On Pride and Inspiration – Post #6

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It’s Gay Pride and I’m eating dinner in the village.  You know the Riviera Restaurant?  The tourist trap on the NW corner of W4^th and 7^th Avenue? 

Don’t go there.

But I am enjoying the view.  It’s 8:35 on the evening of Gay Pride.  Was it always this trashy?  I can hear you drolly saying, “Yeeeees.”

I came to my first parade in 1991.  I also marched in my first parade in 1991.  At the front, right behind Phil Donohue and Marlo Thomas.  I was 22 years old and, for the very first time, I felt so...arrived.  The bass and the music, the beautiful people.  The color.  “I’m OK.”  I remember the moment of silence for AIDS victims: lying on the street, on my back, directly in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.  During that minute, I kept my eyes fixed on the sky and tried to make time stand still.  I recall thinking, I‘ll remember this moment forever and, one day, I’ll want to come back to it. 

Yeah right.  I’m helluh sexier now and supremely happy.  And I don’t spend too much time looking for fun; I try to enjoy the minute I’m currently in.

Like last night at the Saturday ERUPTION party.  Holy crap.  It was a sex crucible.  At one point, while watching Bob get fucked in the sling, I looked around at the men and the scene, and took a mental snapshot.  It was precisely the party I look for every night.

“Sex crucible.”  Note to self: use that.

The right guys, on the right night.  Great vibes, great electricity.  Most had the right kind of head: enjoying the very minute.  The young guys, too; they were more sophisticated.  It’s a lot more fun to be fun.

Last Friday night, Treasure Island shot a porn scene at the space.  Really, really cool.  I’m around sex so much that I wasn’t focused on the dudes fucking, as much as absorbing the whole picture.  The crew were as kind and comfortable as they were professional.  The talent (the dudes fucking) were so unassuming and unpretentious, the types of guys who come to TCH parties.

For the last several months, I’ve been contemplating how far I intend to go with producing porn.  You may have already seen some of my stuff on Xtube.  Observing the Treasure Island shoot may inspire me to pursue it further.

Whatever I do, it’ll be genuine, but hopefully it will be something of which I’ll be proud. I’m not sure just being gay makes me proud, as it’s not a skill nor an achievement; it’s about what I choose to do with that aspect of my character which determines how proud I am.  And where I take it.

If I actually could go back in time to that moment on 5^th Avenue, it wouldn’t be to go back to that point in my life, but to whisper this in my 22-year-old ear.

On Hosting - Post #5

As a young kid, I wasn’t allowed to have friends over.  By the time I was allowed, they were too afraid to come over, anyway.  My parents had a bit of a reputation as very strict and not exactly warm and “hosty.”  Even after I moved out, I still didn’t host anybody for anything....I didn’t know how to.

So the prospect of hosting lots of guys at once, for orgies, was a bit frightening.  Still is.  No matter how many parties I host, the prospect that guys won’t enjoy themselves really sucks.  Scares the shit out of me.  That’s a big part of the reason I try so hard.

You may have noticed that I try a lot of new things, like new party themes, videos on xtube, gadgets like the fog machine, interesting music.  This blog.  It isn’t throwing shit against a wall to see what sticks, it’s all very carefully researched and thought out.  One of the aspects which makes capitalism so great is evolution.  That which adapts will survive, and in a crowded marketplace, new ideas tend to resonate beyond the clatter of all things common.  “Build it and they will come” does not exactly work.

You need more.

Preparing for a party includes much more than the actual setting up, and takes days.  I do a lot (a lot) of administrative work, as well as recruiting, market research, shopping, and video work.  It really is like preparing for a show.  Once the lights go down and the party starts, I can only hope that all that preparation will come to fruition.  Some nights are slow, while others are teeming.  During a party, I do all the things I look for when I go to someone else’s party: a kind and attentive host who at least tries to remember my name; ensure that guys don’t have to wait to check in or check out; plenty of whatever is needed, like paper towels, cups, drinks, munchies, condoms, mouthwash, soap, bags for shoes, bags for clothes, batteries, toilet paper, lube, enemas.

Enemas.  They’re a good indication of the kind of host I am.  No, not (just) because I’m trying to get in your ass, but because they’re important.

I also participate with you guys.

Another integral aspect to a well-run orgy is cleanliness.  This is my home and I’m a pretty fussy guy.  If I go to someone else’s party and I smell urine in the bathroom, I feel taken for granted by the host.  I take none of you for granted.  I even clean the bathroom several times during a party, notably the toilet seat and rim, and the floor around the toilet.  If someone takes a shower, I dry the floor.  Wet socks are just gross!  Especially if it’s piss.

Like for tonight’s party, I have to finish this blog and post it, write the email, make sure that my list is accurate (can’t send to peeps who’ve unsubscribed or jerks who actually reported me as spam…I get the email addresses of those guys), shop for supplies, answer RSVPs, and set up.  I’d also like to burn more discs, but I doubt I’ll get to that.

Hosting three parties per week is a full time job – sometimes upward of two full time jobs.  If a guy doesn’t have a good time, I take it personally (except assholes – I just remove them from my list and move on), but I hope he knows how much I tried and how important he is to me....

....and you can rest assured that I’ll try even harder next time.

So please support me so I can continue to host these parties.  Thank you.

What a Privilege – Post #4

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I’m writing this while sitting in a shady part of the Christopher Street pier. It’s such a privilege to be here, in Manhattan.  There’s so much right outside one’s window – so much that it’s easy to get desensitized to it.

It gets me to thinking about sex parties (surprise, surprise) and the enormous privilege they are.  It’s easy to forget, what with it all so readily available these days. They’ve actually gotten taken for granted.

These are orgies, folks!  Orgies! 

I went to my first party less than four years ago.  I was 37, but I may as well have been 16, I was so utterly blown away by what was going on.  I’d always (and I do mean always) wanted to be part of one.  The idea of being in a room full of men, there at random, having sex with each other, was my fantasy.

Walking around my neighborhood, I constantly see men – just “every day Joes” – I picture in the act.  Picture them naked.  Of course, I can’t just go up to them and tell them to take their clothes off and start fucking, but I can give them a card for my parties (such a head rush to do that).  So I can see them, after all.

The newness of orgies may be gone for me, but the awe I feel is like it’s the first time.  I don’t want to get to the point where watching the Action happening just six inches from my face would be anything but awesome.

Six inches away from my face.  Damn. 

What a privilege.

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Just asking…

Would you believe the restaurant reviews written by a critic who gets a cut of the profits of one of the restaurants he so glowingly reviews?  Wouldn’t that fact invalidate everything that “critic” writes?

I suppose the most important question is would you still go to that restaurant?

Oh, but I’m just asking.

Taking it from a hockey player – Post #3

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Every year around this time there’s a buzz in NHL circles regarding the upcoming entry draft for the new crop of rookies coming up.  Especially for the top five picks, which go to the crappiest teams.  Last year my favorite team picked first, one of the most highly anticipated players ever.  It suggests that things can get better.

It also tells you what kind of year I’d just had.

We drafted “JT” around the time I started hosting parties, and it seems we’ve been sharing a comparable  experience:  the ups and downs, with some of the same lessons.  We each had a strong fall and a very strong spring, while last January we were each going through a scoring drought.

With such high expectations, JT was often asked how he thought he was doing, and he spoke mostly about just playing the best he could; learning all he could, from all the players and games he could.  The veteran players, the “graybeards,” spoke of how he needed to learn to manage the highs and lows: not to get too high after a win, nor too low after a loss.   And overcoming obstacles.

These are lessons this 41-year-old is really just learning now.  There are peaks and valleys with anything, particularly those things which are new, like a new venture.  I’m like JT, one of those players who wants to win every game, to score a hat trick every game.

OK so I like the highs better.

JT had a great rookie season, even if he didn’t score the most goals in the league.  Those of us who have patience with the puck can grin at the fact that there are many winning seasons to look forward to. 

With a lot of goals. 

Data and the A Word-Post #2

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Man, am I ever a data nut.   I really dig breaking party stuff down into various types of component numbers and qualitative facts.  Turn ‘em into graphs with pretty colors, compare  them, and…this is the hard part…re-integrate them back into the actual parties in an “On-purpose” way.  Even back in high school, at lunch (I sat at the reject table every year), when my friends and I would argue over whether The Police or Van halen were better, I’d try to quantify how much I liked all the bands I was into.  By year.  By various categories.  Then I’d graph them.  Lotus Spreadsheets wasn’t even close to existence yet, much less Excel (my darling), so it was all by hand.

Listen to the tune “YYZ” and…that sorta explains it,  The way my mind works.

There are some things, however, which do not require a complicated chart; one of those is The “A Word,” the general age of the attendees, which is over 35 (except the PEAK party…tends to get younger guys).

As far back as I can remember, I’ve been into middle-aged men.  Always.  The first was Lee Majors, or as I knew him: Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man.  Then it was Bill bixby in The Incredible Hulk. There are things about a man over a certain age: lines and angles on the face, some salt in the hair, and that self confidence (not arrogance, there’s a big difference) that defines “grown man” to me.  I love talking to them, I love kissing them, and I love fucking them.

So it is with a great big smile and a puffed out chest, not excuse, that I say that my parties at TCH are primarily for us.  Guys that are younger are welcome to come, but know that you’re in the minority.  Plenty of the men I truly enjoy having here are under 30 (some guys really impress me), so it isn’t meant to be exclusive.  But, in a culture which sexualizes neophytes, I (as usual) am going  alternative…

…and genuine.