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The Plea of ‘Please Fuck Me’

The Plea of ‘Please Fuck Me’

I turned 46 this year. Apparently, it’s one of those watershed moments in a gay man’s sexual career.

I’ve had them before. When I turned 31, it happened. Suddenly, the immature men in their youthful twenties weren’t interested in IMing me on AOL — hey folks, this is before the wide open world of the Internet. I know most of you kiddos missed that whole world where we didn’t hook up without hook-up sites, apps and Craigslist.

It occurred again at 36 when I no longer met the 19-35 threshold.

And now I’ve skipped beyond 45 and suddenly, everything ancient is new.

We’re into begging territory.

Daddies aren’t asking me to fuck him. Grandpa is. I get more pleas of “please fuck me” from men in their sixties than ever before. It’s not that I won’t fuck a man born in the 1940s. I will. But let’s get a few things out of the way.

  1. Don’t ask if you don’t mean it. Begging me to fuck you when you’re 100-plus miles away doesn’t do shit for either one of us. I’m pretty much tired of the message when there’s no fucking way you’re coming to Atlanta and I’m surely not dragging my ass to Timbuktu, South Africa. My answer now is just to ignore the dumb fuck or answer, “Okay. Come on over.”
  2. Don’t lie. Recently I did choose to fuck a child of the 1940s, but he lied, lied and lied again. He sent a bogus photograph (granted of another man in his early sixties) who had an incredible cock and a decent body. But he also said he didn’t smoke and, bingo, dumb ass, I smelled it the moment he walked in. I also enjoyed the fresher smell as he left the building.
  3. Don’t let this give you hope. If you’re old, chances are I won’t fuck you. Look, I know I’m fucking old. That’s the thing… we’re both old. But I’d much rather fuck down than fuck up. Since this is a top world, I get to pick where I plant my seed and it’s still in a tight young ass. Speaking of which, I’ve got some advice for you old farts.
  4. Gravity is not your friend. Look sweetie, if you’re going to take a picture of your saggy ass, I appreciate the honesty in advertising that you shoot that shot with you standing up. But when those ass cheeks look like they’re swinging at the back of your knees, we’ve got a problem Houston. Lie down and hire a professional photographer to re-position those cheeks into place.
  5. HemorroidsHemorrhoids do not build character. Maybe you do want to show off that cumload spilling out your ass, but three loads spilling out do not make up for the bulges around your pucker that look like you’ve had out-of-control Botox injections. Tuck that shit inside or simply don’t send me those photos.
  6. Grooming costs money, but it’s worth it. Look, at 46, I can tell you I’ve got hair growing out of places I never thought I’d have hair. I fucking hate that my stylist doubles as the waxer for my earlobes. But my cute, young thing earns an extra twenty for ripping that shit out. And that strange pubic puff at the small of my back? Well, let’s just say, no one has to see that, even though the only people seeing my back are massage therapists.

All that said, stop the madness. You want fucked by me, be honest, upfront and nearby.

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Hanging Chad

Hanging Chad

Chad-Massage-TherapistI’ve pissed off the massage therapist blond Chad Opens new window of a page on this blog.

First, I enjoyed myself. I wanted to hit him up again for another session.

Second, I’d gotten a few e-mails from folks asking if the hottie ever would entertain barebacking.

Chad had written me a nice note thanking me for the review shortly after it appeared. I’d e-mailed it to him.

Apparently he forgot it.

For all the nice things I wrote, he focused on one section:

I’d like to say he’s a little down on his luck, but his attitude seems so cheerful as he’s figuring out where he wants to go. Or maybe he’s just a wandering gypsy nowadays. … since his hotel room is so damn small, he can’t really accommodate a massage table.

After a little exchange where he seemed confused after thanking me for my review, he sent me this:

I am by no means down on my luck, or a nomad. I know exactly what I want out of life. I still have no idea where the bareback thing came from.

I’m not really worried about what people say about me online. I put myself out there so I expect a certain amount of bitterness. You can’t please everyone.

I got another response.

I’m actually a very happy person. I make tons of money and work at my own pace. No I do not bb.

Let me explain my reasoning. Perhaps Chad is just frugal. I don’t mean to assign anyone’s particular motivations to their choice of accommodations. But when it comes to cheap chain hotels, Chad at least stepped it up from one that didn’t leave the light on for him. However, the $39.99 a night on the nearby interstate didn’t help making it seem a little low-end.

I usually respect people and a certain degree of their privacy. When I wrote that his room was small, it was tiny. Moreover, Chad’s belongings were crammed and stacked — neatly — into absolutely every single space. The path from the door (by the bathroom door) went to the end of the bed. Both sides of the bed were crammed full.

I don’t doubt he’s about as “happy” as he could be — or at least he’s got a great attitude. And I know some people are nomadic, enjoying traveling the planet. Hell, if I were young and hot, I think I’d do it.

No bitterness was intended. I always explain the space where the therapist works. Is it a tidy, tranquil, dedicated massage space, the messy dorm-like room or are you afraid a teetering mountain of belongings stacked to the ceiling might tip over and fall upon you? I believe that this is important information for a client to consider.

I like Chad. I still do. But he’s extra sensitive, snaps back fast and can’t take the reviews he’s going to be subject to in his profession.

I’m not going to drop his rating. I still want you all to support him when he visits. But keep in mind, he’s got ‘tude.

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Want to be included in my massage therapist or escort review list?

If you would like to be reviewed, feel free to contact Mark Bentson at his contact page Opens a new window from this blog or via e-mail iblastinside@gmail.com . These entries are at the discretion of Mark Bentson and in no way would any services provided to Mark guarantee or indicate any review (positive or negative) may or may not appear on these pages Opens new window of a page on this blog.

Also, while I travel, keep in mind I don’t mind rentboys, gay/bi/straight massage therapists or other kinds of outcall servicers while visiting cities like Indianapolis or Concord, NH Opens new window of a page on this blog.

Reviews of male escorts, companions and massage therapists in the Atlanta area are included here. Mark also provides training to those escorts, companions and massage therapists as well as marketing services such as web, e-mail, blog and social media advice for compensation and barter. Mark can maximize the financial intake you receive by teaching you basics Opens a new window from this blog  as well as advanced techniques.

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Hope For More

Hope For More

I’d hit the adult bookstore Opens a new window from this blog on the promise from some beefy ass from BarebackRT Link Opens in a New Window. He promised to show up and be wandering around in boots and a jock. As I arrived and my eyes adjusted to darkness and wandered around a bit. No beefy guys in jocks. No beefy guys. I check my messages on BBRT and he indicates he wanted to be sure I would be there.

I assure him I’m there now.

I’ve got time and I’m checking out a beefy, hairless Latino.

We end up in a room together, making out, licking his nipple. He slips on a condom and I fuck him a little.

I think of stealthing him. But that beefy ass is on his way. Right? I skip the stealthing and wind down the fuck, stepping out.

As I am waiting for the beefy ass, a couple comes out of another hook-up room Opens a new window from this blog. One makes a beeline to exit. The other hangs out. I get a feeling about the blond guy.

I’m wandering around some, hopeful for the bottom to whom I promised the load.

He’s a no show.

I make some rounds and the blond hottie is gone. I’m checking booths for a blowjob but the crowd is light. It’s coming up to be too late for the after work crowd and too early for an evening crowd. I’m thinking this just might be one time I’m not going to get lucky here. It’s rare but it happens.

I head upstairs once more and, hot damn, if the blond guy isn’t there. I lean against the wall, check him out. He checks me out. We’re in a hook-up room in moments.

With the door secured behind us, he speaks: “What are you into?”

“I’m a top,” I say.

“Good,” he responds. “I’m a bottom.”

He’s about five-foot-eight and got a beefy frame. As he removes his clothing — all of it — he’s not thin but he’s not too wide. He’s just perfect. He’s got these lovely smooth pecs and a nicely developed chest and arms. His belly is also nice and flat with a great treasure trail. But the lower half of his body is just hairy. His legs and ass are covered with a golden brown down.

I remove my clothing too. It’s unusual, even in one of the hook up rooms, to get completely naked. Yet we do and I want it. As we come together, we kiss. He’s an excellent kisser and his mouth covers mine, his tongue invading my mouth and hooking up inside my mouth. I can feel his body and it’s one of those when he moves, it’s like he’s flexing muscles.

As I take a step back to climb onto the padded platform that serves as a bed, I get another good look at him. I’m guessing in this dim light he’s 26. I’m also guessing he’s bisexual or even a straight bottom. We kiss more and roll around a bit. He sucks my already hard cock and then he rolls onto his back, hiking his legs and pushing his knees to his ears.

He knows what he wants.

He opens a tube of some generic form of jelly lube. He slathers it on his hole.

“You’ll cum inside me?” he asks.

“Only way,” I say.

He takes another dab of lube and begins to put just enough on my cock.

“Good,” he said. “I love cum.”

I line my cock up to his hole. I feel all the wiry hairs brush up against my cockhead. I can also feel how his pucker is closed up. But it’s itching to open. Again.

Pushing up against it, it opens and I’m inside.

I recognize this sensation. It’s wet. And not from lube. This man has been loaded.

Fucking starts and I push it inside him deeper. He snorts poppers and I begin really popping my cock. His own cock isn’t hard, which doesn’t surprise me. But as I feel around, I notice the cum within his pubes. Is it his? Is it someone else’s?

His ass is tight with some resistance here and there. I can tell he’s not experienced. He’s not flexing his muscles at all. While he verbally encourages my fucking and squirms a little, he’s not yet learned how to milk a cock with the motion of the fuck.

I encourage him to sit on my cock for a moment.

Now this offers no resistance and I get a really good look at him. Again, he’s got one of those beautifully put together muscle bodies that’s not over done. The shadows of the room play here and there just perfectly. His nipples sit almost in the middle of his nicely built pecs. As I run my fingers across his chest, you can feel a little stubble where he’s shaved or clipped off the errant hair or two. But there’s a natural smoothness elsewhere.

In this position, his ass naturally milks my cock. I haven’t snorted any poppers but I’m resisting plunging over the edge into the point-of-no-return. And then he starts talking about me cumming, but he wants it on his back.

I flip him back over and begin to fuck him in earnest with some fever after taking a hit off the poppers. It’s getting a little warm with the exertion. But I can’t wait to add my cum to the mix already in his ass, which he indicates is three or four loads. I ask him if he wants my load and he tells me he does.

My cock begins to throb and I let my load go.

I push hard deep into him and try to get it even deeper. I keep the pace before collapsing on him, my cock still buried inside him.

When I finally catch my breath, I ask, “How long have you been taking loads?”

“Not very long,” he says. “Just a few months.”

“Really?” I’m even surprised at this, although I suspect it’s a little longer. “You like it?”

“I love it,” he says. “I got fucked a few times with condoms and it just irritated my ass.”

“Are you married?” I ask.

“Yea,” he says.

“To a woman?”

“Yea.”

“Y’all fuck any more?”

“Not that much.”

I pause for a moment and question whether to tell him what I’m thinking.

“Well, I’d like to fuck you again,” I say. “Beside, I’m kind of known in the bareback community.”

“Really?” he says. “How?”

“I write a blog.”

“You’re not ‘iBLASTinside’?”

“Yup,” I smile. “That’s me.”

“Fuck,” he says. “I’ve been wanting you to fuck me.”

“Well, I just did,” I say. “You ought to feel like it when I have more time and more room.”

“You did damn good with what you had.”

I finally pull my cock out. I’m still hard and tempted to load him again but I need to head home, as does he.  We exchange names with the promise he’ll e-mail me. Oh and it turns out he was in his late thirties.

Of course, he hasn’t e-mailed me yet (UPDATE: actually, he has Opens a new window from this blog). That’s the course of things. But I can always hope for more.

               

Beefy ass from BBRT eventually did e-mail me, at first saying he thought me an online flake. Of course, there’s nothing further from the truth. Later he sent and e-mail that says the following:

 He chickened out.

As it turned out, it was for the best. I rather liked breeding the married, blond bottom happened to be rather enjoyable. And I really hope for more. Because unlike a member of BBRT, the married, blond bottom wasn’t chicken.

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Key West Postcard

Travel Diary: A Little Latin Spice to Make My Tropical Vacation Memorable

It’s funny how things don’t work out the way one plans.

I arrived in Key West on a Wednesday night. I expected a build up of ass to peak with a crescendo over the weekend and a tapering off until I left the following Wednesday.

Alas, that did not occur.

Not that I was hunting for hole. In a way, I expected it to find me. I had offers, but I decided to be a bit picky rather than accepting just any ass thrown my way. Interestingly, I think the whole relaxing and doing nothing actually calmed down my hormones and made me crave ass less. Plus I got my fill of naked boys and attention at clothing optional destinations including my B&B and the nightclubs I frequented.

After the weekend concluded and Monday inched along, that itch rose a bit and I realized I’d built a hefty load in my balls that needed to find a home — and soon.

Unfortunately, BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window showed little sign of life, with Scruff and Grindr not too far behind and Jack’d so far netted me nothing. I posted on Craigslist using a generic top looking for bottom post and lucked up with a few potentials. I’d been posting on CL for a while — mostly my “top blogger coming to town and looking for bottom inspiration” ads with little luck (except for the hot guy who’d blown me off).

I got a mixture of responses, a few of which were legit among the flakes. One caught my eye and it wasn’t just the fact he was 20 years old Latino visiting the island. He’d offered his phone number early in the exchange and we began texting almost immediately after when he asked, out of the blue: “Are you the top blogger?”

“Blogger?”

“I figured you were,” he answered, without a confirmation. “It’s really cool if you are.”

“What are my chances if I am?” I wrote back.

“I’d say your chances are really good.”

Within a few minutes, we were meeting on Duval Street and headed back to my B&B.

In shorts, flip-flops and a Hollister t-shirt, he looked like the vision of someone from an advertisement. Smooth with very few specks to even call freckles dotting his face, he was perfectly tan and his wavy black hair just cropped perfectly against his scalp. His deep hazel eyes glanced me over as I took his broad hand into mine and we shook. He was warm — not as much in demeanor as in physically, like he’d just crawled out of a tanning bed.

Our chit chat seemed almost about nothing important as we compared our lodging choices. Soon we were walking through the gate and into the courtyard. I gave a little tour of the property and we ended up in my room. With the enthusiasm of his age, he soon removed all his clothes.

His body proved to be one of those not-an-ounce-of-extra-fat-or-flesh perfection. A mixture of tan and olive, his smooth skin was blemished rarely by a freckle. He didn’t contain any extra muscle either, so he didn’t pack on huge pectorals. His legs were almost hairless and he’d shaved his pubes off. His balls, drawn tight up into his cock, looked hairless as well.

I moved in closer but he pushed me away.

“I don’t really kiss,” he said.

I tried not to seem disappointed, but I was. His fat lips seemed too inviting for me not to lick just a little.

“You still suck, don’t you?” I motioned toward my cock.

He didn’t answer, instead moving toward my half hardness and  moving his mouth over its delicate skin.

He needed more practice but not bad. He kept his lips and mouth frozen while the bobbing of his head provided all the friction to bring me up to full mast. Still, I didn’t care. I played with the hair on the top of his head and then pulled him up and moved toward his cock. All the while I let my fingertips dance across his body until my mouth found the tip of his cock.

Yes, I sucked his cock and he inflated to an impressive 8 inches. Much larger than I dared reach. And fuck if he wasn’t thick with a slight bend to the left. The impressive size seemed even more humongous thanks to all the missing hair. Honestly, this boy wasn’t too hairy or had been shaving for a long while as I didn’t sense any prickly around his cock base.

I went for the balls — a little rougher, mind you, but still very smooth. Youth, it seems, can be so very tasty. As I began to lift his legs, he didn’t stop me and I went in search of his hole by taste.

My tongue found a crevice but it didn’t seem right. I pulled back.

What I saw happened to be among the most unique sights ever.

Most people have a ring around the rosie, so to speak. The external sphincter’s fleshtone appears a little darker or lighter, depending on the man. Sometimes it’s a few rings.

Not him. His skin maintained its perfectly olive bronzed tone up until his asshole, which appeared as nothing more than tiny folds like a quarter-inch crucifix. I’d never seen an ass like his. I wondered if he had any sensitivity in his ass.

As I returned my tongue to his ass, I soon discovered my answer.

His thick 8-incher had been hard but very pliable — like a dildo. But as I went to work and the cross-shaped pucker widened, his cock became more rigid — more similar to a vibrator. Soon it grew even thicker and longer. It stood in place, attention as the most dedicated soldier.

As with any 20-year-old, he hadn’t quite learned to share attention, used to the men who lathered upon him kudos on his good-looks and great body. But he took the subtle direction well as I reached for some Spunklube Link Opens in a New Window and began to spread it on his asshole and use my fingertips to tease that holy hole open just a bit more.

I righted myself, proceeding to poke my cockhead against the hole.

“Mind if I sit on it?” he asked.

“Works for me,” I said, rolling off and onto my back.

My cock too was rigid and pointing at my belly button. A string of precum dangled off in anticipation as he maneuvered in front and slowly lowered himself. But he did so without hesitation, with ease and sat down completely to the hilt within moments.

He was a natural bottom.

We’d never discussed condoms and, as he’d read this blog, knew I’d bareback. He seemed at ease with the fucking and enjoyed it, but didn’t vocalize a lot. Truth is, I’m not very loud either.

His chute adhered to my cock so smoothly, it was a fuck never to forget. Like a key sliding into a slot with just enough space for a perfect fit, his ass walls just seemed to fold into every skin fold of my cock. At first, he would move a lot to try to give me pleasure — something I found humorous since the movement seemed almost robotic, just like his sucking. However, thanks to his perfectly pliable ass, it didn’t feel robotic as the skin’s friction would give way just perfectly.

I soon found myself losing control of my own choice of when to cum.

I suggested he relax and let me do the fucking. Interestingly, he’d read my 11 Commandments for a True Bottom Opens a new window from this blog and attempted to adhere to at least some of them, even asking permission to play with his own cock.

“Just don’t cum first,” I said. “I want to be sure I get to cum.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “The fucking isn’t over if I do cum.”

That made me want to test it out by having him cum on my cock then letting me fuck him with his cum, but I dare not risk not being able to load this boy up.

We settled into a leisurely pace and soon I put him on his stomach, staring at his hairless and smooth bubble butt before shoving my cock inside and mounting up for the breeding of his life. I snorted poppers and let myself lose control, asking him only once if he wanted it.

“Yes,” he said. “Give it to me.”

That one positive response was enough that I lost it in that perfect hole and began to flood it. And when I say flood, I mean flood. Since I hadn’t cum in about a week, I let loose a torrent out of my balls that soon lubricated that space between my cock and his ass walls. I pushed it in deeper.

“Just don’t cum inside me,” he said.

Oops, I’m thinking. It’s a little too late.

As I’d mentioned, we’d been fucking very quietly so I hadn’t really done the whole, “I’m cumming,” and grunting thing. I just generally don’t make a show of it. And here I am, pushing my cum deeper inside him and he’s asking me not to cum inside him.

I pretend like I’m having a build up to cum and I pull out and grunt, pretending to cum with my head on his back. As he knows about the truth now, he’s probably thinking “did I or did I not feel the splash of cum on my back?”

The funny thing: As I rolled off of him, he climbed right back into my cock and rode it until he squirted. And let me tell you, he squirted all over. Some went over my head, some landed on my cheek, my chest, etc. He looked away for a moment and I tasted it, just to sample some from the fountain of youth. He’d never know. After all, we weren’t kissing.

We chatted for a bit. Luckily he never put on his shirt until he left. I’d gladly have kept him there all night. But I sure as hell missed the kissing part. He asked if I would write about him and I expressed that I wanted to, knowing that I’d bred him and wondering if he’d really noticed.

He requested I withhold his home state and where he was staying as well as any photos he’d sent me, which I reluctantly agreed in order for you, dear reader, to read this. The rest is basically true, most especially the part about me breeding his ass when he asked me not to do so.

If he’d really been reading my blog, he’d know I always make a deposit. I don’t fuck with condoms and I don’t pull out. No matter how hot, how young or how great your ass is. As a matter of fact, the hotter, younger or better your ass, the more I can guarantee I’m going to breed it.

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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.

[alert style=”green”]

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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