Tag Archives: Shirt

Helping You Out

Helping You Out

Here’s a collection of miscellaneous things that bug me about online profiles:

“Not to be racist but…” or “It’s just a matter of taste…”

Truth is, you’re about to be racist. When’s the last time you read, “Not to be racist but I really only fuck Asians.”

Too much of what men write is what they exclude, not what they include.

Men can’t be blondes

Men are only blonds. It’s one of the few examples where the masculine and feminine matters in the English language. Females are blonde, men are blond. Fucking kills me every time I see it. And speaking of color…

No one’s 50 shades of grey

Unfortunately, our language is getting fucked up thanks to people being unable to figure out Grey is normally a name (it is in the book as it is for anatomy, both the original book and the television show). The official color is gray with an “A.”

HMU DTF

So “hit me up” I’m “down to fuck”? Really? Up and down? I want to go in and out.

“Breeding” means raw

It amazes me when I post an ad somewhere about “loading” or “breeding” an ass and then I get the “safe only” response. Even more amazing is the request that they “just suck me off.”

Uh, no. I’m here for the ass, not for the mouth.

When I say “potent cum,” what do you think I mean?

I’m just asking.

Sup

Fuck you.

What’s up with the abbreviation for etcetera?

If you’re going to go on and on, it’s etc. not ect.

The contractions get me

Please, if you will not go somewhere, you won’t go there… And you want to go elsewhere.

Also, there is no way that there are people out there who don’t understands there’s some contractions out there that the masses seem to misunderstand.

For the most part, I find barebackers are good people; they are often misunderstood and they’re accused of being spreaders of disease and woe. Truth is, barebackers just know their cocks and asses provide a gateway to happiness. Theirs is a life of freedom.

Don’t cry to yo mama

I make it extraordinarily clear that I say some nasty shit when I breed ass. I’m verbal as I approach orgasm.

Just recently it happened again, but this time the fucker didn’t have a choice. I’d mounted him and his little 5-foot-7 frame couldn’t go anywhere. As I am thrusting inside him, I began some of the most horrific things you can say to a bottom.

I’d warned him. Clearly. He knew I’d say things.

He didn’t respond or beg or even whimper. I knew he just wanted it over.

I growled and let it go in his ass, leaning over into his ear: “You asked for this.”

smokerAnd don’t try to lie

I know when someone lies to me. Sometimes I choose to ignore it. Other times, I call the fucker out.

Another thing I make clear is no smokers. All the time, people try to get around it.

“Oh damn,” a guy says the other day after begging me to fuck him. He’d claimed to be a fan and, well, sent me a pic of himself, of all things… smoking. “I quit in May. You won’t smell it on me. I promise.”

Men are known for their veracity. I’m always telling the truth to fuck ass. And I’m sure you’re telling the truth to get cock.

May? Why didn’t you go for last June?

Anyway, he got cut off.

Yes, you fuckers can go ahead and try to mask the smell with cologne and mouthwash, but allow me to point out a couple of salient points:

  • You’ve dulled your senses with smoking so you can’t fucking smell the shit on you.
  • Because the smell adheres everywhere, it’s usually on you in someway.
  • And even more apparent, your lungs are saturated so when you exhale, it can be smelled.
  • It’s even within your bodily fluids like spit, sweat and especially cum (which can stink like a mutherfucker).

Grindr is for babies

What the fuck is up with Grindr?

  1. It doesn’t work.
  2. It has children on it.
  3. It doesn’t work.
  4. The children on it aren’t interested in “hooking up.”
  5. It doesn’t work.

You’re a hooker if you’re shirtless without wildlife

I live in the South, so it’s not odd for me to see photos of people holding up fish, frogs or other creatures from some Redneck hunting expedition while being shirtless. Some gay men post these images as proof of butchness, although when you’re sucking my cock or taking my raw, rockhard cock up your ass and begging for my cum like the little bitch you are, you’re not so butch.

However, if you’re shirtless on any hook-up site or app — this means you, you little Grindr children — and then you add that you’re not here to “hook up,” you’re a hypocrite and a liar.

I don’t shave my balls because I don’t like hair

Lick the sack for larger snack.

My hairy sack tends to get in the way of allowing people to find my spots to give me a lot more pleasure. And the more pleasure I get, the bigger the load they get.

And I shoot big loads, with or without a little licky licky.

Why do you think a barebacker should compromise?

Sometimes I get a horny bottom who insists on a condom, who wants me to fuck them but expects me to be the one to compromise with a condom.

No.

Why should I be the one to compromise?

DDF? Of course!

Everyone online is DDF and clean. Fuck. I’m clean. I took a shower yesterday.

I’ve never seen anyone ever answer other than, “Yes, I’m DDF.” It’s a useless stat. I’ve seen people proudly declare they’re poz or “poz and undetectable,” but I’ve never, ever seen anyone answer the truth when it comes to status.

“Oh I’ve got the clap and a small case of the crabs. It will clear up in a few days.”

“Look, the Valtrex seems to be working. Don’t worry about the Herpes. It’s not like I’m gonna give you the nose-falling-off syphilis.”

Seriously, guys. If you’re “DDF and looking for same,” all you’re going to get is lies.

Understand the status

I’m glad to see more and more people who get the difference between “undetectable and on meds” and “neg, tested 1/13/14.”

Which would you rather fuck?

The answer should be undetectable.

The neg guy hasn’t been tested in more than six months. Cum on.

Curious about the Truvada whores

How many of you “Neg+PrEP” are really on PrEP and how many of you are “Now Neg + Taking Meds”?

 

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Gay Strip Poker with iBLASTinside’s Twist

Gay Strip Poker with iBLASTinside’s Twist

jackStrip poker can be fun, but the adventure of the game is more the journey than the destination. But with all strip poker games, once everyone is naked, what happens next?

I created a series of rules to make strip poker both more fair and a lot more fun. The rules break the ice in the game before everything degrades down into full-fledged sexual decadence.

You can choose to play whatever version of the game. I like Texas Hold ‘Em, but the standard Five Card Draw is fine.

Rules follow like this.

Number One All players are required to wear the same article of clothing. Generally I’d suggest eight, comprised of the following:

bullett Two shoes (counts as two items)
bullett Two socks (counts as two items)
bullett Underwear, either boxers, briefs, jockstrap, etc. (counts as one item)
bullett One pair of jeans, pants or shorts (counts as one item)
bullett One shirt or top (counts as one item)

Bareback Stealthing Tip Number 2 kingTo make the game last a little longer, you can add up additional items, up to four more) including the following:

bullett Undershirt (counts as one item)
bullett Belt (counts as one item)
bullett Overcoat or jacket (counts as one item)
bullett Hat (counts as one item)

Number Three There are no ante bets, but everyone must bet at least one item of clothing. That said, the minimum bet is one item of clothing is one item of clothing and the maximum is two items. So once someone raises things to two items, things are maxed out and it can’t go higher that round. As betting occurs, no one removes any clothing. The clothing is removed at loss.

Number Four After participants are naked, betting becomes interesting. There’s two bowls or hats on the table with folded up pieces of paper inside. One is “single dares” and the other are “double dares.”  I’ve included my set of these single and double dares here Open-New-Window-External in an Adobe Acrobat document. First, print them out and cut them apart. The ones with yellow backgrounds go into the double dares bowl. The plain white in the single dares.

Number Five AceBetting is relatively simple. The lowest bet is one single dare. The highest bet is two double dares. Again, there’s no ante. Therefore….

bullett One always begins with a single dare bet.
bullett A single dare bet can be raised to two single dares, a single dare and a double dare or two double dares. No more than two dares of each type can be play at any time.
bullett Two single dares can be raise to a single and a double dare or two double dares. A single and a double dare can only be raised to two doubles.

Number Six Once won, the losers must pull out the bet results from the appropriate bowls and follow the commands, which are sexual in nature. Single bets involve touching, hugging and a little kissing — generally embarrassing stuff. Plus there’s some revealing stuff. Double dares get more racy with mouth to genital action. No fucking occurs because that’s reserved for after the game.

Number Seve At some point, the game just ends and fucking begins. Let it happen naturally. Plan for it with good music and turn the lights down a bit lower. If beer has been flowing during the night, it shouldn’t be much of a concern. The good news about these parties is everyone is about equal opportunity and wants to see everyone cum.

return Back to How to Host a Gay Orgy

 

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The Catfish Phenomenon

The Catfish Phenomenon

Manti Te'o ShirtlessPoor football player. A big athlete falls in love with a “girl” and gets fooled into a three-year “relationship” over the internet and phone, then we all discover it’s fake. The humiliation of this isn’t enough, but to find out later the jock’s been fooled by a male “Christian singer who tried out for ‘The Voice.'”

Shocking?

Fuck no.

It just finally happened prominently, in the public eye. And Manti Te’o, the Notre Dame football player eventually to turn pro and hoping to save his career, got forced to admit his ignorance publicly.

He’s just a dumb jock.

I’ve had catfish galore. You would think I have a catfish farm and raise them.

Here’s a pic of the most recent attempt to dupe me. When I told the little fucker that no, his picture was all over the Internet and that it first appeared on a particular website, this was the porn name it appeared under, etc., the guy admitted the truth.

That’s not always the case.

My Most Recent Catfish Attempt

Catfish are, for the most part, dedicated to their craft. The most recent one that really caught my attention supposedly lived in Washington, D.C., with a Pennsylvania phone number. He served as a hooker, allowing older men to pound his ass mercilessly or some would pay simply to beat the shit out of him — according to the stories he would tell.

He was introduced to the world of escorting by, none other than his father, who taught him to take cock around 9 years old. Now at 19, he was a cumslut. Men would come over and pay upward of $200 each to dump a load in his smooth ass.

Problem is, three years ago, according to his Twitter account, he was 19 then also. Of course, his explanation to me was at that time he was lying. Now he was telling me the truth.

I’d figured out early on he lied a lot, but I carried on the “relationship” much longer than I wanted or even could tolerate simply to see how dedicated he would be to his character. He was unrelenting. Excuses for every inconsistency of his story and, when I asked for explanation, he would turn around to attack me for not trusting him.

So very clever.

I successfully got three photos out of him over about a month, but I could never get him to produce a candid photo in a pose I requested. That, to me, is the tell-tell sign of someone almost real. Of course, one of the original catfish I dealt with was a female Wal-Mart manager who had a minor male employee pose for her photos. She would have him call to leave voice mails as well. But I never spoke to him live.

How do you determine a catfish?

  1. Surprise phone calls. Calls should be answered at all times. If you’re in a “relationship” then a 3 a.m. emergency call shouldn’t be a big deal once in a while. If your calls seem to go to voice mails whenever you call, then you’ve got an issue.
  2. Special requests. Send them a t-shirt or red shorts or something like that in the mail. The day they get it, ask them to wear it, take a photo of themselves doing some sort of pose. Expect the photo within 5 minutes. Excuses like, “I’m at work right now,” or, “I work for the government, they don’t allow me to do that,” or, “I’m on my work phone, I can’t do that,” or, “My cell phone camera is broken, I need to do it at home,” is a sure sign that something is wrong! (Think about it, you sent the gift to their home; they received it at home; why are they suddenly at work?)
  3. Google. Google names, numbers, address and photos. Keep in mind you do need to pay for anything (there will be offers that pop up). Generally, you can glean enough information to find out whether a phone number is a cellular provider or whether it’s a virtual number that’s forwarding to a cell (using Skype or Google Voice). Be smart about phone numbers and locations. Talk about the weather. My guy in D.C. did keep up with the weather in Washington, even though his number was in Pennsylvania. If there’s a delay about what the weather happens to be, you know it’s the case. When searching the name, which many are common, check to determine whether someone has all the common accounts, not just the ones with whom you connect. Sure, creating a fake Facebook is one thing. Is he on LinkedIn? Unless he’s a hooker, you should find a LinkedIn account. And had Manti Te’o searched his “girlfriend’s” photo, he would have found she wasn’t real.
  4. Use logic and track the stories. On detective shows, you’ll often see the big bulletin boards with people’s photos and strings. You must create a virtual one of your own. Who’s his father and mother? What’s their names? Where do they live? Google. Brothers and sisters? Names? Google. College? Google. Old friends. Nowadays, we all leave a trace. For my D.C. catfish, he’d not been out at local bars for about a year. He made the mistake of being friends with a bouncer at a local gay bar — one that had closed recently. When I asked about the crowd, the bouncer, with whom I was supposedly texting while the hooker got fucked in another room, answered like he’d been working. Told me about his bosses. Stupid stuff. Yet I knew the club was closed and had been. Of course, the catfish denied the whole thing and said I was speaking with someone else who lied to me. Both entities just had a tendency to misspell the same words.
  5. Surprise visits. Nothing else shocks the shit out of a catfish like a live visit Opens a new window from this blog. Just telling one you’re coming to visit and that you’ve booked a trip will get the response you need to know. If the suspected catfish is prepared to meet, then maybe it’s for real. But likely, they’re “not ready” for that face-to-face encounter, even just for lunch. Hang the fuck up and move on.

Catfish are people too

Manti Te'o Hoaxer Ronaiah Tuiasosopo ShirtlessI get dozens of e-mails and IMs and text messages from people who want to meet me. I am so very flattered. But far too many never truly want to meet. We call them flakes, of course. We all know them for how they really treat us because, legitimately, they’re not willing to meet.

I cannot begin to shrink them. Too many people have tried to shrink me, to diagnose my own dysfunctions. However, within this world, something is missing that current relationships just cannot seem to meet so they need to create a persona to find a way to fulfill that need.

With Ronaiah Tuiasosopo, the catfish for Manti Te’o, he’s attempting a career in the Christian singing world and he’s a former football player. My guess — and I am speaking with no special knowledge — is he can’t find a way to reconcile his homosexuality with his Christianity yet. By creating a female, it worked. As angry as people are at Ronaiah Tuiasosopo, I hope he figures out he’s gay and finds a big, butch man to fuck him the way he needs it.

Catfish will thrive

[alert style=”white”] They used to tank cod from Alaska all the way to China. They’d keep them in vats in the ship. By the time the codfish reached China, the flesh was mush and tasteless. So this guy came up with the idea that if you put these cods in these big vats, put some catfish in with them and the catfish will keep the cod agile. And there are those people who are catfish in life. And they keep you on your toes. They keep you guessing, they keep you thinking, they keep you fresh. And I thank god for the catfish because we would be droll, boring and dull if we didn’t have somebody nipping at our fin.
—”Catfish,” 2010[/alert]

Catfish are here to keep us on our toes, or that’s what the documentary that originated the pop culture term suggests. I’m not so convinced. But in today’s impersonal, digital world, it seems to me we all need those connections that cannot be achieved in person for fear of reprisals.

How do you deal with catfish when you discover one? A true catfish can never be trusted. Never. You can’t. And generally, I’ve found the catfish never breaks character. They’re bound to their character. When I discovered one catfish and their real life, I contacted many people from real life including significant other, friends, relatives and more. A catfish is convincing in their real life too and stays dedicated to that character. Each did not believe the strange story I told.

But eventually, they would see it was true. I hope that catfish found a way to get some help and to stop living in fantasy land.

Like everyone else, I crave realness. I think if you bareback, that may be another reason why we do so. We don’t want to keep the distance between two human beings, even if it’s two-millimeters thick in plastic. We want that connection. For barebackers, we put it all out there, exposed. For catfish, they don’t. It’s all murky.

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Abortion Tales #2: The Tweaker and the Tittie Twins

Abortion Tales #2: The Tweaker and the Tittie Twins

I’m getting too fucking old for this.

As I mentioned (and no one seems to want to read Opens a new window from this blog since the stats show only a few people have checked it out) I’ve been focusing on getting out of my job situation, so my attention has been focused elsewhere. However, I decided Wednesday evening since I’d be downtown for an appointment that it would be a convenient time to hit the adult bookstore Inserection and get a load out of my system.

Now, I was especially frustrated because I’d had a massage from a fucking hottie. He was naked. I was naked. He teased me for the hour, bushing against my balls and cock and all my erotic spots. When it gets to that moment for the happy ending, the massage ends abruptly.

I didn’t get off. He didn’t get a tip.

I knew Wednesday nights were not ideal at Inserection Opens a new window from this blog but usually I can find some ass. Since I would be in Atlanta anyway (I live in the far northern suburbs), I figured it would be worth a shot.

To improve my chances of ass, I always post an ad or two to Craigslist and BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window to let bottoms know a top will be at Inserection. Sometimes it works Opens a new window from this blog. And often with these posts, I’ll get messages from people asking that I skip Inserection and come to their place instead.

Sent away by a bottom

I get the usual assortment of messages. The old, ugly and overly used (Grade F Asses Opens a new window from this blog). A few interesting ones do show up, including one from a 28-year-old bottom. We get to texting and he invites me over.

He mentions he’ll be on his back deck.

It’s early evening and not quite dark. I expect though it’s an enclosed deck and he’ll be ass up and waiting.

I drive the three miles and pull up to the house, pulling into the driveway. I can clearly see the back deck where a man — obviously in his mid-40s — is standing. He’s not horrible looking or anything. I get out of the car and there’s that awkward moment. He comes down off the deck. As the awkwardness continues, I finally say, “Am I at the wrong place?”

“Yes, you are,” he says.

“Sorry about that,” I say, knowing I’m at the only home with this address with a man with an iPhone texting from a back deck.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says as he shakes my hand.

Attempts at the adult bookstore

I get in my car and drive to Inserection adult bookstore, pay the $11 admission and begin cruising.

The crowd appeared thin and a few too many familiar faces walked among the groups. Also one of the worst cruisers is there: A man who slaps on a little makeup, a cheap wig, a bad blouse, panties, pantyhose and high heels.  I hesitate to call it a drag queen or a cross-dresser due to the horrible effort put into looking decent. There’s no effort. I don’t mind it’s a slut. Some guys are into it. That’s cool. But not me and it’s too aggressive.

Anyway, as I’m walking around, I eye an older man who’s big and bulky with big muscles wearing a tight t-shirt with protruding nipples. (Oh, and he’s got a wedding band.) He reads to me as a bottom. His cock is obviously small. He’s not going for any gloryholes. He wants his nips worked over.

With guys like this, their nips are the gateway to their ass, I know.

We hit a booth together. His shirt was up as I went to work. I’m great at nipple work; it’s one of my specialties. I had a boyfriend years ago who could cum just from my nip work. Within moments, I’ve got his four-inch cock rock hard. He’s groaning from all my nip nibbling, chewing, flicking, licking, twisting, contortion, punching, teasing, tickling, pulling, brushing, pinching and other manipulations…  both hard and soft. He’s got a bit of stink to him, which really isn’t my thing.

I’m moving my hands (when they’re free) to his ass. I am finding his asshole, which is dry but puffy. He either has hemorrhoids or he’s been fucked plenty. But he hasn’t been fucked today. As I poke and prod, he moves his ass away to prevent too much work.

Seems like this one isn’t going to work out.

He bends down to suck me. He does well, but not so irresistibly that I feel like I could cum from his blowjob. I thank him for his work and zip up.

About then, I get a text message from the supposedly 28-year-old bottom.

“ETA,” he asks, which means, “Estimated time of arrival.”

You can see our exchange on my iPhone.

I’d sent him a photo of my cock which barely showed my goatee. And my stats clearly stated in my ad that I was clean-shaven. But he’d ignored that.

I didn’t bother to point out that he obviously wasn’t 28 years old.

As we texted back and forth, him begging me to come over, me looking for ass among the dregs of humanity at the adult bookstore, soon a balding Asian began eyeing me.

Now we all know I have a little something for the more exotic among us.

As I stood upstairs by a vacant room, the Asian passed me and closed the door. But it didn’t lock. An unusual technique. Normally men step into the room with the door open and eye their object of interest.

I opened the door. He stood in the dim light, playing with his nipples through his shirt. I stepped into the room. He pulled up his shirt. His alabaster, perfect skin revealed, delightfully smooth with very nice pecs and nickle-sized nips just protruding out. But as soon as I flicked them, they stood erect.

His cock, a respectable five inches, never really got so hard. And his ass, so nice and smooth and bubbly. I stepped behind him while still working his nips. I felt his asshole, his pucker perfectly dry. He didn’t pull away. I spit on my cock and aimed it at his hole.

He was much smaller than I was. I took again his nipples in my fingertips. This man preferred the light touch and I knew how to really work them that way too. I did it in a way he’d enjoy. All I needed him to do was arch his back a little so his asshole would line up better with my cock.

As I continued, with my wet cock tickling his sphincter and pleasuring his nips, his ass never moved. But he jerked intensely and he breathed heavily.

He was getting close.

Fuck that. I wasn’t going to get someone else off if I wasn’t getting what I wanted.

I dropped everything. Pulled up my pants and was out the locked door. He didn’t even have time to pull down his shirt or pull up his pants. He stood there exposed, wide-mouthed as I walked out, the door wide open.

He recovered after a couple of beats and closed the door.

The texting continued with the bottom. He wanted to know when I shaved the beard off (I’m interviewing for jobs, so I was told to shave it off by a few recruiters; plus it just looks nicer during the summer).

I wonder around and get a couple of attempted blowjobs but no ass action. One guy even asked me to piss in his mouth, but no ass.

Back to the bottom

Finally I decide to head back over to fuck and breed the bottom who earlier turned me away.

I drive up and this time, he’s a bit more welcoming. He meets me and we step up onto the deck, but go inside the house.

It is between now and the next 20 minutes that I should have left because it’s that long before we start doing a fucking thing. He first has to prepare a daybed. It’s got something like 30 pillows on it. Then he can’t find the remote to turn off “The Voice,” which is blaring on the television. He keeps searching his closet for something — for what, I’m not sure. He also refreshes his drink.

Then he gets lube — petroleum jelly — an unusual choice.

Finally he’s ready.

All through this, he’s chomping gum. And I mean CHOMPING it. I’m suspecting Tina use, but maybe it is just gum. But he is darting around his place like a crystal meth user cleaning. But I also noticed that drink is a pretty strong alcohol, so I’m guessing he’s a little buzzed.

When he finally gets on the bed to suck me, he takes breaks to work his jaw.

No gum.

He’s tweaked out of his gourd.

He can’t suck for than a few seconds without pausing in order to work his jaw. I’m afraid he’s going to bite my cock off. That fear drives me to take control.

I put him on his back. He puts some petroleum jelly on my hard cock.

“That’s a big one,” he says. “I’m not sure I can take it.”

I’m rubbing some jelly into his ass. I probe it a little. As my fingertip works past the sphincter, I touch the tip of something. I touch the tip of a small turd. Yes, a turd.

“I’m really going to need you to use a condom,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some condoms.”

Now he’s saying this as I am touching a turd and using petroleum jelly.

This guy must know he’s not clean but he’s also a complete idiot since petroleum jelly breaks down a condom Opens a new window from this blog.

But I’m horny. I’m fucked sloppy holes. At least his isn’t nasty.

I position him up, putting his legs over my shoulders. I don’t ask. I just put my cock at his hole and put it in. It breaks in.

It’s not pleasant.

The small, hard turd moves toward his prostate and becomes a rough rock scratching against the underside of my cock.  He’s trying to resist me, but I keep pressing forward.

“What are you doing?” he says.

“Fucking you,” I say.

“I’ve been nothing but nice to you,” he says. “You don’t have to be mean.”

“You’ve done nothing but jerk me around all day,” I say.

I begin fucking in earnest. I try to aim down to get that turd out of my way. But that little hard piece of shit won’t move and I’m more and more afraid it’s actually going to scratch my cock and add fecal matter into a wound on my cock.

I can’t focus on fucking. He’s chomping a lot. He’s jerking. He’s moving too much, squirmy even. It’s all not working for me. As horny as I am, that’s all I can do. I’m not going to be able to cum even though I’ve got something like two weeks worth of blue balls.

I pull out.

“This isn’t going to work,” I say.

“Huh?”

I begin putting on my clothes.

“Oh,” he says. “This is revenge for me turning you away earlier.”

“No man,” I say. “You’re not clean.”

Then the dude does the craziest thing ever. He sticks his finger in his ass, pulls it out and sniffs it.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“Believe me,” I say. “You’re not.”

He disappears into another room. In a couple of seconds, he returns with a white towel, wiping his ass.

“See,” he shows me a clean white towel. “My ass is perfectly clean.”

“Look,” I say. “You’ve got a small, hard turd right up against your prostate. It’s scratching my cock and making it uncomfortable to fuck you. Beside that, your working your jaw on Tina is driving me fucking crazy. I hate fucking with tweakers. You have a nice one.”

He stands there shocked and naked as I walk out the door.

I go home. Blue balls. Still.

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Ideas for Swinging Richards… or Another Gay Male Stripper or Go-Go Boy Bar

Ideas for Swinging Richards… or Another Gay Male Stripper or Go-Go Boy Bar

I just earned Medallion status on Delta airlines. It’s one of those mile-markers I’ve been looking forward to achieving. I get on the plane earlier, I get upgrades, more miles, preferred seats and other perks. I’ve been Gold and Platinum level at certain hotels. I also love it when I book events places and I earn special treatment for that.

It’s great being recognized.

One town that does this well is Las Vegas, which provides VIP service at many clubs and hotels for the high rollers — also known as “whales.” These are people with money who arrive with the intention of spending money and expect to be treated with a little extra finesse.

I wish that Swinging Richards Opens a new window from this blog would consider doing the same. In fact, I have a few ideas to make Swinging Richards a much more upscale experience.

The True VIP Experience at Swinging Richards

VIP Concierge

In the front corner of the bar, there’s a “dead” space where a large screen TV sits. A small reception desk should be put here. All VIP members should check in here. Additionally, celebrations and other special requests can register here. A velvet rope seating area in the middle section could be set up for VIP members, their guests and those who choose to pay the one-time VIP admission for the night.

The VIP Concierge can also make arrangements for any dancer requests, a private dance or lap dance. As part of the service, anyone can come up and see who’s registered to work that evening and arrange for lap dances without the harassment or embarrassment of trying to find the dancer in the crowd, catching his eye and motioning him over.

Providing the Concierge with your credit card, you almost never need to pull any money out. Ask for cash — a stack of ones, twos, fives, tens or twenties — and the Concierge can provide for you to tip for the evening. Or can hand you chips which work just like cash. It’s charged to your account at the end of the evening when you check out.

VIP Main Room Seating

Part of the joy of sitting in the main room is watching the show with three to six dancers on the stage. While sometimes tables are reserved, the middle section needs a velvet rope area for VIP customers for the evening. Inside this area, there’s upgraded seating and tables, upgraded from the uncomfortable straight-back chairs. Bottle service along with top-shelf call along with a special server at your beck-and-call at all times (I recommend Jonathan, he does a particularly good job; but someone who can be shirtless would be nice).

In this section, getting up to use the bathroom or visiting the VIP room won’t cause one to lose one’s seat. Your space is always yours for the evening unless you inform the VIP Concierge that you’re leaving for the evening.

Lap Dance Lounges

Added in both the main floor and in the back VIP area would be new Lap Dance Lounges. These are arranged at the VIP Concierge (or at the entrance of the VIP area) and cost a little extra. Unlike normal lap dances, the patron pays for more songs, the lounges includes a slightly opaque shower curtain to obscure the dance experience and it lasts for five minutes. For only $50, it’s not quite heading into a private dance (where you break the bank starting at $140 for 15 minutes) but it’s a little more than $20 or $10 for a song.

Private Dance Experiences

The pricing process is just so confusing to newbies at Swinging Richards that a flat fee structure must be instituted. Like the Lap Dance Lounges and the Concierge Services, fees for the services provided will be charged to the dancers, but the dancers have to feel they’re fairly treated.

First, the private dance rooms should be gutted and reconfigured to accommodate only one dancer and one patron. This would allow for more rooms for private dance rooms as well as the Lap Dance Lounges.

[alert style=”green”]Standard 15 minutes: $150 (Dancer $90, House $40, Concierge Fee $20)

VIP 15 Silver Experience: $200 includes top-shelf drink for patron and dancer, t-shirt or calendar, free pass for next visit to Swinging Richards (additional Concierge Fee $20)

Standard 30 minutes: $275 (Dancer $190, House $60, Concierge Fee $25)
VIP 30 Gold Experience: $350 includes VIP 15 bonuses plus one Lap Dance Lounge pass with any dancer (additional Concierge Fee $25)

Standard 60 minutes: $500 (Dancer $375, House $75, Concierge Fee $50)
VIP 60 Platinum Experience: $650 includes bottle service or four top-shelf drinks, t-shirt and calendar, two free passes for next visits to Swinging Richards, two Lap Dance Lounge passes (additional Concierge Fee $50)

VIP Diamond Experience at Swinging Richards: Starting at $1,500 (Starting at Dancer $750, House $400, Concierge Fee $500)
Reserved front-row table in main room; Your private, selected dancer host with you all night; Reserved private dance room for you at your selected time; Full top-shelf and bottle service throughout the night; Included Lap Dance Lounges; Optional limousine service throughout the Atlanta or Fort Lauderdale/Miami metro area (optional for your selected dancer to accompany you to your door); Optional reserved dinner planned prior to your night with Swinging Richards (and your dancer may also accompany you to this dinner as well).[/alert]

This is just the beginning to expressing the new menu of choices at Swinging Richards might work.

More Training for Dancers

Some dancers know what they’re doing and some do not. If I take a shine to dancers, I sometimes help them out with the best ways to approach and how better to make things work. I recently took the time to write a little about how to improve making tip money Opens a new window from this blog. The Concierge could help with that training, especially the ones who show the most potential. I can walk in the door and see the new meat parading about. If I give them a dollar, I’ll know within a few seconds if they’ve got good instincts to survive.

Working at a strip club is not easy. If you’ve ever watched Jerry Springer and the female strippers how they get into cat fights, you ought to see what happens behind the scenes Opens a new window from this blog at a male strip club. Sure, they all seem like bros, but the testosterone will get the best of them. There’s no hair-pulling, scratching or weaves flying. I even expected a little gorilla-like chest-thumping.

Violence is abrupt, fisticuffs are brutal and broken bones are not unusual. And while there’s the unfortunate things like this recent rape  accusation Opens a new window from this blog that’s made the news, I think training would serve to reduce such events.

Most of the problems I’ve noticed comes from over-the-top clientele who miss the mark on what it means to engage a dancer. Touching doesn’t happen until invited and if you’re a little too tipsy, don’t get aggressive.

  

A Note of Consideration

To Swinging Richards or 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 a few VIP experiences or some other perks always makes me happy. 

Yours,

Mark's Signature in White

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