Where's the party? (New Year's pt. 5)

it is 11:16PM and only ONE person has shown up. And he and I semi-fucked 4.5 years ago. I want to cry.

Coming Together (New Year's pt. 4)

I got the party up to about 11 people who have confirmed that they are coming. That, including me and FRIEND, is about as much as this little apartment can handle. I am sure all of them aren't coming. I just hope I got a good mix of tops (guys who like to fuck), bottoms (guys who like to get fucked) and versatiles (aka, bottoms in the dark). Ok that was mean.

Me and FRIEND got into a few arguments, but he fixed the apt up very nicely. Even if he threw away a few of my things.

I still have a lot to do. No condoms yet. Also, havent finished washing dishes.
and i still have to shave. Why am I blogging right now?

Pimping My Party (New Year's pt.3)

Planning a New Year's Eve party is stressful as hell. Especially a party with a bunch of strangers who are about to meet the first time and have sex.

My biggest stress right now is that I only have 4 people showing up. Add me and FRIEND and that's about 6 people. I was hoping for like about 10 to 15 people. I am still on the Internet, pimping my party. Hopefully I can get more people. Its 5pm. 5 hours to go...

White Chocolate Chasers (New Year's pt. 2)

I am not a big fan of chocolate. Although, for some reason I have a real thing for the buttery smoothness of white chocolate. But as much as I like it--I cannot stand white chocolate chasers. I'm learning that when you're planning a sex party, you run into all sorts of crazy people and craziness. I have even run into crazy white guys--the persistent crazy ones who are on a chocolate hunt. Here's a typical conversation:

WHITE GUY: White masculine bottom guy 37 yrs clean cut good looking safe guy 42c 32w 8 1/2c would like to come to the party and have a good time taking dik from some TOP guys.

ME: Sorry. Black and Latino men only.

WHITE GUY: OK. Too bad. But you and your buddies definitely wouldn't be disappointed. I have a sweet white tight ass and I would love to get passed around until everyone was satisfied. If you change your mind, contact me.

I had to ignore that last message before I went into a rage. We wouldn't be disappointed? If we change our mind? This may come off as racist, and I TRULY don't mean it to be, but as annoying as some white chocolate chasers are, you have to give to them for their persistence.

But the craziness doesn't stop there. Below is an Internet conversation I had with a guy (let's call him ASSCRAZY) about the sex party:

ASSCRAZY: where is the sex party, can we bareback at it?

ME: No, there is NO BAREBACK.

ASSCRAZY: why? that feel so good yo, if everybody is clean then whats tha big deal?

ME: why? because you're not paying and those are the rules. PERIOD.

ASSCRAZY: i'll pay my nigga, u aint talkin to any nigga in chitown, jus becuz nigga fuk round dont think i aint callin shots, i got chips yo....i pay, heck i sponsor yo shit, what u need ? hustler here calling it over here in my hood on tha west side, i got tha ends, let me know what u need.

ME: Man then why don't you sponsor your own sex party if you got all of those chips? Cause you're not calling the shots here papi.

ASSCRAZY: nigga dont tell me waht i will & wont do, u dont know me like that, i'll show up at that bitc & u wont even know if i was htere or not, theyre are ways of coming & u not knowing i dont care how smart u think u are & u think i wont find out if u dont give me tha info, i could still come & will come, u not goign to be watching every dick go in every as sso i was being nice askin you but since u wanna be a bitc & give me ahrad time, i'm disregarding what youve requested & coming with my own agenda in mind!

ME: LOL, im not worried, we'll have security for people like you. take care. (And no, I wasn't lieing).

ASSCRAZY: thats tha point u aint gonna know its me cuz i'm not gonna be carrying on like i am on here, i'm going to be low key & once i get in , i'm going to do what i said i'm gonna do.....& i plan on changing my page & pic so i'll get invited under a different name & u wont have a clue smartass.

Again, I had to stop the banter. I was beginning to argue with a crazy. All that effort and for what? His crazy ass still wasn't coming. I really hate to sound sanctimonious, and God knows I am not perfect. I understand that sometimes we aren't rational when it comes to sex and people slip up and have unprotected sex. But to go into a situation thinking you are going to bareback with people you don't know? That just...oh well. enough. I gotta sex party to get ready for.

Happy New Year of the Sex (part 1)

It's New Year's Eve. What an exciting moment of the year. Now a lot of blogs are looking back on the year--and telling you their opinion of what they think are the best movies, music etc. But who really cares? No one cares that I thought Kill Bill Vol.2, (ok get ready to gasp) The Village, and Saw (Danny Glover's in it) were three of the best movies of the year. But what about Hero or the The House of Flying Daggers?

THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS THAN TOP TEN LISTS.
Like-What the fuck to do on New Year's Eve. DEE and ALBERTO (see who's who) are in fucking Germany. And I am here in Chicago.

"Hey," I thought to myself, "I am in Chicago. What the fuck am I thinking, what is there to do? What isn't there to do?"

So I started thinking. I had heard recently that most people are alone and at home on New Year's Eve-not out partying. I was watching Fox News (of all channels) and they were talking about how to deal with New Year's Eve. They suggested:

1. Don't Panic
2. Don't compare your New Year's Eve to others
3. Do your own thing
4. Create a new tradition

Then I remembered someone saying that you should start the New Year how you would like to end it. I started thinking to myself: "Hmm. Do my own thing. Create a new tradition. Start the year how I want to finish it. How do I want to end (and remember) 2005?" It only took me a second to realize it. I wanted to remember 2005 as the Year of the Sex. So how to start the year? Have a party of course. A sex party.

So earlier this week, I enlisted the help of FRIEND and started sending out notices on the Internet (chat rooms, web sites, etc) to have a sex party.

No, I am not trying to make any money (though I need it). I decided to have a FREE sex party--a BLATINO (black and latino) NEW YEAR'S EVE BANG. What's so crazy is how demanding people are when you are organizing FREE shit for them. I ask them to send a pic, they get attitude "What do I need to send a pic for?" Then they want to ask you 50 questions, "Are the guys going to be tight? I don't want to come to a party where the kats are lame" or "How many people are coming to the party?" Just a lot of lame shit. So a lot of people didn't get invitations. Afterall its free. If you have attitude or can't follow simple fucking instructions--then you don't need to be there.

I even had a guy get an attitude with me because I wasn't allowing unsafe sex at the party. I'll post that mess later today.

So check in a few times today. I will be updating throughout the day as I get ready for the party. I'll take you step by step through the process up until the party starts.

This should be exciting.

Early Morning Ass

I am not one of those people who is Mr. Sunshine in the ante meridian. Not only does breath smell like ass in the morning, but I feel like ass. That must be why DJ decided to call me at 4am in the morning wanting my ass.

DJ is this guy who I had sex with over the summer. We've only spoken a few times, so I am not sure why he thought it was acceptable to call me at such a crazy hour. He swears he is bisexual and on the DL. But if he really does have a girlfriend, I cannot understand why she wouldn't suspect that he fucks around--because you can tell (at least I can) that he fucks around with guys based on his mannerisms. Not effeminate--but a soft voice. He's not bad looking. He's short, brown skin, good shape, and has a nice straight long pipe. Not too big, not too small. And definitely not the 9 inches that he thinks he has. Or should I say that every black man thinks he has. That's another post.

Anyway this joker called me up saying, "What are you doing up?"

What kind of stupid ass question is that? I resisted dissecting the ignorance of his question. He told me that he was horny, but that I lived too far for him to travel.

Ok, then why the fuck are you calling me?

Just for reference, DJ lives about a ten minute drive from me.

We chatted. The idea of getting a late night/early morning phone call always gets me horny (even if I wasn't horny already). Couple that with the fact that I haven't come in like a week (not since I vamped CHRIS) and I was ready to go.

But DJ was andaruh-ing (and, uh, ra, uh)

You know that sound you make when someone asks you a question like: "So are you coming over?" And you respond, "And uh ra, uh I uh don't know, and uh I'm not sure" When you know you're not bringing your ass out of the house.

So I could tell he was not serious. After waking up my early morning ass, he was quickly turning into an early morning asshole. So right before I wrapped up the conversation so I could get some sleep, he starts talking about how much he fantasizes about three-ways and how he would like to get involved one. He goes on to tell me that if I can arrange a three-way he would come over ASAP. So I pop on the phone with FRIEND (see who's who) and he was ready to come over immediately.

But after going through all of that--a lightbulb went off in my head. I thought to myself, this guy woke me up, and now I am doing work for him? What ever happened to the late night booty call when a kat called you up with minimal conversation he was on his way over to fuck? Instead, I was letting this guy get me sexually frustrated and then jump through hoops in order to make his sexual fantasy come true--at 4 o'clock in the morning!!! When did dick and ass become so complicated? so labor intensive?

When I thought about it from this perspective, I thought "Oh hell no." I told him that the three-way would have to wait for a more respectable hour when it fit my schedule.

Tsu Na Mi

I learned my second favorite Japanese word, tsunami, in my 3rd or 4th grade general science class. I have always loved it because there's something cool and sexy about the flow of its three syllables as it hisses from your tongue (tsu), to the roof of your mouth (na), and off your lips...(mi) Who ever suspected that a wall of water from the ocean would lead to such a flood of tears? But most things that sound sexy are very dangerous.

Please consider giving during this global catastrophe to the International Red Cross/Red Crescent, or to some other worthwile charity.

Lighter Shade in the Winter (pt. 2 To Vamp a Bitch)

For Part One click here.
Vamp (verb): to practice seductive wiles on.

CHRIS called me the next morning. And we arranged to meet at 1pm at the nearby Dunkin' Donuts. When he got to the donut shop he called me, and I told him to meet me outside. It was cold as hell, but I didn't want a thousand strangers in our conversation. And I wanted to be able to say some explicit shit to him to fuck with his mind and get him kind of hot.

The more we talked on the phone, the more I started realizing that this guy was somewhat effeminate. I was trying to reconcile that with a guy who claimed to be a top with a 10" pipe. But I have seen that before.

Like I said it was cold as hell outside, and I told him that I was wearing a baby blue hat. He started clowin', "Baby blue? You not no queen are you?" I got a little agitated--my skull cap actually looked pretty cool. I supressed my anger and told him, "If you think I am a fag you can leave."

Seconds later we were face to face.

When we shook hands he held his hand like a lady extending a bent wrist to be kissed. I would have been totally turned off, but he wasn't a bad looking guy. He was ok. And to a lot of slave mentalitly brothers, he would have been off the chain HOT. CHRIS hadn't lied. He had the hazel green eyes, the pink lips, and the light skin (though not so clear). For some guys, that's all you need. But not for me.

He stood in front of me in the cold with his hand covering his mouth. From behind his fingers he said, "Oh my, I didn't expect you to be this good looking." I was really upfront with him. With anyone else, I would have been more sheepish ("Thanks a lot man, you're not so bad yourself"), but I was on an agenda: to exact my revenge. I told him that I was in a rush and that I had to pick something up from my nearby apartment (half a block away) and that he was welcome to join me. He agreed.

All the way up to my apartment, mister super attractive kept telling me how nervous he was. Once inside we listened to some music, and for the first 20 minutes he kept looking down at the sofa and wouldn't look me in my eyes. When I told him to look at me, he would cover his face. When I would pull hands down he would start giggling and say, "No, I don't want you to look at me."

Note to self: I am dealing with a fucking kid.

He went on to tell me a horde of random stories. First (#1) was the retired professional football player that he met at the ESPN Zone who had all of this body, but who didn't know how to fuck him good. He told me, "No, he couldn't fuck me good, he didn't really have any dick. But my friends told me that I should have kept him. Can't you think of all the things he could have hooked me up with?"

Note to self: I think I might have a girl on my hands.

I put on Janet Jackson's latest Damita Jo album. Why is it that you can't put on a JJ album without a black gay man queening out? Now I like JJ more than most people--but is she the fucking black gay spokeswoman? The second story (#2) was his recollection of how he loved JJ's Slolove song (which is pretty good). He said he loved to drive down lake shore drive blasting it. He told me, "One day I was on my way past Boystown on Lake Shore Drive--I think it was gay pride--and this white girl, I mean guy pulled up next to me and screamed, 'YOU PLAY IT SISTER!'" And as he mimicked the white guy, he raised his left arm and circled it as he sent his torso through snake swerving undulations. I don't know why, but he felt the need to mimick the white guy three times. He had started on his fourth rendition when I interrupted him, asking had he met other guys off of the phone line.

Note to self: I DEFINITELY have a feminine guy on my hand

His third story (#3) was about all of the guys that he had met. He told me that his ex-lover used to fuck him all the time, but that he didn't enjoy it that much. He said that now he was predominately a top. I found that hard to believe. Who would let this guy climb on their back? He told me that he had been messing around with kats since he was 14 years old. Woah. He told me, "You know I have met about 50 guys off of that phone line, bisexuals, DL's, everything." He paused and added, "But none of them hold a candle to you."

Note to self: I got that bitch.

During all of this conversation he had laid his head on my lap and was looking up at me. If he hadn't been so goofy, silly, and girly--he wouldn't have been a bad looking guy. But it was time to get focused. It was time for me to lock in and exact my revenge. I knew he liked me, so now it was time to take it to the next level.

I bent over him and did that upside down Spiderman/Mary Jane kiss. That shit sent him into little quivers. Looking back, I couldn't tell if I was really doing all that shit to him or if he was faking the reaction cause he was so over the top dramatic with it.

I told him to come to the bedroom and lay down with me. I stayed fully clothed. He took off his pants. He was wearing boxers. We laid there and I wrapped him up in my arms and kissed his forehead. He held on to me really tight and started cooing. I got on top of him and started pressing my body on his (still fully clothed). He was rock hard. I could feel him. Then I reached into his boxers, and pulled out this MASSIVE PIPE. While he exaggerated on it being 10x6--it came pretty damn close. It was pretty big. Now I knew why guys let him fuck them. He really had a big dick.

"I feel like we're moving too fast." he chimed.

"Fine." I told him, and gently put his dick back in his boxers. I rolled off of him and laid next to him.

He looked puzzled--like he expected me to push him to have sex. But I wasn't. I was going to chase this tiger till he caught me. Everytime he protested that we moved too fast. I would stop. And then he would push himself on me. Until the moment came when he said,

"I want you to fuck me!"

"Really?" I said calmly.

He let out a big giggle, "Yes, but I am not sure. You're probably going to get it and never call me again."

This whole event was becoming a cliché.

I didn't say anything else. My dick was rock hard. I reached and got a condom, grabbed the lube, and popped his ass on a pillow. As I was putting lube on my dick, I looked at him. I have to admit his thick ass looked good with that big dick on his stomach. I kept thinking about the end result. Me banging the shit out of him and taking all of that attitude out of him that he gave me over the phone. But just then he ruined it.

"Come on and fuck this P U S S Y."

My dick remained a rock. It just went from a 10 (diamond) on Mohs Mineral Hardness Scale to a 1 (talc powder). I lost it.

Why do guys have to call ass, pussy? It's not pussy! I don't want you to call me ass pussy if I fuck you, and I don't want you to call yours pussy. Gross.

This guy was really fucking it up for me. A few minutes went by and I started to regain my erection. But then he did something unbelievable. He swung that big dick around like a helicopter propeller, bent over and sucked the head of his own dick! He let out a big suck noise and said, "oh that tastes so good". He didn't have it all. It kinda turned me on and disgusted me at the same time, but I went with it, spread his legs, and mounted that goofy motherfucker.

I had no problems going in his ass. It wasn't very tight. But it wasn't loose. He pretended like he wanted me to take it slow. As though he was having problems with me as I entered his ass. I knew he was lieing. I slid right in.

But all of that silliness stoped when I got that pinga inside of him. I started off slow, but then I picked up that pace. After a few moments I was waxing that ass. As soon as I stepped it up he said, "Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?"

A few more strokes. And then I started banging deeper.

"OH SHIT, YOU'RE ON MY WALL!" he screamed.

He kept telling me how he couldn't believe I was finally inside of him. I had his hole open. Open like when a singer opens her mouth for a long note at the end of an opera. He screamed and yelled and I had my way with him until I got a good nut.

And there I was. I got my revenge. Now, all I had to do was to tell him I was the guy he was rude with on the phone, and tell him, "Get the fuck out." But I thought that would be a little bit too dramatic. I knew what I had done. And it was enough to keep it to myself. As soon as I finished I jumped up and started cleaning up and told him I had to go back to work. I didn't. His entire demeanor changed. I could tell he had expected to lay up with me for a minute. He looked a little sad.


Now, Ill be honest. I have done what I criticize a lot of tops of doing. Fucking guys to feed their egos. But I didn't go into this to prove my sexual energy--just to get back at a rude kid on the phone line and teach him a lesson. Honestly, I didn't even go into this trying to dick this boy silly. It worked out that way.

Looking back on it, what I did was kinda cold. The way he looked at me afterwards I knew he enjoyed it. He's even called me a few times since.

But that's usually what a guy does after he's been vamped.

The Story of the Christmas Goose

Christmas this year has been pretty low key. No stuffing, no cranberry sauce, no turkey, and no duck. But while I didn't get any food, my best friend, DEE (who is currently visiting Germany) did have Christmas goose, but I'll get to that in a minute.

As for me, I exchanged gifts with my close close intimate guy, who I'll call FRIEND. I haven't spoken much about him, but he's a special person in my life, and as I reveal more about FRIEND, it will shake the hinges off of everything you've come to know in SEX AND THE SECOND CITY. But that's for a later post. All you have to know is that FRIEND is a very attractive guy here in Chicago, who is a very special person in my life.

My best friend, DEE, called me this afternoon from Germany. He and his german boyfriend (ALBERTO) are spending the holidays with ALBERTO's family (parents and siblings) and friends. The family is like an über-Brady Bunch. On Christmas Eve, one of the brothers got on the piano and everyone started singing German Christmas carols. One of the other brothers started reading Christmas stories to the children. All of this culminated in the entire german family, and my chocolate best friend gathering around the Christmas tree and opening presents for the next hour. DEE's Christmas present was a side trip to the awesome city of Berlin. He didn't seem too excited about it, even though I tried to get him excited. Berlin is HOT.

While I love DEE, I have to say that he one of the cheapest people that I know. He and ALBERTO went to a gay club with some german friends. In Germany, unlike in the US there are no service people running around the club picking up used beer bottles and drink glasses after people have discarded them. Instead, when you buy a drink, you are charged a 50 cent (in Euros) deposit. If you return the bottle or glass, you get your deposit back. DEE hates clubs, because--like me--he doesn't drink or smoke. So to pass the time (and to make some money), he went around the club collecting bottles and glasses in order to collect the deposits. All in all he made about 12 euros. One of ALBERTO's friends looked at DEE and told him in broken english, "I don't speak lot of English, but I know enough to say, 'I am not with you.'" And with that he walked away.

DEE and ALBERTO have been having a few problems lately. Part of it comes from DEE wondering whether AL is "the one". As with most relationships, problems usually manifest in the bedroom. DEE has started to prefer masturbating to fucking AL. On Christmas morning DEE woke up and started fucking AL for about 30 minutes before DEE started masturbating.

Pissed off, AL complained, "You've only fucked me for 10 minutes and you're already masturbating?"
DEE came back, "No, I've fucked you for a half hour, but maybe you only felt me in your ass for 10 minutes."
"What's that supposed to mean?" AL responded.
DEE touched AL's ass and said, "Loosey Goosey."
AL walked out.

I couldn't believe DEE told me that he called his boyfriend's ass a loose Christmas Goose. "So I guess he's right not to be speaking to me now?" he asked me. I told him that if anyone who ever said he cared about me told me something like that in such a mean fashion, I probably wouldn't be with him anymore. It's just a sign of respect.

I have heard a lot of top (a top is usually the penetrator in anal same-sex encounters) guys say, "I fucked that guy and he didn't have any walls." Meaning, he fucked a guy and no matter how hard he banged, that bottom took that dick without flinching. Some tops need to own up to the fact that their dicks aren't as big (or as hard) as they would like to think they are. Others need to realize that there are just some bottoms out there that have had some big dicks in their asses. But I realize that some tops really get off on saying that a bottom is "loose" or "open" when they can't make a guy flinch when they fuck him. So much of it is tied to ego. And the thought of a bottom surrounding a top and taking it like a pro I bet intimidates a lot of tops. I know deep down it intimidates me. I think more guys that fuck should be a little more upfront about how they feel before they go and call a guy a "loose ass".

I mean, I understand EVERY guy wants to fuck an ass that has a little grip. Lord knows I enjoy one. But "loosey goosey"? Damn , that was cold.

St. Clement's Christmas Eve

With the exception of autumn, there truly is no time of the year that I live more for than the period between Thanksgiving and New Year's. Its such an intense season of emotion and feeling--whether that feeling is joy and happiness or sadness and loneliness.

I think if anyone makes it to an advanced stage of adulthood they will experience this spectrum of emotions during this time of year. Some years you'll be away from family during Christmas and you might be a little down, or you finally get lucky and get to steal a New Year's Eve kiss from someone special.

I unfortunately had the chance to experience all of these emotions on Christmas Eve 1997. At the time I was living around the corner from Oprah (yes, she often said "hello" in her morning runs in our nearby park with her personal trainer) in my posh, yet tiny North Lake Shore Drive address in Chicago's Gold Coast neighborhood. I was young, felt important, and loved my location--but I was single and on a mission to find true love. My Best Friend's Wedding had recently been released on video, and I was up late calling the telephone line. Bored. Horny. Restless. Alone.

I finally ran across a white guy on the phone line who sounded nice enough. Sounded very masculine. And described himself and told me how in-shape he was. He was from Atlanta and recently moved to Chicago. And kept stressing how much he wanted to get with someone that night, that he was also bored.

We had a lengthy conversation. I told him that, while I wasn't a Christian, I had this thing for Midnight Mass. How peaceful it is, and how nice everyone is. I love it how they great you when you enter as though you are part of a fellowship, just like muslims do: peace be unto you my brother/sister. He said that he really enjoyed Christmas Eve mass as well, and weirdly, we agreed to meet at a Catholic church right around the corner from his house. Afterwards, we planned to go back to his place and watch my video of My Best Friend's Wedding.

In those days I was partial to the GAP, so I put on some olive green courduroy pants and a lime flannel shirt that I still own to this day. I took a cab to Chicago's Lincoln Park to Saint Clement Church and met the white guy. From what I remember, he wasn't bad looking. He looked slim and trim. I definitely wanted to converse with him, go back to his place and watch the movie with him.

As an aside, there was a point in my life when I didn't discriminate against white guys on the sex/love tip. A lot has changed since then.

The church was packed. People sang Christmas songs. And the white guy was pleasant. But of course we sat there and we really couldn't talk much. I learned a lesson that day. Don't go on weird dates. You don't meet someone at church if you have plans on going home and fucking them. It just doesn't really work.

Also, don't go on dates where you can't talk. That doesn't work. I can't tell you how many guys have wanted to go to a movie on a first date. NO NO NO! Doesn't work. Because you don't get a feeling for the guy because you can't talk, and you have to pay attention to a flick.

The same thing happened to me and the white boy at Midnight Mass. We had a few chuckles during the mass, when one of the parishoners or something walked around with this smoking urn attached to a swinging chain, and our entire area started coughing uncontrollably.

When mass was over, we walked out of the church and the white boy told me that he was really tired and that we should hook up another time. I was young and didn't pick up on signals then. So I called him a few times after that thinking he really wanted to hook up. He eventually fessed up and told me that I was too fat for him.

Looking back I felt a little like the patron saint of the church where the Midnight Mass was held--Saint Clement, thrown out to sea with an anchor around my neck to drown. But instead of becoming a martyr--I was just pissed. I told him that he could have been upfront that evening. But he said he didn't want to hurt my feelings. What a great job.

I could go on about white guys and black guys and respect, or gay guys in general and their fear of being honest with people they aren't attracted to. I have my theories, but they are for later posts.

The good (bad?) news is that a week later later (New Year's Eve) I met another white guy--JOHN--who would turn into my partner for 2 and 1/2 years.

JOHN's brother got married at St. Clement's that summer.

Lighter Shade in the Winter (pt. 1 The Revenge)

A few nights ago, I was horny as hell. My friend, JAMES (big pipe, bad breath), has been out of town for a minute. So, I called a local telephone chat line to help me take care of business. On this phone chat line, you record a message, then go browsing through the messages of other people who are also currently on the phone line or "on line". The line, except for a few sprinkles of salt y sazon, is filled with black men that are cruising, looking for phone sex, relationships, conversation, physical connections, or are playing games. Everyone on the line is a "dime piece," is "masculine", is "tight" and has a "flat stomach." Everyone tells you what they are not looking for: "No fats, no fems, no heavyweights, no drag queens, no thick niggas, no sissies." But few people tell you what they ARE looking for.

I left the most straightforward message imaginable:
"This message goes to the men that are looking for sex NOW. If you are looking for an inshape brother who is SERIOUS about an immediate hook-up. This is B, discrete, low key, high sex drive. Get at me."

So I started cruising a few messages, and I get a response to my message:
"Hey man, this is CHRIS, I am 6 feet, 180 lbs, I am light-skinned and I have green eyes. I am a real nice guy, laid back, and by the way, my dick is 10 x 6."

I immediately hit him up for a live one-on-one connection. His stats sounded great, and I won't lie, I was intrigued about this huge piece he supposedly had. Though I was a little cautious, because he sounded, from the manner in which he spoke his description, like he thought he was real cute (stuck up). But I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

So a few seconds later, we were talking. I found out that we lived in the same neighborhood. And I started asking him about what he was into. He said that he liked a lot of body contact, and when it came to anal sex, he was mostly a top, but that he didn't really do that too often, because his dick was so large. I got turned on hearing that. But I usually have eyes that are bigger than my stomach, or should I say asshole--so I wasn't salivating. Overall, he sounded cool, until he told me: "You know, I want to be honest with you. You sound great, but I am not really looking to have sex tonight."

I thought to myself, why did this guy hit me up and waste my time? Especially after my voice message EXPLICITLY said that I was looking to have sex tonight--NOW.

Surprisingly, I didn't get upset. As horny as I was. I remained chilled.
"So why did you hit me up man?" I asked calmly. He replied, "I don't know. It was something about your voice, that I really liked. It was like I was supposed to hit you up or something. I really hope that we can talk."

I was really frustrated at this point, but I didn't indicate it in my voice. I told him that it was cool, and that we could talk a little more if he wanted. I have learned not to get pissy with guys who might later become good acquantances--or potential fuck buddies.

But like I said, I was horny, and I was asking some really graphic questions: What kind of guys do you like? How often do you get down? Do you enjoy a dick in your ass? How do you like to fuck? Do guys take that big dick?

I guess my questions offended him (even though he answered all of them). One moment he was mentioning how we need to get together, and that he thought I was cool, and the next second I heard a BEEP. He had clicked me off and moved on to another connection.

Words cannot describe the level of pissed off that I was. That motherfucker clicked me off after I was trying to be cool with him! After he had deliberately ignored my message that I was looking for sex and tried to pull the friendship call? What a bitch ass punk.

Centuries ago, when William Congreve originated the phrase "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" he must not have known very many gay men. I say this because I count myself among those that when crossed (or done wrong) I will take that shit to the streets. I don't know what it was, but I was determined to get this motherfucker back. Now don't misunderstand me, I don't feel like this chump "wronged me." It's not like that at all. I have been hung up on before on the phone line. I have had plenty of people click me and move on (and I have clicked lots of guys myself). But it was something about his palpable duplicitous cockiness that roared to be put in check. It was like a challenge. And I was feeling like it was my duty to take it on.

So I changed my outgoing message, disguised my voice--found his message again, and hit him up again--pretending to be a new person. The sucker fell for it. And we chatted for like an hour. I soon realized that he was telling the same tired story--how he was an extremely attractive guy, who modeled occasionally, and was going to school. I played him real cool. I knew everything I needed to know about him, so I didn't act that interested. This time CHRIS gave me his phone number. And he insisted that we try to get together soon.

Over the next few days, he kept calling me telling me how busy he was, and how he wanted to get together. I don't understand why some people want to feel so important. Why not just call when you're ready to meet.

Anyway he called me tonight. And we had a stupid conversation. He kept complaining about how cold it was outside--and I told him that I liked the winter. He said, "Yeah, well the only reason I like winter is because my skin gets lighter." I asked him whether that was a good thing. And he told me that he likes his skin to be light. I was done. I really cannot stand black self-hatred, especially when it comes to skin color.

Then this guy started to sing some high pitched gospel tune into the phone. I was silent. He started laughing, "Oh I'm sorry. I just felt like putting out." If I didn't know it before, I finally had my confirmation that this guy was a G I R L.

He went on to tell me more useless details about himself, like the fact that he needs to save some money so that he can go into "the studio" to record some demo tapes, take pictures of himself, and travel to different record companies so he could "drop some tracks." When I pushed him to name the companies he planned on visiting, he paused, mentioned Capitol Records, and then said, "Anyone that will take me. I mean, I know I don't have the greatest voice, but I can hold a tune. And I am not that bad. But that's why I want to take the pictures, because basically I am going to use my looks to get me into the door."

Did he really just say that? I absolutely have to meet this guy. I have to see what he looks like. I almost feel compelled to play this chump who thinks so highly of himself--and who hung up on me the other night. Maybe I'll sex him real good, and tell him to get the fuck out. Ok maybe that's taking it to the extreme.

Regardless, we are planning to meet today at lunch. Hopefully his flakey ass will follow through. Stay tuned.

Chicago's Next Top Model

Ok, Ok. I know my blog is called Sex and the Second City. And I haven't really been talking about any sex lately. Its not my fault. For some reason, I cannot get laid. Even though its only been about two weeks, this is one of the longest droughts I've experienced. I hope to change this pretty soon, and start showcasing some of the sex in this city.

Instead of sex, I have been passing my time watching reality television. And last week was a big week for the reality tv genre. First, Donald Trump announced his new Apprentice in a three-hour snooze-a-palooza. And (un?)fortunately, Eva the Diva was crowned America's Next Top Model over my girl Yaya. America's Next Top Model is one of those reality shows that really delivers on the drama. We got to see:
(1) the first all black reality tv finale (Eva and Yaya)
(2) Amanda, the blind woman trying to be a supermodel, &
(3) a whole bunch of women obsessing about their weight, and occasionally throwing up.


But men are also obsessed with their weight (as seen on Bravo's awful male version of ANTM, called Manhunt--hosted by the inflatable Carmen Electra). Today we see that men are working out, exercising, eating healthy--hell, men are doing the damn thing! Why? Because women (and gay men) want men that look good.

I saw evidence of this recently when I met a guy named OneHourSpa in an AOL Chat room. His profile offered a free one-hour escape of delectable massage as you visualize your perfect vacation get-a-way. His "offer" was only open to men who were capable of completing the following mathematical equation:

(1) Multiply your weight (in pounds) by 703.
(2) Divide the product of #1 above by the square of your height in inches.


If the answer was less than 27, then you could get his free spa treatment. I thought his mathematical ritual was a bit odd, so I decided to Google it, and when I found out what it was I was shocked. It was an equation to calculate Body Mass Index (your percentage of body fat).

What is going on? Are we really requiring people to calculate their Body Mass Index before we even entertain the idea of fucking them? What ever happened to the usual ridiculous stats requirements? Height: over 6 feet. Weight: between 150-175. Waist size: 32". Dick length/thickness: 10x6. Now, in addition to all that, we need a calculator or a body caliper to measure our fat. Maybe its because we are watching all of this Reality TV. Could shows like ANTM, Manhunt, and the upcoming Sport's Illustrated Swimsuit Model Search be making people think that the only bodies worth dating are supermodels?

We are even starting to see top models on local television. I was up late one night watching a local weekly television show called Chicagoing. This week the show had a crew of models wearing cocktail and party fashions for the holiday season. One black male model in particular made me get close to the tv set. He wore these maroon velvet pants, a fitted turtle neck, and a dark suede/velvet blazer. He was H to the O to the T T T. I learned that his name was Brandon, and with a lot of detective work (cyber stalking) I found out his full name and that he was a Ford model. And I found some pictures of him. He looked a lot more charming on television.

What surprised me watching Brandon on television was that he looked amazingly awkward, as though he had never stood before a camera. I thought yo myself, fuck, if a professional looks that timid on television--then maybe I can be a model. I have the height, an interesting enuff look, but there's one problem--I don't meet that lean/thin requirement. After looking through scores of Ford model pics and stats, I've learned that most of these guys are some svelte bitches (32" waist, but usually lower). I have a 33-34 waist.

In the female fashion world, there is a such thing as the "plus sized female model"., But what about the men? There are no plus sized male models! That's kinda fucked. So I have decided that I am going to be America's First Top Plus Sized Male Model. Maybe if I become a model (albeit a plus sized one), I'll have a better chance getting some action.

Quote of the Day

Recently, after eating at CHI-TUNG--our favorite Chinese lunch buffet located in Evergreen Park (a southwest suburb of Chicago)--my best friend Dee said, "Its about time people get off the The Beatles' nuts and start giving The Bee-Gees the props they deserve."

I agree.

Oil and Water

There is nothing I can't stand more than a dry fuck. When it comes to anal sex, my motto is: USE AS MUCH LUBE AS POSSIBLE. Regardless of whether I am hitting or pitching, I know that men are not women. Or in other words, guys' asses don't get wet from foreplay. I don't care what you've been told. You won't believe how many guys have told me, "My ass gets wet when I get hot." No, your ass is not wet--that's loose fecal matter. And I think I'll take a pass.

So I always use a hefty amount of lubrication when it comes to back door action. I have every kind of lube you can think of: Elbow grease, Forplay, Astroglide, ID Millenium (a silicone based lube). But as we should all know in this era of HIV transmission, that not all lubricants should be used with latex condoms--so sayonara to Vaseline, petroleum jelly, Crisco, Elbow Grease, or mineral oil.

I remember I hooked up with a guy once for sex, and after I put the condom my dick he reached for a bottle of mineral oil and started lubing up his hole. I screamed at him, "What are you doing? You can't use that." I went on to tell him that oil based lubricants should NEVER be used with latex condoms, and that usually people use water based lubricants. With a straight face he told me, "Oh well then this is ok, because this is water based mineral oil." I put my clothes on and left immediately.

So like I said, my motto is to use a lot of lube to make entry as smooth as possible. But people who buy lube, know that all lube is not the same. My lube of choice, as is that of my best friend Dee, is ID GLIDE. Dee and I have to travel all the way to the Gay Walgreens (a national chain drugstore) in Boystown. This Walgreens has a better assortment of lube than ANY sex shop I've been too.

ID GLIDE is a thick, viscous, water based lube that I wasintroduced to when I was about 23. It is amazing. A lot of people complain that it becomes too sticky after you have "worked the middle" for a minute, but I usually just add more.

Anyway, ID GLIDE comes in a bunch of different sizes. Most sane people probably buy ID in the 10 ounze size which costs about $10. But me and Dee always buy a big bottle of lube--the 35 oz bottle, that costs about $23. I can't tell you how many people have come into my bedroom and did a double take on that bottle. But you would think that's the biggest bottle of lube available right?

No. Sitting right next to the 35 oz bottle pump on the Walgreen's shelf, is the Holy Grail of lub: a plastic cube containing 70.5 oz of lube (with an accompanying travel size bottle). That is more than HALF A GALLON. So a few days ago I bought a half gallon of lube. The Walgreen's check-out guy's eyes got wide. "That's kind of a lot huh? What are you going to do with all that?" I gave him the black man's blush, and gave him some explanation that I don't remember. He added,"And look it comes with its own little travel bottle, so you can take some with you anywhere, and with that he reached inside my coat and touched my chest, pretending he was putting an imaginary bottle into my t-shirt pocket. Dee later said, "He was flirting with you. And who could blame him? If I saw someone buying a half a gallon of lube, I would want to fuck them on general principle. Buying that much stuff, you know they have to have some kind of skill."

Gay Games? in Chicago?

I just found out that the Gay Games VII are coming to Chicago in 2006. I don't know much about the Gay Games--and other than the Olympics, some NBA basketball (the Bulls), and Michelle Kwan in figure skating--I am not a big sports fan.

The last Gay Games were held in Sydney. They have a lot of different sports surprisingly. The usual Olympic sports like figure skating, volleyball, track & field, wrestling to things like flag football, pool (billiards), darts, and of all things DanceSport (couples dancing). And of course, the events are for same gender loving peoples.

Honestly, it sounds a bit over the top, but at the same time, I am kind of fascinated by this international event converging on my city. The Sydney Gay Games had over 11,000 athletes. Woah!!! At least half of them will be men, so can you imagine almost 6,000 athletically inclined gay men added to the Chicago surplus for a week? Hmmm. I think I should sign up for bowling...

Edging Out Destiny's Child

I was jogging through the profiles of members in an AOL chatroom the other day and ran across something peculiar. In the profile of a guy I shall call Edgemaster, were listed some of the sexual acts that he likes to get into. They included: "bondage, spanking, blindfolds, jockstraps, home invasion, edging, abdominal muscles, and voyeurism."

Two things caught my eye as unusual (with respect to being listed on a profile). I had heard of guys getting into "home invasion"--sitting in your unlocked house blindfolded while you arrange for some guy to come over and "break in" and have his way with you.

But the other activity, EDGING, I had never heard of before. So I quickly contacted (instant messaged) the Edgemaster and asked him, "What is edging?" He replied that it is "taking someone to the point of cumming but not letting them go over the edge -- resting and repeating over and over. You get really sensitive, and then when you finally let it fly. It REALLY flies."

I paused and sat looking at the computer screen for a moment, with my mouth in the shape of an "O". I had just said "oh." I started thinking about whether I engage in edging when I have intercourse.

I thought really long and hard, and realized that I couldn't remember the last time when I had delayed gratification during sex. I could think of countless times when I was younger (like 23 or 24). How I would be having sex and have to slow down because I would get too close. And how I would have to do this over and over and over again. I was like a machine with a button. Everyready and evercharged.

But today, just like a broken refigerator can't hold ice water, I can't hold on to an orgasm if i get close. What's happened to me? I thought the older you got the more seasoned and experienced you were supposed to get. Now that I am older its like my skills are waning. Or maybe they're not waning--maybe its just that I cared what sex partners thought about me in my early 20s--and now that I am older, I don't. If they get theirs it's cool. But if not. Oh well.

Have I become sexually selfish? A selfish lover can't be good--regardless of the status of the sex partner (i.e., one-night stand, casual encounter, fuck-buddy, or potential lover). Surely, not caring about someone else's orgasm was bad bed karma.

So I set up a sex clinic for myself to get some good karma flowing through me (and my bed). As someone who is not that into masturbation--unlike when I was 23. I have decided to start masturbating more--but not for release, but for the sole purpose of edging. Getting close and relaxing. I have to build my tolerance. I have to start going the distance. Maybe Destiny's Child asked the right question in the title of one of their newest songs: "Can you keep up?"

Aside: For those who don't know about Destiny's Child, or who despise them like me, the song is about a girl singing to a guy, "Can you keep up? Baby boy make me lose my breath, hit it hard, make me lose my breath." Of course as with most music today, you don't have to use your imagination to figure out that they are talking about fucking.)

So in my quest to "keep up" I am going to work on edging, and crack open that new "Kama Sutra for Dummies" book that I just bought, and figure out if a gay man can have a lingam AND a yoni.

Vanilla Peppermint Snow Martinis

Last Friday night I was hoping to find some intelligent dick. For the first time in a century, I went out on a Friday night. I was invited to a small party at the fabulous Hyde Park condominium of my friend Corey Lovejoy, a cute 20-something history graduate student, and her husband, a big Chicago law firm associate. The best way to describe Corey is to say that she is a young B. Smith (Who is B. Smith?) dressed in yellow and pink pastels. For those who don't know B. Smith, most ignorantly call her the black Martha Stewart.

The food was great. Corey had prepared a tasty apple butternut squash soup, crab cakes, a waldorf salad, various skewered meats. During the evening, I asked her for a fork when all had been taken from the serving tray, and she said, "We don't have any more that are clean. Is a plastic one okay? That isn't too tacky is it?" Being one of those guests that's elated to be eating something more haute than trail mix I saw no need for her concern. To give you an idea of how elaborate Corey got, she served me vanilla ice cream topped with peppermint snow--in a martini glass. Until then, I was a martini virgin.

But back to the hunt for intelligent dick. Corey and I don't speak that often, so I was kinda surprised when I got her invitation. In the back of my mind I was thinking--Did she invite me because she has some other gay friends she wants to invite? Or maybe this was just a wish. Besides, between a lawyer/history PhD grad student I knew that most of the people at the party would have a little book learning. Thus, I thought it could be an opportunity to meet some smart kat--and hopefully he would share his body with me.

Wishful thinking. Instead, while in a conversation with about 7 people on gay marriage (of all topics) I got hit on by Fasheezie. She is a beeautiful personal trainer who couldn't figure out why people were so against gay marriage. She told us that most straight guys are oblivious to gay men, and can never figure out who's gay or not. When she found out that I was gay, she said, "I guess I am oblivious too, I was about to ask you what you were doing for the evening."

Shortly afterwards, the lights in the living room went out, and I heard Corey begin singing "Happy Birthday" to her husband and a bright candle blazing birthday cake in her hands. Everyone joined in chorus. She kissed him and gave him a hug and then came into the kitchen to look for a knife to cut the cake. It wasn't intentional, but at this point in the evening, all the white people were in the living room, and the handful of black folks (and a Canadian Asian woman) were chatting in the kitchen.

As soon as the "Happy Birthday" song ended all the white people started singing a second song--singing lyrics that we couldn't make out at first. All of the people of color were looking at each other, asking: "What's going on? What are they saying?" Fasheezie asked, "Are they telling him to strip ?" By the time they got to the third stanza, Corey's husband had started skipping around the room with his drink in hand. His action answered our questions. They were saying:

Skip, skip,
skip around the room.
Skip, skip,
skip around the room.
Skip, skip,
skip around the room.
Skip around the room (insert name of birthday boy).

None of us had never heard this song or had seen this ritual before. I said to a girl standing next to me, "Just when you think you've gone to elite colleges and learned everything about white people, they show you that they still have little secrets."

We all looked over to Corey--surely since she was married to a white guy she had seen it before. Corey's voice is unique. She uses standard english, and has a very middle class voice (if such a thing exists). This is a suburban sister if you ever heard one. Which made it all the funnier when she told us: "I don't know where they got that from. I mean, the only variation I ever heard on the Happy Birthday Song is, 'May the Good Lord Bless You'" All the black folks nodded in agreement.

While I had a great evening--I didn't get any man on man sex.

Wooden Shoes

Today I was reminded of a song that I learned when I was a little boy,

Oh wooden shoes,
wooden shoes
walking down the avenue
like the little children do,
do in Amsterdam.

I just learned that SEX AND THE SECOND CITY was mentioned in Watson's Big Adventure. Its a new blog by a young twink (what's a twink?) whippersnapper currently living in Amsterdam who is on the road to discovering his sexuality in the backdrop of, "Bright Lights, Big City"--albeit Netherlands style.

Sex in European cities has never really been "all that" to me. On my way to eastern Africa, I had the opportunity to visit London--and the guys had a sense of style, fashion, and flair that made Chicagoans look like farmboys. But fortunately, Chicago sits on the edge of a great (actually, more like HUGE) body of freshwater called Lake Michigan, which is the region's freshwater source (where I drink from everyday). So why, you might ask, do I say we're fortunate that we live on Lake Michigan? Because as the water from Lake Michigan is purified and cleansed, so that it meets the lowest of minimal drinking standards, a little known element from the periodic chart is added--Flouride.

Yes Amsterdam, yeah London, you might outdress the Chicago boys, but we have better teeth. What's the point of looking cute if I can't kiss you?

Back to Chicago and James in the next posting!

Young Boy, Big City!

I have recently met a young 19 year old guy, his name is James. He's about 5'7 160lbs. He has a young face, and huge soup cooler lips. He has a nice brown complexion (not dark, not light)--and surprisingly very little attitude. What's endearing about him is that he is one of those rare guys that you meet who calls when he says he is going to call. James and I met on a telephone dating line. My fake name was Joaquin and I told him that I was looking for sex. So was he.

We met like a week ago, and we haven't had sex. A little bump and grind, a little getting naked, but no wanakiki in the cocoriki. Now what is a college educated 28 year old doing with a 19 year old you ask? Ok ok, you're right. That's gross. I feel like a chicken hawk. Trust me, i don't usually have a thing for the young ones. Actually, I usually only mess with kats that are my age or older.

But age really shouldn't matter that much. I mean look at this great city--in many ways it is a very young city, only about 160 years old--but it has a much longer history, when Chicago was just a small trading post founded by a black Haitian (DuSable) in the late 18th century. New on its face, but backed up with a rich history. A young city with a big past.

Anyway, back to James, he's not just a young boy in a big city--but a big boy. Young James dropped a bomb on me when he came through my door. More like his zipper dropped a bomb. To be so young, and so short, James has to have one of the biggest dicks I have ever seen. The boy is H to the U to the GE. I mean its so huge, I am getting turned on just writing about it. One of those pipes that gets so hard and is so massive just looking at it and masturbating is probably enough--which might explain why we haven't done anything.

Ok it doesn't really. I am one of those guys that, yeah, I look at that big thing and think of it as a challenge and wonder--Can I really take all of that? And I reach right down to the bottom to the bottom of my soul (insert Morales singing "Nothing" from A Chorus Line here), and I know the answer (wink).

So yeah the guy is a little young, but he's good looking, he calls when he says he will, he has a bangin' body, and is interesting in having sex--all the things that one wants in the search for Mr. Goodbar, or the perfect Fuck Buddy, no? Well almost, yeah. But there's one little problem that I haven't mentioned: he has breath that sometimes is a little too tart to kiss (ok it was the first time we met, but hey, first impressions are the ones that stick). We've only met twice.

Intro: Do you have the sex?

I desperately hope I have the sex. Or else why write a blog on it?

I am a 28 year old black brotha who has had a lot of sex in my young life--but I want to have more. This blog is my attempt to document that quest, and all of the silly shit that goes along with it. But the quest is not just for sex, and its not just my quest. It is the search for love, happiness, and satisfaction by my friends and people that I encounter in Chicago.

Even though my tales are largely (though not entirely) about sex with men, this blog is for everyone--heterosexual, bisexual, gay, DL, lesbian. It's for anyone that's sexual. Because sex is one of those human things that binds all of us. And a lot of the shit that happens to me is sure to happen (or has happened to many of you). So sit back, get a chuckle, and you might learn something to help you in life.

And if not, you can always stand to learn more about the greatest city in the world, Chicago.


Bernard

Who's Who: Who's got the Sex?

Its really hard to keep people straight on a web blog. So I have compiled a little list to help readers keep clear on who's doing what (whom?) in the Second City.

VERY IMPORTANT PEOPLE

Bernard Bradshaw: That would be me. I am a 28 year old ethnographer living in what I think is the greatest city in the world. I love sex, but don't get enough of it. I'm a fit, attractive guy who has a thing for hairy chested brothers with nice chests.

Darnell or Dee: He is my best friend, and I have known him forever. There isn't much I wouldn't do for him. He's a svelte attractive chocolate brother who is extremely charming. I am jealous of him because he has always gotten more sex than me and is always traveling with his job.

Alberto: This is Dee's boyfriend of about a year. Cute Italian anglo with a thick accent. He always attracts attention.

Angel (aka Little Viscious): My mid twenty-something Cuban friend who we often joke as being "Gemini's Twin" separated at birth. Sweet as pie with the sharpest tongue north of the equator. He is in a long term relationship with a wonderful man.

Friend: The mysterious thirty-something man in my life. I am not quite sure what to say about him. Just that he is someone very important to me. Most women and men think that he is EXTREMELY attractive. He is a Chicago civil servant and on the DL. He has a very unique role in these tales of Sex and the Second City--but you're going to have to stay tuned to learn what.

Sucré: One of the few female friends in my life. She lives in the NYC--and will have some of her own romantic tales to add.

IMPORTANT PEOPLE

Common: 30-something attractive thick brotha that I met on the Internet, but he lives near me. Great kisser, seems to have his shit together. Not sure what we are doing--but I know I want to get to know him better. See: The Boy Next Door.

THE TRICKS

James: 19, retail sales & club dancer. Great shape, huge dick, but bad breath. Haven't had sex yet. See: Young Boy, Big City!

Chris: 19, student. Effeminate light skinned, hazel eyes, huge dick, & can perform autofellatio. Won't stop calling me since I banged his box. See: Lighter Shade in Winter Part 1 & Part 2.

Marcus: 22-25 yo, student. Tall, thin, effeminate Asian kat. My neighbor. No sex yet. See: Project Afro-Asiatic Connection.

DJ: late thirty-something, light-skinned not so attractive above-average dicked guy. Had sex once. See: Early Morning Ass.

HAZELNUT: Dark Skinned in shape brotha who lives nearby. Has given me the run around and doesn't return calls well. But seems masculine. See: The One and Rule of Mutual Attraction.