feeling good about ourselves and our bodies also contributes positively.

Whether that dick goes in my ass is no longer as important to me as the way I feel during and after a given encounter. I want conversation. I want flirtatious banter and looks. I want passion to be expressed in ways that have nothing to do with the hardness of a dude’s penis. No – I ‘m not looking for a long term thing or a regular thing, I just want it to be an intimate thing.

Which is why completely anonymous sex isn’t doing it for me these days. I may be over the whole ‘bend over and take as many as possible while wearing a blindfold’ mindset – which also might explain why I no longer attend those little bathhouse parties on Fridays. Quality, not quantity, seems to be my new mantra. And that’s why I am able to go three weeks without a dick up my ass – which is what happened in December, and appears to also be the case in January.

Does that translate to me losing my mojo? Is that a reflection of how attractive I feel or am perceived by others to be? I don’t think so. Yes, gravity and the sun has taken its toll on my face this year (I really am starting to see the effects of tanning and aging), but my body is probably in the best shape ever. I even managed to snag an electric hair trimmer that I can do my back with (yes, I became convinced that my back hair had become a deterrent to sexual fulfillment). So I am looking really good these days. My waist is a slim 32”, which prompted me to go out and buy some new jeans that are trendy and very unlike the ‘Mom jeans’ I tend to wear at home (no, not real Mom Jeans, but they are old and very worn and wearing them makes me feel a tad slovenly and past my prime).

Overall, I feel good about my body and self. I feel confident. I try not to read too much into a bad sexual encounter – it is what it is. I now go into a scene without preconceived notions of what I need to bring to the table or what needs to happen. I go with the flow and enjoy what there is to enjoy. The big change seems to be that I am not willing to meet someone I had a less-than-great time with for a second round. I have no interest in repeating bad experiences, no matter how horny I am. I also no longer get frustrated when things don’t pop on the internet. If I don’t get some it is not the end of the world. There is always tomorrow. And I accept that and don’t try to will something into being just for the sake of having accomplished it. I don’t need to force a situation – eventually something will happen.

So I seem more relaxed. Of course, it is winter and who knows what state I will be in three months from now, when the weather is much nicer and I have spent untold days pining for nature. But even then, I don’t think I will base my self-esteem on whether or not someone hooks up with me or not. It’s not that important in the big picture. I would rather wait for a quality encounter where my emotional needs are met on some level and walk away satisfied.

Still, I suspect I am giving way too many front seat blow jobs to guys I don’t know all that well (or even like) to not still be considered a slut.

But it’s winter… so I have to do something to pass the time, right?

2012/01/06

Hey Nineteen: Never Again!

Hey Nineteen
No we can't dance together
No we can't talk at all
Please take me along when you slide on down
- Steely Dan


This is one of those cases where you go into something fully knowing the outcome, but damned, if you didn’t do it anyway. I have never specifically sought out people younger than myself, as I prefer my men to have a little mileage on them. Typically 34-60 is my age range of choice. Every once in a while a real sharp 25 year old will slip through and I will even agree to see them more than once if they demonstrate to me that they are more than handling the situation.

This tale actually starts a week before I met this particular individual. I was sitting in my car, cruising the ads on Craigslist, when I spotted the kind of ad that just royally pisses me off. It was a 35 year old dude who was seeking a bottom – an 18-20 year old bottom! Usually when I see this I just check to make sure that there are no offers of money involved, as in claiming to be “generous” (which translates into sex for money). But something about the arrogance of this particular poster got to me and I had to write the person and tell him to grow the fuck up.

Turns out, based on the return email address, that this particular person and I had a run in on-line years ago. And this time, once I had written him, he would not stop emailing me, explaining away his legal, but reprehensible practices. I simply pointed out that what he was doing was a kind of pedophilia (only sort of true), that he needed to look at his behavior, and that healthy, mature adults do not exclusively seek out teenagers to bang. Suggesting that his behavior was a sign that he was stuck in a pre-adolescent state did not sit well with this dude. And – okay – I admit it – it was none of my business, but I also find it odd that this dude turned out to be the same guy I took issue with five years ago!

Ultimately, I wrote him back and told him that he could continue to send me all the emails that he wished and call me whatever names he liked and defend his behavior however he wished, but that I would no longer be reading his emails and that upon receipt, any future emails would be promptly deleted, unread. Then I told him to grow the fuck up, get some professional help, and try to develop relationships with men his own age before he finds himself buying a white van and cruising elementary school playgrounds. Yeah, I know, real mature on my part, right. But that is how I feel.

So, of course, the universe just has to butt in and teach me a sound lesson by giving me a taste of my own medicine. This occurs in the form of one plucky, sweet, nineteen year old kid that for the sake of anonymity I will call Houston. Houston hits me up two weeks before Christmas via one of my latest discoveries – SCRUFF. His profile pic is a black and white, upper torso/face shot with him wearing a dark suit and his hair slicked down and back. The skin on his face is so smooth, it looks incredibly tight. It is impossible to tell how old he is, as this info is also missing from his profile. According to GPS, he is not very far away from where I happen to be parked. He is sweet from the get go; very flirtatious, using lots of lol’s and winky/smiley faces. I send him a face pic thinking that will be the end of it, but he likes what he sees and remains persistent. He sends me a dick pic and an additional face pic. I send him more of me. We discuss what he’s into, I discuss what I’m into and it seems like a good match. Then I find out he’s nineteen and I put the brakes on.

Turns out he works the drive thru window at a nearby fast food joint. Houston wants me to drive through and come see him. Immediately suspicious, I ask him if this is a set up and if, when I arrive, he will just throw a drink in my face and laugh at me. He assures me that is not the case. The conversation then turns to my usual grilling of anyone who wants to meet me who also happens to be under the age of 30, which basically boils down to: why do you want to fool around with some old troll when you could be having hot sex with dudes your own age? I warn him that when I show up and he sees me in the flesh he will be very disappointed and that in my limited experience, these kind of age imbalanced hook ups usually end badly.

He’s having none of it. Buttering the roll, he lets fly with some awesome compliments and continues to plead for me to drive on over. I look at the time and actually consider doing so, but, as it turns out, time is on my side – I have choir rehearsal in less than half an hour so I tell him we will have to meet some other time. End of story. No, of course not.

Throughout the next two weeks Houston says “hi” via SCRUFF. I wish him happy holidays and a happy new year. He still wants me to come for a visit, to his place of work and I tell him why I think that is a horrible idea. Then he tells me how he can’t wait to get naked with me. Fortunately my holiday is pretty booked and there seems to be no opportunity where that could happen.

But then, the holiday ends. And I’m off work and sitting in my car a few miles away from his place of business. He hits me up and once again, insists I come drive through the drive thru window and visit him. I ask him if dudes do that and then flash him their dicks. Houston likes that idea. I send him a couple of pics of me and he tells me he’s hard. I tell him that’s what I want to order when I drive through – with extra special sauce (yeah, lame, so shoot me.) He tells me to come now. So… I tell him I’m on my way.

Good to his word, he’s in the first window. He is really tall, really thin, very cute, and very, very young. Very, very young. He has acne, for Christ sake! He’s very sly, rolls his eyes and tells me there are people in the hallway behind him, before leaning out the window and asking me to show him my dick. I am about to do just that when a car drives up behind me. I tell him I’ll just drive around again.

I go park and put on a cock ring. He seemed to be okay with me, so I figure what the hell. He then texts me. He thinks I’m cute and can’t wait to see me naked, lol, winky face. So… I text back: meet me In the bathroom. And he’s game! I quickly make my way to the restroom, figuring we’ll play looksie’s at the urinals. Turns out there is only one urinal and a brick stall with a wood-paneled door. I check my texts. Houston tells me to go into the stall or something, so I do. Once inside I realize that the stall is very deep and that no one can see me. I leave the door unlocked, drop my pants, and take off my shirt and t-shirt – for all intents and purposes, I am now standing naked in the mensroom of a fast food restaurant waiting to be walked in on by a 19 year old dude with acne. I text I’m there and he has already texted that he is on his way. The main door opens and he stands outside the panel door to the stall. I open the door and he comes in. He is hella tall, his eyes grow large at the sight of naked old me, as his hands quickly undo the front of his pants. He whips out a semi-hard dick that is just breathtaking to look at… the skin is so pure and unmarked. I sink to my knees and before I am even down to the base, the kid is rock hard. Like his body, his dick is long (9”) and thin. I run through my arsenal of oral tricks until I find the one that gets him gasping.

Pulling me up off the floor, he tells me he wants to fuck me. Without thinking, I turn around and bend over. He rams the full length of his rock hard dick right into my hole! No warning, no teasing, and – most importantly – no lube! This sends me jumping right off his dick, as I do my best to squelch the sound of pained anguish reverberating through my body via my ass and out my mouth. The pain is so great that I am sure I looked quite the sight as I bobbed and weaved and groaned. Houston eyes go wide, but his dick is harder than ever. Once I recover enough to tell him that in the future he needs to enter all asses slowly, I get back on my knees and see if I can rescue his load. Fact is, I really want another shot at his dick going in and out of my hole, since it has been over three weeks since I last got fucked and I want a little something something. But that is not to be, for within a minute of my mouth working his dick he tells me he’s about to cum.

I keep the head of his dick on my tongue, as I kind of want to feel that first shot hit the roof of my mouth. Instead, it flies right over my head. Before the second volley, my mouth is on his dick and he finishes his orgasm with my throat wrapped around the full length of his cock, my lips kissing the base where dick-meets-body. I spend a few moments making sure I have every last drop, for, as with most young folk, his spunk is as fresh and totally delicious. He quickly zips up and tells me he has to get back. I grab his face and give him a closed mouthed kiss before he leaves the stall. His lips are tight and a slight peck is all I receive for my efforts. Without a word more, he washes his hands and leaves.

I dress and get ready to leave, but before I do, I pause long enough to wipe up the glob of jizz that flew over my head and landed on the floor. I smell it. Intoxicating. Ah, youth. I make my way back to the car, catching sight of Houston standing at the main counter as I exit. He doesn’t look at me. Understandable. He’s talking to a co-worker of his, who has his coat on and is standing on the customer side of the counter. The co-worker eyes me and I flee.

Once in my car I check for texts. Nothing. Nothing on SCRUFF from him either. I send Houston a text, explaining that had I known we were going to do that I would have pre-lubed and that I hope we can do that again sometime. No response. I wait. I text him, by the way, you are beautiful. I immediately regret it – what a trollish thing to say. No response. Then the co-worker comes out and eyes me sitting in my car. Am I imagining it, or did he just give me a dirty look? I head back to the park I was sitting in when he first hit me up.

I give it 48 hours. The entire period, I replay the events and remind myself that I warned him that things would not end well. And you know what? I know better. I do. He may be of age, but I’m the adult! This will never happen again. I resolve to no longer hook up with anyone under the age of 25. Then I text Houston for the last time. “Message received. Sorry. Good-bye.”

I’m still kicking myself.

As I probably should.