That young man in the yellow shirt over there...

"What if someone brought you a magic carpet?"
"Well then, I suppose, I would go to the Antarctic," says my grandmother.
"Really?" I say, surprised at her choice of dream destination.
"Oh yes, dearest. I've always been interested in the Antarctic. When John was in the Navy he travelled there." Her eyes twinkle at the memory of my step-grandfather John, who died 5 years ago.
"And once, they brought back penguins. For research. John had to take them for walks on the ship," she says delightedly. "Evidently they held hands with one another as he led them around."
We both laugh, thinking of John in his Navy uniform, leading a line of penguins on the ship's deck.
"That young man over there has been flirting with me for over two weeks now," she says, leaning in conspiratorially.
I turn to see a very old man in a yellow polo shirt sitting on a bench just on the other side of the fountain.
"Him? Over there? He doesn't look young..." I say.
"Oh he is. Not a day over 75 is my guess." She smiles back at him and he waves.
Quickly doing the math, I realize that would be like a 20 year-old waving at me. "I suppose he is sort of handsome," I admit.
(click here for the previous post on my grandmother)

The After-hours House Party

I walk through the hallways in a drunken daze. The DJ's spinning trance, while large lavalamp-like designs are being projected on the living room wall. Low, muted lighting creates a very ambient atmosphere. People are dancing in slow motion, bumping and gyrating, mostly men, some women, gay, straight and everything in between. Everybody feels good. Sooooo f***ing good. The goodness vibes are in the air as I stumble past them... and all their hugging, kissing, smiling and touching. A large spread of food, mostly untouched, lies on the dining table. Empty bottles of wine and wine glasses cover the countertops. Upstairs in the large, loft-bedroom are several couples in various states of undress, making out. The city skyline views from the bedroom are obscured by the fog that has failed to lift all night.
Downstairs, amid the soft lighting of dim candles, the smell of incense, and the myriad fabrics draped everywhere - all textures and colors - are men. Dozens of men. Having sex. In a long, slow, drawn out, inclusive, loving rhythm. In perfect unison... almost dance-like.
"So I've lent out my slaveboy to volunteer at coat-check," I overhear Francis say in his imperious, gregariously florid voice, to the several men and women standing around him. "That way I can do more important things... like socialize." He laughs and everyone around him giggles. Someone refills his champagne glass.
Meanwhile I was having a blast at coat-check, which was more like clothes-check. Who knew it would be so hard to find the belongings of the guy with token #77, while he's standing there, naked, kind of in a hurry to leave, and mad that you're taking so long? My coat-check buddy kept making me laugh all night long. We made quite the pair... him in those blue and gold sequin shorts and feather boa and me in my leather motorcycle pants & collar.
When Francis was finally ready to leave, it was 6 AM.
"Not staying for brunch?" the host, a longtime friend of Francis', asks cordially. His grayish-blue silk pajama bottoms hang loosely from his waist, barely held up by the convex mounds of his firm ass. His muscled torso makes me want to stay for brunch and more.
"We had a wonderful time!" says Francis, and we leave. The sun is already risen.

Getting ready for Pride: In the jacuzzi at Joe's

"So where's your float in the parade lineup?" I ask as the jets of warm water rush over our bodies.
"We're up near the front," he says. He's absently stroking himself as we chat. "You?"
"We're in the middle. I hope I'm not late to the Civic Center reception at 2. Keith asked me to be his escort to the party there. He's performing."
"You mean the VIP thing at City Hall? That's gonna be pretty tight!" He looks down under the water at the rest of my body and notices I'm aroused. I'm melting into the warm water and bubbles cascading over me, and am more relaxed than I've been all week.
"You've been working out, bro!" he says, admiringly, reaching down and stroking my abs.
"You too!" I say. His shoulders feel like cannon balls. and his thick, hard thigh, which is casually pressed up against mine, makes me lean into him more.
"Thanks, man," He moves up on top of me. Our bodies are lined up against our flat abs, both recently shaved to remove any traces of hair. You've got to if you want to wear any of Joe's amazingly sexy and erotic creations.
We hear the whirring of the sewing machine inside as my good friend and male fashion-designer Joe makes last minute adjustments to our stuff. It's late Friday night, we're both hard and crazy horny for each other. Our hands are roaming over each other's bodies as we kiss. It's the eve of the hottest, horniest weekend of the year, and we both know the golden rule. The longer you wait, the more sex you have. So don't shoot your load until Sunday. Or atleast Saturday night. Doesn't mean don't play though.
"Call me Sunday", he says, as my fingers creep down his backside. His hands circle my chest and he draws himself into me and we continue making out.

Feeling "Gay Prided out" these days? What would Harvey say?

March 10th, 1978
"My name is Harvey Milk and I am here to recruit you...
About six months ago, Anita Bryant in her speaking to God said that the drought in California was because of the gay people. On Nov 9th, the day after I got elected, it started to rain. On the day I got sworn in, we walked to City Hall... and it started to rain again. It's been raining since.
Like every other group, we must be judged by our leaders and by those who are themselves gay, those who are visible. For invisible, we remain in limbo - a myth, a person with no parents, no brothers, no sisters, no friends who are straight, no important positions in employment... A gay person in office can set a tone, can command respect not only from the larger community, but from the young people in our own community who need both examples, and hope...
And the young gay people in the Altoona, Pennsylvanias, and the Richmond Minnesotas, who are coming out and hear Anita Bryant on television. The only thing they have to look forward to is hope. Hope for a better world, hope for a better tomorrow, hope for a better place to come to if the pressures at home are too great.
You have to give people hope."

Happy San Francisco Pride Weekend, folks.

What a tongue

I can't keep up with Alan. He is an insatiable kisser. He must work out his tongue muscles or something. It's long, firm, and yet soft, and probes and licks and kisses forever. We started kissing on the way back to my place after dinner, and only stopped after we fell asleep, several hours later. If I hadn't had that early morning work thing on Wednesday we probably would have stayed up all night kissing.

Heavenly shades of night: the view from Dolores Park

Last Thursday, Rod and I were walking back to my Castro flat from the Mission district. It was a balmy, beautiful evening, and we'd just had dinner at a very yuppy, immaculate, pretentiously funky, and remarkably yummy restuarant called Dosa.
When we turned down 20th and got to Church Street, we stopped take in the stunning view of the City from Dolores Park. We sat down on the bench at the corner right near the Muni stop. The sky was a muted-bluish purple, and framed the majestic city skyline. The lights in the financial district were slowly twinkling on, and the Civic Center dome was illuminated. The palm trees along Dolores Street were black shadows against the backdrop of the darkening, but still colorful row of Victorians.
Rod didn't let go of my hand the entire time. Nor I, his. We slowly started making out, and I ran my nose along his cheek and neck, searching for the scent of his sunscreen. He laughed when I remarked how he wasn't wearing any. Given I was aroused to the point of practically bursting in my jeans, I realized the sunscreen had nothing to do with it. The real aphrodisiac was Rod.
When we got back to my flat, we continued where we left off last week. The sofa was nice. But as our clothes slowly started to disappear, under the covers in my bed was even nicer.

Eric & Dave on Vacation: Chapter 3

Here's the third chapter of Eric & Dave on Vacation.

If wanting Eric meant I was gay, then there was no doubt in my mind. I was gay. Until, of course, I managed to get some from Stephanie the next day.
...
It felt wonderful to be back in bed with Steph. It was like I’d come home again. As we lay next to each other, naked...

Click here for Eric & Dave on Vacation: Chapter 3

Enjoy! And, as always, please let me know what you think!

The California coast, the stately ships and Arthur Hallam

'I wish that my tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in me...'
- Were they gay lovers? Paul asks
Let's just say they were very close friends. During the Victorian era, the English had a very upright sense of morality, and 'gay love' was never spoken of. Remember, both of them belonged to the highest echelons of English society - Eton, Cambridge, they hobnobbed with Prime Ministers and Royalty - you get the idea.
'But o for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
and the sound of a voice that is still.'
- So were they gay lovers?
Hmm... they were defintely infatuated with one another. And he did write a lot of love poems about him, particularly after his death.
'Break, break, break,
at the foot of thy crags, o sea...'
The sun-drenched California coast is speeding by on our right as we leave San Francisco behind, heading south to Santa Cruz. Far from being barren or gray, the vast Pacific Ocean is a sparkling blue. The cliffs are deep green, dotted with bright orange and purple (Thank you, April rain!)
'But the tender grace of a day that is dead
will never come back to me.'
- So they WERE gay lovers!
Well, 'In Memoriam' was dedicated to 'A.H.' and is one of the longest, most intense and most beautiful elegies written by a man to another man. Tennyson was named Poet Laureate soon after it was published. And, of course, Tennyson named his son after Arthur.
- But were they gay lovers?
I look over at Paul, who is grinning mischeviously, and sigh. Got a different question for me?
- Can I be in your blog?
You bet, sparky.

How did she just manage to get a dinner date out of me???

Andrew,

This is in response to your e-mail.

If anyone ever deserved to be scolded and castigated, I can't think of a more deseving candidate than you. Fortunately for you, it's not in my nature to do that sort of thing. Outright, anyways. I suppose the fact that you missed out on such a singularly unforgettable experience should be punishment enough.

I did miss you though. I'll tell you all about it when you take me out to dinner on Friday.

In any case, I hope you had a good time with "phoenix". Was he better suited for you than that dreadful boy from Amy's bachelorette party (the last time you forsook me)?

Love, as always,

Miss Keith

He kissed like Trevor too!

Friday night. There I was. Cape Cod in hand (Joey was bartending, woo-hoo!), fed (I had just had dinner at a really bad new Thai restaurant with Chris, a good friend and former colleague from UCSF), and ready for the weekend. The plan was to spend a quiet Saturday getting a lot of writing done, and then go to a party on Sunday evening.
He was sitting along the wall, glancing over at me periodically and smiling impishly. I looked over at him and smiled back. My God he looks just like Trevor. Then there was small talk. Then another drink.
On the walk back to his hotel (he was visiting from Phoenix), he hooked his thumb through one of the belt loops on the back of my jeans, and as we walked his fingers lighly grazed my ass. Trevor and I used to do that all the time. Unreal!
I didn't get any writing done on Saturday. But I did get a lot of inspiration.

The hot guy from Phoenix

Dearest and Most Fabulous Miss Keith,

I'm so sorry I missed your party on Sunday evening celebrating your recent coronation as ---. I had a friend visiting from Phoenix over the weekend, and he'd just left that afternoon. After I dropped him off at the airport I found myself too exhausted to be of any use socially.

Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?

Your most ardent and loyal fan,
andrew J

(click here for more on the Phoenix guy)
(click here for Miss Keith's response)

Size 32 jeans, t-shirts and boxer-briefs in the living room

Last night I got home from the bar a little later (and a little drunker) than normal. As I stumbled into the kitchen to get a glass of water before bed, I noticed a pair of sneakers at the foot of the coffee table. Right beside them on the floor was a pair of dark, frayed button-fly men's jeans that looked like they'd hastily been peeled off and discarded. The label on the jeans said size 32 (I just had to look), and the leather belt was still loosely looped through the belt-loops. On the sofa were 2 discarded t-shirts, one of which I recognized as my roommate's. A pair of black boxer briefs lay crumpled between the cushions at the other end of the sofa (likely belonging to the owner of the size 32 jeans).
I fell asleep to the sound of muffled noises, moans and low laughter coming from my roommate's bedroom.
I didn't see any evidence of Mr. Size 32 in the morning when I left for work, which is unusual. Non-sleepover sex usually isn't my roommate's style. The guy must've been really hot.

Sweat-proof iPods & gym boys

His shiny red shorts were slit on the sides and fit smoothly over the mounds of his firm ass. He had no 'jock lines' so he was probably wearing a thong. His blue ribbed tank top kept riding up to his navel, exposing his flat stomach and a bit of his pubic patch. He was sweating profusely as he climbed away on his stair-climber, and his shorts were damp along the crack of his ass. When he reached down to adjust the volume on his iPod, which was tucked into his waistband, he looked over at me. His eyes were dark brown, just like his hair and the stubble on his face.
Oh yea.
He liked what he saw.

New story: My Swimteam Buddy and My Girlfriend

So here's Andrew's first attempt at a real, truly bisexual sex story.
(When I say first, I'm not not including MESB that had a few the sex scenes with Jen ... that doesn't really count as bisexual, does it?)

I wasn’t surprised in the least when my best buddy and my girlfriend instantly clicked. Rich was immediately taken by Cindy’s innocent, girlish demeanor, and Cindy was equally taken by Rich’s tall, slender, swimmer’s physique.
...
"And it is such a pleasure to meet Cindy," Rich said, sitting down on the bed. I had to scoot over to make room for him.

Click here to read My Swimteam Buddy and My Girlfriend

Enjoy! And, as always, please let me know what you think!

He's smart, and very interesting and...

"Yes dear, but tell me more about his smile."
"Grandma, we're just friends and having a really good time, that's all. We're not boyfriends."
"Yet, my dear," my grandmother says, adding, "Your face lights up whenever you talk about him." Her eyes twinkle as she takes another sip of wine. I marvel at how my grandmother's eyes still sparkle, despite her 89 years.
"I'm just getting to know him," I protest.
"Is he like Trevor?"
Ugh. I don't want to talk about Trevor anymore.
"When will you bring Trevor to see me?"
"I'm not sure. He's really busy these days and I rarely see him."
"And your new love? What did you say his name was?"
"He's not my - "
Mercifully, our conversation is interrupted by our waitress and the arrival of our meal.
"And how is the City these days? Is the Conservatory open yet? We must go this year..."

Pole dancing with Todd

20 straight women, 9 gay guys, 1 straight guy, two drop-dead gorgeous female fitness trainers with experience as professional strippers, and a big huge pole standing inthe center of the fully mirrored studio. That's how Todd and I spent Sunday afternoon.
"Keep that ass jutting out for full view at all times!"
"And don't slouch... we want to see perky breasts"
"And guys, flex those six-packs!"
Pole dancing is a lot harder than it looks. Pulling yourself up on the pole while doing the splits, gyrating to the beat of hip-hop and caressing yourself seductively ("let's see some more of that self-love happen!") ON TOP of remembering about your butt, breasts and abs, is quite the workout. My respect for strippers has gone way up.
And for Todd. That boy's a natural. He just oozed sexiness on that pole. MMh! I'd drop my money into his stripper-thong any day. Hell I'd even drop my carkeys into it.

Irises on the Castro

Here we are, 25 years later. Some of the messages scrawled on photographs and pieces of paper at the memorial:

"Mike... I miss you, Love always, Dave"
"To my beautiful cousin John (1965-2001) I love you"
"I am a better person for having known you. Thank you for enriching my life"
"We will never forget"

Jason Riggs, one of the key organizers of the Iris Installation Project, is a buddy of mine. I choke up every time I walk by it. Thank you, Jason, for helping us remember.
Check out these pictures of the Irises on the Castro

The smell of Rod's sunscreen

I couldn’t quite peg it… but as Rod and I were lying on my sofa last night making out, there was definitely something different about the way his face and neck smelled. We told the others we’d catch up with them at the Metro Bar after a brief stop at my place so I could change my shirt and grab a jacket, but once we were at my place, my sofa looked so inviting.

Anyways, he somehow smelled sexier than he did on Wednesday. Then I realized what it was. His sunscreen. Our date last week was an evening thing, so he wasn't wearing any. But today, we'd actually spent a good part of the day outdoors, and he'd been slathering it on.

The scent stayed with me for the rest of the evening, even after we joined our one-track-minded friends again. ("What took so long?" and "You guys had sex, didn't you?" and "Geez, between dinner and cocktails?" and "Was it good?")

So I've now added Rod's sunscreen to my list of aphrodisiacs.

Practically f***ing perfect in every way

Oh man, I laughed so hard I almost pissed my pants.
My cock has never been called anything even remotely close. Ever. A "Mary Poppins weenie"?!?!?! I suddenly get the image of a hunky, British male nanny with bulging biceps, pecs to kill for and a broad, square jaw. Wielding a black umbrella and a leather carpet bag.
FIERCE!
I've got to remember to tell Keith about that!

"you can crash on my sofa if you want..."

2 AM last night... and we were both beat. I was lying on Ian's sofa, stripped down to my briefs. Ian was sitting across from me in his boxers, absently stroking his very smooth, very bare, worked-out chest.
I was dozing, staring distractedly ahead of me at my buddy and at the large, cast-iron maltese cross that hung on the wall above him.
"I need to shave my chest again," Ian said, feeling patches of stubble around his nipple. Reflexively, I felt my own nipple and pecs.We were too tired to be aroused, but I noticed that neither of our dicks was completely soft either.
I must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing I knew Ian was turning off the light.
"Sleep tight, Andrew," he said, bending down to give me a kiss and a long, warm, mostly-naked hug. As I gently stroked his back, accidentally knocking his boxers down a little ways, I could feel the stubble on his chest, particularly around his nipples, pressed right up against my own.

Swirls of dark, curly chest hair at the stoplight

"Miss Keith, can I, can I, can I? Pleeeeeeeease?"
"Well, all right," Miss Keith said, taking a sip of her third gin & tonic,"You've been a fabulous escort, and I'm tired anyways. You boys have fun!"
I'd just been propositioned by Johnny, possibly the only other gay guy in the night club, while I danced on the floor with Miss Keith with the bachelorette gang. Some of the other people at the club were a bit surprised to see a fabulous drag queen dancing with her male escort ("Dude is it gay night in here or what?"), but overall everyone was dazzled.
Anyways, about Johnny. He had dark curly hair, long side burns, and a charming smile.
"You've got a hairy chest," I said, running my fingers through the dark swirls of curly chest hair just below his collar. We were at a stoplight on Market Street, driving back to my place.
"And you've got a sexy smile," he said. He was about to lean in to kiss me when the guy behind us sounded his horn. Damn green light.
At home, Johnny attacked me with the eagerness of a vacationing out-of-towner. I was afraid he'd wake up the neighbors when he came. Mind you, all the fun we had would have been well worth an admonishing from the girls upstairs. It's happened before.