My Body, This Week

Tongue
Between the hours of 1 and 2 a.m. Friday night, my tongue spent a lot of time in someone else’s mouth. It was sort of frenzied, drunken kissing; quick and passionate, but without all the subtle sensual details. I don’t remember the way his mouth felt or tasted, I don’t remember what his tongue did, just that it did it very fast. It was the kind of kissing that implied certainty. There were no tentative moments, no questions. Just the thrilling, stupefying plunge.

Penis
I’m on the subway reading Anaïs Nin and getting aroused at very inappropriate passages. Criminally inappropriate. I feel pervy – well, pervier than usual. I love the way she uses the word “penis” instead of “cock,” etc. There’s something so crass and forced about using those other words. They sound like you’re trying too hard to be dirty and just end up seeming overzealous and cheap. “Penis” is just what it is, without any bells and whistles, and it’s still hot. It’s sort of coquettish. I don’t think I’ll ever use any word other than “penis” ever again.

I’m getting hard – on the subway – and it’s that slow, gentle kind of stiffening, like when you wake up next to someone you’re in love with and slowly your penis wakes up too. It happens on its own; organic arousal, not forced to get a job done. It’s like this warm, glowing benevolence surrounding your crotch like a ball of light.

Nipples
It is always freezing where I work. I have this theory that it’s like this in every office where people sit in cubicles all day, staring at computer screens. It’s a trick they remember from High School: if they don’t keep it really cold people will fall asleep from the tedium and monotony of their jobs. My nipples are erect and sensitive all day, everyday, and there is nothing sexy about it.

PRÉF Mag

I have a piece in the September/October issue of Préférences, a gay magazine in France. It's not available in the US, and even if it was it would be in French anyway. So here it is in English.

Three New York Dates

I think that every gay boy who has moved to New York since 1999 falls victim to the whole Sex and the City thing. They have seen the show, they own the DVDs, they’ve read the book, they wait breathlessly to see what Sara Jessica Parker will wear next. Whether they admit it or not – and most of them don’t – somewhere in the back of their minds they expect life in the Big Apple to be one big night on the town, full of designer shoes, chi-chi cocktails, and VIP treatment. I should know. I was one of those guys.

The reality of living in New York, I have come to realize, is completely different, especially the dating. I’ve been taken to more half-priced sushi joints and dive bars than five star restaurants and über-trendy hotspots. And the sex…well, the sex isn’t bad. Actually, it has been really good. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I’m having better, more interesting sex than any of the Sex and the City girls ever had. If I can’t have a closet full of designer clothes and the star table at Marquee, at least my libido is satisfied.

Date Number 1: The Lawyer with the Golden Dick
I met the Lawyer at a bar in Chelsea. He was older, maybe in his mid 30’s. He didn’t have that gay daddy bear thing going on, but something about him made me feel like a kid. I felt small and mischievous, like a naughty schoolboy. Being around him, I kind of saw myself the way he saw me: young and reckless and insatiably sexy.

He took me to lunch one Saturday at a diner a few blocks from his apartment. From the moment we sat down I knew we were going have sex that day. The sexual tension was like a thick fog hanging over our table. It made getting through our meal a little precarious. If one of us said the wrong thing or looked at the other a little too suggestively, we might have ended up attacking each other and fucking right there on the table.

We paid the check and went straight to his place. He threw me onto his bed and started taking my clothes off. He did most of the work, moving me into different positions and telling me what he wanted me to do. I had never had sex where I had relinquished that much control. It felt amazing. When I came it felt like my entire body had turned into liquid, flowing over the Lawyer, his bed, his apartment, the whole world. It was probably the most intense orgasm I have ever had in my life.

It was so good that I became sort of addicted to the Lawyer’s dick. Anything that can perform that kind of magic should be cast in gold and worshipped on a mountaintop. I guess he got a little freaked out when I called at 3 a.m. one night to tell him that. Afterwards, all of my attempts to set up a second date were met with vague replies like, “I’ll call you next week,” and “We’ll do something when I get back from Australia.”

Alas, I don’t think I’ll ever see the golden dick again.

Date Number 2: The Go-Go Boy
“He’s not a real go-go boy,” I said, trying to justify taking home a guy I had just met to my friend Dave.

Jeff was a 19 year-old intern who had entered an amateur go-go contest at Boysroom in the East Village. When I first saw him he was completely naked and dancing on the bar. He didn’t win, but I thought he was the hottest guy there. I told him so, and he got this dazed, awestruck look on his face, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He started kissing me almost immediately and we didn’t come up for air for at least an hour and a half.

“You’re so beautiful,” he kept saying. I didn’t believe him, so I kept kissing him to shut him up.

There’s something so amazingly naughty and carnal about making out with someone in a bar. It’s dirty and reckless despite the fact that you can’t get naked. We were tucked away in a dark corner of the bar, tangled up on a red velvet sofa. I liked the idea of people getting annoyed or grossed-out by our public display of lust. I could almost feel all these bitchy queens rolling their eyes, some getting jealous, some enjoying the show. Maybe they would go home alone tonight and lie in bed thinking about Jeff and I kissing and groping like horny teenagers. It brought out a bit of the exhibitionist in me.

I gripped Jeff’s jeans, loving the way the rough denim felt pulled tight like canvas across his ass. I could feel him getting hard. I straddled him and ground my crotch into his.I ran my fingers through his hair and gripped it, pulling his head back and kissing him deep. His hands were on my ass and he actually gave it a little smack.

That’s when Dave came over and told me that people were starring.

“Come on,” I said to Jeff, “We can finish up at my place.”

Date Number 3: Welcome Wagon
My friend Josh’s ex-boyfriend, Chase, was visiting New York for a few weeks and we ended up sleeping together for most of his stay. Josh brought him out for happy hour the night he got into town, secretly hoping Chase would go home with someone so that they wouldn’t have to share Josh’s tiny studio apartment. After a few 2-for-1 cocktails, Chase and I were really hitting it off. He was cute, smart, funny, but in a non-intimidating, watered-down kind of way.

We had dinner that night at Republic. We talked and talked, slurring our way through discussions of gender politics, queer theory, and other lofty topics that only make sense when you’re drunk. I felt brilliant and stimulated and more than a little horny. But I kept looking at Chase and thinking that I didn’t really want to get involved with him. I couldn’t quite figure out why, but something told me that it just wasn’t something I wanted to do.

A week later, we met for drinks again. “I kind of want to kiss you,” I said, “but I also kind of don’t want to.”

Chase just chuckled and smiled at me drunkenly. He put his hand on my knee and slid it up my thigh. It was like he lit a match and my ambivalence went up it flames. “Ok, let’s go to my place,” I said.

We stopped to get sushi on the way home and that’s when the conversation sort of dried up. We sat there eyeing each other over spicy tuna and California rolls, smiling suggestively every now and then in an attempt to sustain horniness. It didn’t work.

When we got to my apartment, there was none of the desperate, torrid urgency that usually happens the first time I have sex with someone. I was drunk and full and sort of sleepy. I fumbled out of my clothes and flopped down on the bed, thinking how soft and perfect my down comforter felt. As I lay there, Chase started to kiss and lick me all over. It was like he was waking up every inch of my body. My skin felt energized and super sensitive, but at the same time I felt relaxed and weightless. It was like drifting away on a cloud that was coursing with lighting bolts.

Chase was stroking my cock and then he was sucking it. I could almost feel sparks coming off of me, like languid, sleepy fireflies. He slipped his fingers inside me, pressing gently and the whole world went up in flames.

After I came, I sank back into the softness of my bed. “Welcome to New York,” I said, and drifted off to sleep.