Tag Archives: death

The Missing Post: The Death of My Mother

The Missing Post: The Death of My Mother

This entry isn’t sexy at all. You might want to skip it entirely.

I scolded someone today about missing a post regarding the death of my Mother and, when I went back to find it, realized it wasn’t there myself. I apologize to that reader since several places throughout my blog, I do refer to my Mother’s death but the recount of it seems to be missing.

I had debated writing about it when it happened in January of 2010. In fact, the gap of my posts seem almost invisible now looking back, covered up by Q&A posts that seemed popular at the time. Truth is, I probably did post something but along the way to this platform or in some cleaning frenzy, I deleted it as too overly sentimental or not sexy enough.

Yet that incident has significant bearing on two things in my reportour of posts these days: My extraordinary dislike of smoking Opens new window of a page on this blog and my intense disdain of catfish Open-New-Window-External.

By the way, the photo included here is actually a real photo I told of me holding my Mother’s hand one long and painful night and texted it to the catfish.

flower_white          flower_white          flower_white          flower_white

A Second Hospital Visit

My job at the time had me travel throughout December through March. I’d returned home in January after another string of visits and my uncle, who’d just left, suggested I go immediately to see my Mother, as she wasn’t feeling well.

About six years earlier, I’d moved back to Georgia from Washington, D.C., to help care for my elderly parents. My father had passed in 2005, all of us by his side. But he was at home in hospice care. I’d been his primary caretaker during his final two weeks, administering the painkilling medicine that eased his discomfort and helped him ultimately make the transition as easily as possible.

To be honest, his passing was almost one of a miracle, as we’d talked about a month before about his wishes at his funeral. As he breathed his last breath, all of the family around him, hugging him, crying and saying good-bye, the television began playing the one song he’d asked to be played at his funeral.

Compared the the gentle but stoic nature of my Father was the truly steel magnolia Machiavellian matriarch that was my Mother. I loved her dearly. But at 78 years old, she would ignore every doctor’s advice (and my orders) and do as she wished.

From almost 42 years of smoking, her chronic obstructed pulmonary disorder made the most simple tasks brutal. Yet she would insist on housework, fixing dinner, driving herself places, and more, her little portable oxygen tank in tow. And I’d drive her all over the family gatherings, with her often upset when I deviated from the old routes to take quicker, new highways.

I’d been travelling all over the country — three cities this last nine-day tour — and I wanted to sleep and rest because the next week I would be off for two more cities. But instead, I dragged my fat ass over to see Mom.

She’d been sleeping on the sofa across from the hospital bed I’d had in her home for the last six months but she refused to use because there wasn’t a lamp close enough to it.

More petite and frail, her hands and arms dotted with bruising from whenever she’d bump up against anything, she insisted “something was wrong.”

I struck a bargain with her: We’d go to the hospital but when she came home, she’d have to learn to do what I said. After all, I reminded her how she bossed around her Mother (my Grandmother) for 10 years before her passing. I told her she needed me let me get a little bossing in.

Now that I look back, she agreed too quickly.

It was the second time I took her to the hospital but the first time she would be admitted.

Nothing Out of the Ordinary

Mother had bronchitis. When I moved home, I went to the doctors with both of my parents and spent time with their primary care and any specialist, learning as much as I could about their chronic conditions. I also learned what to expect when the time would come.

For Mother, it would be a series of lung infections that would get steadily worse over time until essentially, she could not get enough oxygen and would suffocate.

“The process is beginning,” I told myself.

When I moved home, Mother’s lung capacity was at 23 percent of normal. Even though she’d quit smoking about five years before I came back to Georgia, her lungs would never heal. That’s one of the myths about smokers. If you quit, your lungs don’t get better. Actually, they continue to deteriorate — just at a much slower pace.

Each year, Mother would lose between 1 and 2 percent of capacity. She currently hovered around 17 percent.

She began making a rebound quickly with the antibiotics and everything seemed fine. But one afternoon, she told me something was wrong.

“What is it, Mom?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

My Mother’s eyes contained sheer terror in them. I noticed the her oxygen saturation in her blood on the monitor suddenly dropping. I hit the nurse call button.

In the next 30 minutes, we were in the Intensive Care Unit. The doctors wanted to intubate my Mother — that is, put a tube into her lungs to breathe for her. And in her fear, my Mother consented. But I overruled her, pulling out my power of attorney. One of the healthcare directives she’s insisted upon in it was to never be intubated and the doctors agreed, saying if we did, she’d likely never be able to be taken off since her lungs would never be strong enough.

She was put onto a machine that strapped an oxygen mask onto her face so tight, it made bruises all over her face. It would force her to breath.

She cried through the night, hating that machine. I was there the whole time, holding her hand. She asked constantly for it to be taken off. But I asked her to bear with me just a little longer to see if it would help.

But in 24 hours, her condition didn’t improve.

My only companion other than some family and friends who would stop by was a words at the other end of texting. The person was comforting in so many ways. And I was at my most vulnerable, here, next to my dying Mother, feeling the most alone in the world.

The reassurance of his care and love for me seemingly helped. But later, I would discover it was all a lie. He didn’t exist. And I’ll be honest — what that person did, the betrayal just reaches so deep into places where I’m still scarred and hurting that I can’t even begin to explain or even discuss it. It’s actually easier to talk about my Mother.

Relief at Last

With no improvement and really no hope, I spoke to all the doctors the next day to assure that switching to palliative care would be the right choice. I wasn’t prepared for this decision so early. I’d expected to take Mother home and have a few more hospital visits before this event. But that wasn’t to be.

I then spoke to my sister and my aunt to make sure they agreed. Turns out I was the late one to the decision, but I had to be there. It was time for me to talk to Mother.

We turned that horrible machine off and took it away. My Mother was so relieved it wasn’t working on her now and she could breathe at whatever pace she wanted. I went and sat down, alone, next to her, put my hand in hers, feeling the warmth and the knotted knuckles from the arthritis. Her poor body was just so battered and bruised, but through it all I could see that beautiful woman who cared for me through all my years, kissed my boo-boos. She guided me kindly and occasionally spanked me. I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed it, feeling that rough skin that still contained a softness. I brushed back her gray hair from her bruised forehead and looked into the dimming brown eyes.

“Mother,” I said in a quiet tone, managing to keep it together.

“Yes,” she said.

“We had a choice and I want to know what you think,” I said. “I know you hate that machine but it’s your only hope of getting any better.”

I paused, as I could see the recognition come across her face.

“We can put you back on it and try to make you ask comfortable as possible,” I continued. “Or we can leave you off of it and you can go see Daddy.”

A single tear streamed down my left cheek.

She didn’t answer immediately. But she did finally speak.

“I think I’d rather go see Daddy. I really miss him.”

My Mother and Father were married 53 years before he passed away. Of course she missed him.

I hugged her.

The Rebound

Over the next few hours, Mom seemed to feel better than ever, visited with so many people. It’s one of those miraculous gifts we get before we die and we get to say goodbye. I have a precious video of her time with my nephew that just would tear anyone apart to watch.

She laughed so much. I was so glad to see that. I hadn’t seen her with that much joy in so long.

It was then I began to realize just how sick she’d been.

And if on schedule, as the final people left and the last prayers were uttered, she slipped into a silent, fitful sleep. With all the paperwork signed, I had the nurses begin to add morphine and other calming drugs to make her sleep more restful.

Just after midnight, she stopped breathing in this world. But she got a lung-full of air somewhere else.

I screamed, not in pain, but at the top of my lungs, “She can finally breathe!”

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Best fucks of the year 2012

The Hottest Fucks of 2012

When it comes to 2012 and thinking back, I had luck and loss when it came to fucking. I lot of indistinguishable ass from assholes. People I wouldn’t want to repeat (and many of those folks do not appear on these virtual pages, although I did indulge a few of the worst abortions here Opens a new window from this blog and here Opens a new window from this blog

Overall, I did fuck some hotties and got a few mediocre in between. A few of you might notice a missing entry or two — perhaps about you. Those are my own personal fuck tales. I’m looking for something more interesting to happen before I’d write about them.

A fuck worthy of an entry on this blog needs a hook — something interesting worthy to write about. If your ass is just another good ass from among the masses, then what’s to make it interesting? If you call me “Daddy” or you beg for my cum, it’s just like everyone else or it’s about like a few dozen others. It’s got to be interesting to me before it’s interesting for the readers.

Below are my top fucks from 2012, in no particular order ending with my top three places, in a particular order. When you consider I’ve fucked almost 250 holes this year, this list contains less than the top 5 percent… the cream of the creamy crop, so to speak.

 

Key West Postcard

Latin Spice to Make My Tropical Vacation Nice Opens a new window from this blog

Fucking a 20-year-old makes everything great, but this smooth Latino proved to be especially delightful on my vacation. A Craigslist hookup, he turned out to have an interesting hole.

Know how most assholes have a discoloration leading up to the pucker?

He didn’t. His had consistently colored skin.

And it opened like a flower. He begged for my DNA and I gave it to him in his tight little perfect hole. He obviously wasn’t a virgin, but something could make me pretend like he happened to be. He had a huge cock and just beautiful body.

 

taye

The Tao of Taye Opens a new window from this blog

Part of my Northern California Triple Play Opens a new window from this blog, Taye was a fan of my blog and drove from San Francisco to my hotel in Silicon Valley one day after work. Turned out to be worth the trip — and I think he agrees.

His prominent pecs include two rather sensitive nipples that I manipulated with ease to get Taye to do as I wanted, not that he’d do otherwise. And when his rather impressive booty opened up for my cock, I slid it home and fucked him for a good, long while before depositing my load deep.

And I kept fucking it deep to make sure my DNA took.

Taye ruined the sheets of my hotel room, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind at all.

 

ass2Behind Dead Eyes (1 Opens a new window from this blog, 2 Opens a new window from this blog, 3 Opens a new window from this blog and the Return Opens a new window from this blog)

If I’ve written about breeding him thrice, I obviously love his ass. And I do.

Words fail me to adequately describe what it’s like. Sure, there’s a photo here to show it to you. But when you see it in person, it seemingly glows all its own with a beauty and personality unlike any other.

And on his own, he does have a charm. It’s practically irresistible to me. I find him  alluring in so many ways. But I’ve learned my lesson with some bottoms. This is one of them.

I love no strings fun, but fucking more than a few times are bound to create threads at the very least. If you don’t choose to acknowledge that, you’re fucking stupid.

Moreover, as a top, I am not just available to service the bottom. I generally don’t like for a bottom to summon and for me to clean up and go running.

But this man’s ass proved to be absolutely delightful and, for a time, I got ensnared in a trap. It can happen to the best of us. Even a top like me.

 

RustyNailing Rusty Opens a new window from this blog

At 23, he was a shy Northern California hook up with a body of death and a chest of perfection. The photo doesn’t do him justice, as I wrote in January. He kissed and loved getting fucked and loaded.

And boy did I.

What he did’t have in talent, he made up for in sheer enthusiasm.

He asked to meet up again but we never quite made it happen. I still see him online on occasion, so if I make it back out there again, you can bet I’ll look him up.

 

Rice Surfer, Dude Opens a new window from this blog

I violated one of my policies when it came to stealthing Opens a new window from this blog with this dude. However, he was an escort Opens a new window from this blog, so in fact he happened to be a slut and would do practically anything. That is except take my cock raw.

I was in Southern California on business and looking for an Asian, one of my favorite types. But when this body popped up, I couldn’t resist. Could you? Look at him! I mean, DAMN!

surfer

Found an cash machine and withdrew the required amount. We hadn’t spoken about being safe. I’d said I was looking for an Asian to load up in my Craigslist ad. It seemed pretty clear to me.

If anything happened to be deceptive, it was him when he pulled out the condom and put it on. In the final moments of fucking him, I slipped it off and loaded his ass.

Mission accomplished.

 

Honorable Mentions

Worthy of mentioning but not quite making the top spots, these guys could make my 2013 list if they apply themselves and take a load from me….

 

Top Three Fucks of 2012

While the five fucks above representing eight loads were in no particular order, plus two more honorable mentions for 10 total loads worth of the Top 10 fucks. But below, you will find the absolute best of the best for 2012. No one was better during the year. Here’s the four loads that stand out among the 200 to 250 I deposited in asses this past year.

 

furry chest of a bottom#3 Furry Fuck Jizzjoy Opens a new window from this blog

I’ve felt bottoms moan and groan and sigh and just generally feel relieved when I breed them.

But this hot piece of ass. He went into pure convulsions at my injection of spunk.

Jizzjoy Link Opens in a New Window truly works for this man and fucking him is as much a joy for a top as it is anything else, easy enough to put him as number three on my top three of 2012.

I’ve actually returned and fucked him a second time to confirm this and I plan to return a few more times in 2013 to try his furry ass again and again. When a man begs for your load and has a series of involuntary reactions when you load it, you know you’ve hit gold.

 

Asian Ass#2 Las Vegas Man of Mystery Opens a new window from this blog

I attempted to host a fuck fest while in Las Vegas that worked out all right if for one man and his gorgeous ass, who I loaded. I couldn’t help it. He begged for it and he ass deserved my load.

If not for the moments of less than enthusiastic participants, perhaps he could have been a contender for first place. But he wasn’t. Yet his ass turned out to be A-MAZ-ING.

You know, one of those asses with plenty of cushion but not too much to keep your cock out?

I loved fucked him and listening to him beg for my load just pushed me over the edge.

 

Paduwan#1. The Man Who Would Be Paduwan Opens a new window from this blog

This young man still haunts my fantasies with his talent and obsession with me. Obsession could be a good thing. It could be a bad. He skirts a fine line but so far, he stays to this side of it and I cannot wait until I breed his ass again.

This time, I want to double penetrate him.

Hairy, weirdly attractive in a geekish way, I’m as drawn to him as he is to me. And when we get together, the sex is indeed explosive. He seemingly studies my entries for the activities I like (deep-throat blowjobs that include licking my balls), perfects them and then does them for me.

Few men in this world earn my interest more than a slut like him — one who I could somewhat “date” and send him out on missions to collect loads. He would joyously collect every cumload and return to me full of DNA from strangers for me to churn up and them pull my cock out to let him taste.

Our fuck session lasted so long, I can neither tell you every moment nor convey the sensations of it adequately. But his ass remains in the top three I’ve fucked in the world.

Perfection.

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Reasons Not to Bareback: ‘I’m Not Stupid’

You’re not that smart either.

Sex doesn’t kill. This perception that shoving a cock in an ass suddenly will poison and kill you is just plain stupid. It’s among those misconceptions that needs to be obliterated immediately.

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2009 Deaths in the U.S.

  • HIV/AIDS: 17,000
  • Heart Disease: 599,000
  • Cancer: 468,000
  • Smoking: 430,000
  • Gunshots: 298,000
  • Stroke: 129,000
  • Alcohol/Drinking: 85,000
  • Alzheimer’s Disease: 79,000
  • Diabetes: 71,300
  • Flu and Pneumonia: 53,700
  • Suicide: 34,000
  • Vehicle Accidents: 33,800
  • Murder: 15,200

 

[/alert]Let me be perfectly clear that HIV is a chronic disease, along with arthritis, asthma, cancer, COPD and diabetes Link Opens in a New Window. And like all those other diseases, treatments assist in the symptoms but no cure exists.

Yet the stigma of HIV/AIDS persists and this thought that a raw cock and the cum just drips with disease also persists.

It doesn’t.

You’re stupid if you believe that you can suck a cock and not get a disease. You’re stupid if you think safe sex exists. You’re stupid if you think raw sex equals death.

Get off your high and mighty. If you choose not to bareback, own it. Say you’re not barebacking because you’re chicken shit. Smoke and get one of the other eight leading killers. Eat processed foods and let cancer or diabetes or obesity destroy the last years of your life worse than HIV. Drive too fast, drink too much, jaywalk, own a gun, don’t wear a seat belt, golf in a lightning storm, enjoy your friend Tina or whatever the fuck you think protects you from all the death and destruction in the world.

But when you find yourself just moments before your impending death, think about all the sex, all the cock, all the ass and all the men you loved and loved you and how you never felt their cock or ass raw. That the hetero-fascist agenda kept you from experiencing jizzjoy or passing your DNA along to another human being.

That your most intimate moments were behind plastic.

Then say again, “I’m not stupid.”

Guide to Men Providing Better Service (Especially Strippers, Go-Go Boys, Massage Therapists, Bartenders, Waiters, Retailers or Anyone in the Service Industry)

I tip well.

I always start at 20 percent for any service and it rises or falls based on what happens from that point forward. You can be a stripper or a hair stylist. You can be a runner at a restaurant or a bar-back — the people who aren’t normally tipped but get a share of the main worker tips. The service industry is about tips. I get that. And I tip expecting to be remembered, taken care of and provided with excellent service.

It takes more than a great body to lure in a lot of money.If you’re straight or gay, bisexual or flexible with your sexuality, it doesn’t matter. Most of these suggestions will help you increase your financial compensation from the likes of men like me. I’m not well-to-do by any means. But compared to a 23-year-old, I’m more settled and I have more disposable income that I’m willing to spend.

I’ve put these into an easy-to-remember mnemonic: HEFT. You must apply HEFT at your workplace and when you work. If you do, I promise that you will earn more money, gain more confidence and advance yourself down a path.

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I am available for one-on-one training

This is something I enjoy teaching, especially young, attractive men. You want to learn this, I will tutor you how to make this system work for you. Just get in touch with me.

[/alert]

Hope

Always give the customer hope that you’re available to give him what he wants. Be coy, play a little hard to get, tease a little; but the moment you dash all hope is the moment the money train stops.

I’ll start this with the understanding that the stalkers and the creepy guys — anyone in your gut that says “run away” — is where to stop the hope. These are the people with whom you never want to give any opening as a possibility they can get something more from you. But the creeps and stalkers and crazies, while most memorable, are in the minority.

Everyone else, you give as much hope as possible. If you’re straight, the guy you’re talking to is the one guy you might try the gay thing with for the first time. If you’re gay, you’re open to dating older men.

Having a great body helps. Show it off.But never be that direct.

Hope has to be the goal for which the customer is always reaching but never quite achieves.

Hope is a tease, so provide the tease and do it on a schedule.

I had a beautiful, muscular, very straight trainer. I told him exactly what I needed. I never touched the man, but I told him I found him and his body and inspiration; he would need to use that to motivate me. As I advanced, he started and did well. He went from loose shirts to tighter, finally to an armless t-shirt.

Then it stopped.

Never shorts. Never tank tops. The teasing stopped and the loose shirts came back. I asked what happened and if I’d offended. I’d actually been paying him double his asking rate. Early in our agreement, he’d even text me encouragement. Now he stopped that too.

I lost interest and stopped going. I lost all hope.

I never expected to suck his dick or even see him naked. But the hope of it kept me engaged. In the end, I think his own discomfort with his sexuality might have stopped it. He’ll often post shirtless, flexing images of himself to Facebook, even when I was training with him. He couldn’t see what that would do to me.

 

Engage

You provide a service. I pay. We both know the reason we’re here. But you must make an effort to engage on another level in order to make that extra cash.

The absolute worst thing a hot dick dancer can do is walk up to me cold and say, “Would you like a lap dance?”

Suddenly, he’s ugly as sin.

Making someone laugh is a way to break down barriers He sees me as cash and sees himself as meat. Same with a waiter or a bartender. Do you know how much further a friendly smile, looking me right into the eyes and a, “Hello, how are you today? My name’s Andy.”

Suddenly, I don’t see you as meat for meat’s sake or someone who delivers me food or drink. I see a human being. I see someone who has a name, a life and who has meaning. And if you ask my name, someone who gives as fuck about me more than the cash in my pocket.

You start to care about me, I start to care about you, I’ll start giving you more money.

If a dick dancer takes five or 10 minutes to get to know me, he’ll get a lot more opportunity to get cash.

While I was in Key West recently, the go-go dancers and bartenders at Bourbon Street Pub were a perfect example. One dancer — a blond with an absolutely perfect body, beautiful pecs, an eight-pack, gorgeous face, etc. — walked by as I gave him a dollar. He never bothered looking down. He didn’t  kneel and say a word. He walked on by.

Another dancer — not quite as built, but still nice pecs — walked by. I gave him a dollar. He took a knee and asked my name, shook my hand and introduced himself. He smiled and looked me in the eye. Over the course of the evening, every time he walked by, I gave him at least another dollar and even purchased a lap dance from him.

What both dancers didn’t know was it was my first night of a week-long visit in Key West. I’d visit the bar many more times. The perfect body dancer got $1 out of me the whole trip. The great pec and wonderful personality dancer probably earned more than $350 from me.

I walked into a shop along Duval Street that sold absolutely wonderful products focusing on cocktails, wine and beer. As with every shop, the shit was expensive. The sourpuss shop owner never said a word, stood behind the counter and watched me like I was some sort of shoplifter. As I examined a ruby red slipper wine bottle holder I considered purchasing, I put it down and moved around the shop. The sourpuss darted over and adjusted the placement of the pump, assuring I’d done no damage (even though I’d handled it most carefully).

I left that shop quickly despite wanting to purchase a few things, I dared not make a single buy there to give the asshole owner any satisfaction.

At a jewelry shop down the street from there, I went looking for a pair of dangling earrings for my sister. The very nice shop owner greeted me warmly. Since he was British and wore a London Olympics t-shirt, we chatted a bit about that while I shopped and finally overpaid for a pair of shell earrings that looked like my sister. She loved them. And I felt all right about paying tourist prices.

The difference in all of this was engagement.

 

Flirt

While flirting provides hope and engages the customer, it takes things a step further. Flirting brings a customer back to you time and time again. It gets customers to ask for your section at a restaurant or call ahead to see if you’re working.

Girls are taught how to flirt. They’re taught how to dart their eyes, giggle a little, blink and appear shy. If you watched the movie “Legally Blonde,” the “bend and snap” scene in the salon is a great example of how women teach each other.

Men, on the other hand, are not taught these things. Moreover, if they’re taught anything, it’s not how to flirt with other men — especially how to flirt with the gay ones if you’re not gay.

Never, ever act girlish. Male-to-male flirting is much more subtle and it’s something a straight, bi and curious male will have to learn with which to get comfortable.

Flirting is all in the eyes

It begins with the eyes. Learn to stare deeply at another man without letting your eyes dart away. Look intensely but not with a leer. You stare just a beat longer than is comfortable and then blink and look away slowly. And never look down and away from the man. If you look down, go for his crotch or chest. Down and to the left means deception.

It’s even better if your glance is down at his crotch and then it returns to his eyes.

You can’t been too obvious as men have learned to do this dance over time and not be detected by their wives or girlfriends in the room. Even across a gay bar, a subtle flirtation can be happening.

Some of the best ways I’ve ever been worked is by strippers or other professionals giving a lap dance to someone else and working me across the room. I know they’re straight but they’ve got the eye fuck down and my cock doesn’t know the difference.

A gay man can see desire and will likely know a straight man based on his gaydar. I can see in a man’s eyes what he’s thinking. I’m empathetic, meaning I can usually sense what a person is feeling, but most especially men. There’s a vibe that comes off men that allows me to sense what’s going down.

I better get that you’re into me. The good ones find some element in each person they target to like. Whether it’s my glasses or shirt or even personality or the wonder of humanity. If you cannot find something to latch onto, something that you can show an attraction to, you might not get past first base with a potential customer. Consider it a kind of bromance that must be generated out of nothing.

If you are in a place where it is appropriate, flirting may mean showing some skin. You may be straight, but us gay men can appreciate beauty. We’ll drop the not too subtle hints of where you have tattoos or have you been working out crap to see your chest or other parts of your body.

This guy has a very defined Apollo's belt (but not much of a treasure trail)You can work it too. Picking up your shirt and rubbing your stomach showing off a treasure trail (that little line of hair down the middle of the belly Link Opens in a New Window) or Apollo’s belt (the iliac furrow below a six- or eight-pack near the hips Link Opens in a New Window). Yes, you can bend over and show off your ass, but make sure you have an ass to show off (as gay friends). Wear too tight clothes (if you work where that possible) and make it fashionable.

And remember that gay men have fetishes, especially older men. They will request odd things like smelling your shoes, socks or pits and touching your hair, biceps or pecs. Know what your limits might be and never react with judgment of something being rude, weird or bad.

Also understand that your actions in public may take you out of the running.

As I’ve outlined, I am not into smokers at all Opens a new window from this blog. If I see someone smoking, they’re out of the running for potential with me. I know bars in some towns can be smoker havens and some of you only smoke there, but these men with bodies of death puffing on cancer sticks still baffle me. I’d suggest that it limits your income if you do smoke. But I know an occasional whale (someone who will spend a lot of money) comes in offering to share his pack.

 

Touch

A little human contact goes a long way.

It’s long been found that waiters and waitresses who lightly touch their customers (usually the opposite gender) increase their tip amounts by at least 3 percent (a Cornell University from 1998 Link Opens in a New Window has often been cited for this). Remember that 3 percent is the minimum per tip increase.

You can get much more than 3 percent from me.

Shaking hands is always the first approach and the easiest to tell how receptive someone is to man-to-man contact. If possible, always hold the hand a beat longer than possible. Eye contact on the order of flirting always helps as well. A warm smile and a hesitation to release helps. You want the person to feel like you want to touch them.

Even staking out a place a little too close. Don’t invade their personal space too much. Just go into it enough.

If you’re sure someone is up for it, then go for the shoulder grab, especially when you’re stepping away. Make it very familiar feeling. “Hey Mark,” hand reaches out and grabs a shoulder. “I’m headed to the bar. Is there anything I can get for you?”

If your touch can get even more suggestive, it helps in the right circumstance. A brush of your crotch as you pass by, leaning against his shoulder, a hand around the waist, even holding his hand. Do the little movements that give you tingles up your spine. That does the same to him. Give him goosebumps. Make it memorable. There’s nothing wrong even if you’re having an intimate moment and you say to him, “How could I make this a night you won’t ever forget?”

 

HEFTY, HEFTY, HEFTY

If I had to add the last letter to my acronym, it would be “Y” for “Youth.” It normally is that thing that will bring in the trollish men with money. But the one thing I have to say about the most successful twentysomethings who’ve walked away with hundreds of dollars from me is how they’ve treated me and that’s with mature respect. And I’ve respected them back.

When I get a lap dance from someone new, I ask what I can and cannot do. I understand that $20 or $50 doesn’t buy me a fuck in the backroom of a bar and I’m never allowed to just shove my finger up an ass without permission.

I am paying for the fountain of youth, the tight body, the incredibly booty and the innocence no matter how many men have touched him.

I get great service, one must be a good customer. I try to do that.

A Note of Consideration

To anyone else who takes my ideas and runs with them: 

Ideas cannot be copyrighted. Hey, I know that. I didn’t put my ideas out there to make money (although that would be nice). But here’s the thing: Do you think I would be stupid enough to put all my ideas out there?

You’re always welcome just to go with what I suggest and adapt to your own business situation, but I’m a (get this) marketing professional who knows a thing or two. I’m available for consultation or even hiring 

But if you don’t want to do that, I understand. But perks always makes me happy. 

Yours,

Mark's Signature in White

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Hate for Out POZ and Barebackers on Grindr Sent by Other Gays

Hate for Out POZ and Barebackers on Grindr Sent by Other Gays

Recently on BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window, I met a 23-year-old bottom. Very much into the leather world, this pup absolutely loves getting bred. He even grew a beard to help show off his more masculine side, because without it, he looks like a teenager. His body is smooth. He’s just too fucking cute.

I don’t mean a little cute. He’s adorable. Dirty blond

My BBRT profile Link Opens in a New Window highlights the fact I have a blog (or it did until recently) and he asked to see it. In it, he saw the recent rants regarding barebacking, hypocrisy and the porn world. This young man then forwarded to me a message he received via Grindr during a recent visit to his native Pittsburgh (you see it above).

You see, he’s an out barebacker and he’s very much out about being HIV positive. He’s not forcing it on anyone. He’s just out.

He didn’t message the guy who sent the above. Unprovoked, the guy sent this message to him.

This is the kind of shit I’m talking about when I say barebackers are hated. Hated by our own.

He’s an honest kid, straightforward about what he wants. This is what our so-called community gives back.

           

Please Comment

This young man asked me not to use his name and I didn’t. For some reason, I am hopeful for the best of my readers to show that you’re not like the fucking asshole who sent that grind. PLEASE comment. He will be reading this. Tell him the rest of us aren’t like that. Click the comment area below. Thanks! 

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