R.P. Andrews's Blog, page 42

An Open Letter To Out-Of-Towners Coming to Town Who Hit Me Up On The Web

An Open Letter To Out-Of-Towners Coming to Town Who Hit Me Up On The Web

Yea, for somebody like me who lives in Lauderdale most of the time, it’s great to connect with new meat or meet a nice guy from out of town in town on vacation or business. But Jesus, you guys sometimes also drive me fucken crazy, so please, read this:

First off, I know you owe me nothing by hitting me up weeks in advance, saying you wanna connect and then get here and never materialize. I get it. Something better came along or you’re staying at one of those clothing optional gay guesthouses where anything goes. But if you are sincere about making it:

1. No endless texts or e-mails please. Or asking me what I’m into. It’s all in my profile down to shots of my cock and furry butt, and you should do the same. Having a profile with one pic – usually YOUR dick or ass – and everything else an “ask me,” is TOTALLY worthless.

2. If we sound like we’re on the same page, let’s not make setting up a time, date and place like trying to solve the federal debt. If you and/or I are that unavailable, let’s move on.

3. Please, please please, have your own place, not stay with friends or family or sixteen buddies, or worse, your partner. Lauderdale is a town of philandering partners – I’m one of them – and we count on you out-of-towners to have a place to fuck. I ain’t dropping $$ on a motel or bath house room unless we’ve met and/or done it before. And don’t tell me to meet you in one of the bath house whorehouses. If I have to drop $$ to go in, I’m a free agent, and by the same token, so are you, which means I may end up searching for you all night while you’re fornicating with some hottie you met ten minutes after you walked in.

4. Do not ask me to rendezvous with you in a bar or a parking lot or wherever, without face pics. My pics are all current and shit if I’m going to be judged by someone who I don’t even recognize.

5. Don’t tell me you wanna fuck and in the next breath, ask if I got buddies to join in. I’m not your pimp.

6. Don’t tell me you wanna fuck and then put up walls like you gotta go bowling or shopping or, Christ, to the gym first. I’m your work-out, remember?

7. And please no surprises. Don’t show up clean shaven when I got off on your bearded pic, or bald and stoop shouldered when you’re supposed to be athletic. Ten year old pics aren’t just fraudulent, they’re criminal, and I’ll ask for my gas money back. Or don’t tell me you’re a bottom and start fucking around with my manhole. One guy who misled me and came in looking like his father, figuring I was going to give him a pity fuck, was surprised when after teasing his dried up, stretched out cuntish manhole with the tip of my cock, I asked him politely how old his pictures were, then threw him the fuck out. He dressed so quick, he forgot his socks.

Other than that, come on down!

I’m Voting for Hillary, but …

I’m Voting for Hillary, but …

… if the Republican Establishment disenfranchises Trump from becoming their nominee by forcing a brokered (read party bosses driven) convention, he should run as an independent and fuck ‘em all. If Trump won so many states, the people – at least registered Republicans – have spoken. So who the hell is the GOP Elite to deny him? Frankly I’d rather see him than smug, officious Bible Belter Cruz, and Kasick has as much of a shot at the nomination as Howdy Doody (you post Baby Boomers goggle him).

And let’s fucken close the chapter on Hil’s dubious E-mails. Who gives a fuck besides FOX news? The bottom line she is the most qualified human being in America to run this country. Period. A moderate centrist. A former First Lady who didn’t doodle around with the tulips in the White House garden but forged a healthcare plan for which she was laughed at and twenty years later became Obamacare. A United States senator from a major state who later served as Secretary of State, the highest ranking cabinet post. Plus she sleeps (at least some of the time) with a still very popular former President. Who else can come close?

I know some of you may be supporters of Bernie, but, come on now, where the hell is all the money for his grandiose giveaways going to come from? You think it will be limited to just bleeding the wealthy? For those of us gay guys who own a home and have no kids in the picture, aren’t you tired of paying school real estate tax to subsidize str8’s fucking? Isn’t enough enough?

A new poll says that half the women in America don’t like Trump for obvious reasons which may work in Hillary ‘s favor since right now her weaknesses are among the young who probably feel us Baby Boomers fucked ‘em over and are looking for a Messiah (like Bernie) to make their lives easier; and among, interestingly enough, women. (My own blessed mother, dead ten years now, was a feisty, independent bitch but would never have voted for a woman.)

In any case, if the Republican Party remains fucked up, they might as well hand the presidency over to Hil gift-wrapped. And if they stonewall Obama on his moderate nominee for the Supreme Court, I hope Madam President puts in a trans-sexual bi-sexual (Cait Jenner would be perfect) and give ‘em all a fist str8 up to the elbow.

Who The Fuck is Huffington Post Calling Me “Queer?”

Who The Fuck is Huffington Post Calling Me “Queer?”

Hey, we call one another “fag” or “faggot” all the time and think nothing of it. And when I’m the token white at my black barber, the N word is bantered around without a second thought, as in, “Hey, ni**er, how’s your bitch doin’?” But dare the little white boy say it ….

Well, in my mind, the same thing is true with the “Q” word. So who the fuck is the Huffington Post (unless its Great White Mother Huffington is one of us) to change the name of its LGBT site from “Gay Voices” to “Queer Voices?” Maybe using queer is trendy and nasty cute with you younger gay darlings but in my day being called queer HURT. Yea, you got it, HURT. And I think no one – I mean NO ONE – has a right to call us queer in any way shape or form except US. More young guys seem to be acting queer because they think there’s nothing to worry about anymore. Well, when I was young there was plenty to worry about – bullying, beating, harassment, loss of job, abandonment by family, life-long friends, etc. So if you’re under thirty and think the world loves us, stop deluding yourself.

Otherwise I got some Splenda I’ll sell you for your next meth fix.

“Gay” is the best non-pejorative word right now to describe us besides the cold, clinical term, “homosexual,” but “queer,” fairy,” and “fag” belong in the gay history books or playful, often self-deprecating chatter among our own kind, and should not be owned by the mainstream media.

The HuffPost rationalized that the term “Queer” is a more inclusive term than gay to describe the broad “LGBT Community.” (As a gay man, I feel little affinity to cross-dressers, transgenders, and even lipstick lesbians but, hey, that’s me.) So call it “LGBT Voices” then.

My dear Ms. Arianna “My Shit Don’t Stink” Huffington, are you trying to appeal to younger readers? Check the trend folks, us older “queers” if we played our cards right have more discretionary income for your advertisers than Millenniums.

Secondly, would you consider calling your black reports, “Ni**er News” because the “N” word would be more inclusive with bigoted whites? Or your feminist news, “C**t Update?”

Well, would ya?

Now you understand how I feel about the word “queer.”

Should You PrEP?

Should You PrEP?

The other night I was at the Alibi, Fort Lauderdale’s signature gay bar, and ran into one of the docs I know who works at our town’s largest HIV clinic. Somehow we got on the subject of PrEP, and he knowing me from past conversations, said after a few minutes, “Hey but you’re the conservative type, aren’t you,” meaning I’m a bit of a skeptic when the world around me says something’s wonderful.

Up to now when I’ve spoken about PrEP, I looked at from the perspective of the guy you plan to do it with and whether you should take his word when he tells you he’s on the little blue pill and wants to do it raw. After all, even in the highly touted clinical trials, guys were non-compliant.

But now let’s talk about you. Should you PrEP?

Discounting for now the implication that PrEP poppers are promiscuous pigs and the dubious rep that may carry, you think it would be a forgone conclusion to use a med that could prevent you from getting HIV. I get the impression that younger guys under 30 who are still playing the field are lining up for their scripts; I think I would too if were 22 again.

But if what if you’re an older gay man, even retired like me, who by design or luck is still negative? Should you commit yourself to taking a med everyday ‘cause that’s the only way it’s gonna be effective.

Again it all depends.

Are you in a monogamous relationship or still sleeping around?

Do you exclusively top where your risk, while not zero, is pretty low?

Does it pay for that once-a-year whore vacation junket? Or that infrequent sexual encounter or if you’re at a stage in life where “getting it” ain’t that important anymore? (I ran into one guy who came out at 70 after his wife of 47  years died and got HIV on his very first encounter.)

What if your insurance doesn’t cover it or you have a high deductible?

Should you expose yourself to the possible side-effects of taking what after all was originally designed as a powerful HIV antiviral drug for poz guys, such as kidney function and bone loss?

I should also point out that respected POZ magazine/POZ.com recently reported on a case of a guy supposedly on PrEP who still contracted HIV – and a drug resistant variety  at that. One case does not a village make and maybe the guy was not as compliant as he says he was, but…

But getting back to my original question: Should you PrEp? Would you?

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Is Donald Trump Today’s Huey Long?

Is Donald Trump Today’s Huey Long?

Huey Long was a bombastic 1930’s politician, a braggart, a bully, an emotional blackmailer and a megalomaniac rejected by the Establishment but revered by the common folk, who, like Trump, aspired to be President. So do we have another Huey Long on our hands?

To be fair, there are plenty of differences between the two men. Long was a Southerner from Louisiana, Trump is a Yankee from New York. Long grew up penniless, Trump, though he denies it, with a silver spoon in his mouth, thanks to his real estate mogul dad, Fred. Long was a career politician, Trump a businessman at least until last June when he announced his candidacy, though both used cutthroat techniques to get what they wanted. And Long campaigned on a Bernie Sanders style Robin Hood strategy of robbing the rich through taxation to give to the poor, something capitalistic billionaire Trump would never do.

But, ah, all the similarities! Long was rejected by the Establishment of his day, in this case the Democratic Party, including its Great White Father Roosevelt who was President at the time. Trump is so reviled by the GOP Establishment that they’re actually taking out ads against him, their presumptive nominee!

And both men’s power base was not in the elite but in the common man. Long’s appeal was obvious: he was promising them a free ride on the coat tails of the rich; Trump is apparently stream rolling his way to the nomination because people from all backgrounds are fed up with the do-nothing career politicians in D.C.

Wanna know more about Long? Google him, or better yet, rent the 1949 Academy Award winning flick, “All the Kings Men,” a thinly fictionalized account of Long, named Willie Stark in the film, both his rise and abrupt fall.

BTW, the only thing that was able to stop Huey was an assassin’s bullet. Ya think the GOP will have to hire a hitman – Mexican, of course – to get rid of The Donald?

Stay tuned.

Is Pansexuality Just Easier In Our Times?

Is Pansexuality Just Easier In Our Times?

Pansexual (noun): not limited in sexual choice with regard to biological sex, gender, or gender identity.

Practically overnight, pansexuality has become all the rage, certainly among celebs who have more to gain and less to lose than the average Joe or Jill. Sure, pansexuals have been around for centuries, but today’s increasingly more tolerant social attitudes towards sexuality beyond heterosexuality, including homosexuality and transgenderism, have encouraged many pansexuals to come out of their own closets.

Now for most of my life, I led a pretty boring (okay strike the word boring) existence as a gay man socializing almost exclusively with other gay men. So it wasn’t until just a few years ago, now living here in Fort Lauderdale, that I encountered my first self-avowed pansexual.

He was a 28 year old accountant from Miami who wooed me on Manhunt, I say wooed me since my usual age range starts at 35 and most times I don’t even consider guys younger than most of my T-shirts. But Tim liked older, hairy guys, a rarity in laser happy, body beautiful South Beach, and he was cute yet mature at the same time, and proved fun in the bedroom. It was our conversation after we had done the nasty, however, that was both alien and enlightening to this seasoned player of The Life.

You see, Tim had been married and divorced but was comfortable in his pansexuality. He enjoyed sex with both men and women, had fucked around with lesbians hankering for an occasional penis, and was actually seeking out an opportunity to make it with a transgender, whether or not his or her original junk was still intact. (BTW, this is the primary difference between bi’s and pan’s: bi’s are interested in both sexes, pan’s will do it with any gender identity. These include transgenders, and the intersex, individuals born with the characteristics of both sexes which the say the 1920’s Scandinavian artist Einar Wegener of the film, “The Danish Girl,” and one of the first documented surgically   transitioned cases in history, may have been. While undergoing his initial operation, surgeons found a pair of shriveled ovaries inside him.)

When I countered him that once you do it with a guy and you have the urges for dick and ass you never go back, he admitted that might be true but the man4man side of his sexuality was not an overwhelming factor. He enjoyed sex when he was with a woman, and enjoyed sex when he was with a man, and, in fact, sought out both sexes. Most astounding to me was his conviction that there was no need to take sides or choose a life. Nor did he think he would ever need to. For Tim, both worlds were his oyster. His straight friends were cool with that as were his gay ones, and after all, it’s a reality that “The Scene” is becoming a blended collage where so-called “gay” bars are being populated more and more by straight women and hetero couples.

Contrast this with guys like me who came out just post Gay Liberation where once you knew what you wanted, you chose, in fact were almost forced to choose one lifestyle or the other. Today, such rigid black and white choices are no longer a given.

So is such an outlook on sexuality a healthier one than the compartmentalized reality the vast majority of both str8’s and gay’s live?

I think the jury is still out on that one.

 

The Rentboy Soap Opera Continues

The Rentboy Soap Opera Continues

Remember, last fall how Rentboy was closed down and its owner thrown into jail by the feds because they claimed he was running a prostitution ring? (No shit. Like these humpy Cubans with nine inch dongs were offering language lessons to their clients for three hundred bucks an hour.) Well, the formal indictments were recently released and what was kinky about them (like a convoluted legal case on “The Good Wife”) is that the fact Rentboy warning its stable they were selling their time not their bods and that “offering sex for money is illegal” was proof Rentboy knew prostitution was going on! (Like warning some prospective bf that you don’t do drugs means you know he’s a methhead.)

But what perked my attention was another charge that Rentboy was lax about verifying the ages of male escorts posting ads from Asian countries. Remember, the web is international. I don’t know about you but I get hits from all over the world right here in Lauderdale. So let’s do a stretch here. Say, you like ‘em young, like 18, which I think is the prevailing entry age for all of these whore sites, be they rentmen or adam4adam. You start sexting (‘cause that’s what it is) with your boi, figuring it’s harmless flirtation, and later the shit hits you in the face and you’re told that your 18 year who looks like jailbait is really 15 and you’re being charged with endangering a minor or worse, pedophilia.

Who’s to blame? Your libido or the site for not checking out ages?

It’s not just because I’m not into super young guys. (Most times, when a 21 or under hits me up I immediately block him, no temptation – especially the ones half a world away who say they like you, are into older guys and want to be “friends,” and give you their e-mail and skype number and smartphone #….) I think these sites have an obligation to collect ID info like a driver’s license, especially on guys who claim to be 18 or 19 or 20 and don’t look it.

Or am I just paranoid, figuring, as the world’s great cynic, Daddyhunt won’t pay for my defense?

Huh??

Huh??

Super talented Whitney Houston threw away her  voice and life, and soon after her daughter, Bobbi Kristina, who had everything to live for,  did the same. Well, the autopsy report on Bobbi was just released, but whether her death was a suicide or a homicide, some say at the hands of her bf Nick Gordon, is still undetermined.

What really threw me, though, was the fact that a professor of emergency medicine at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center who reviewed the autopsy results  claimed the alphabet soup combination of drugs found her system – morphine, cocaine, alcohol,  and prescription drugs – was “not unusual.”

Huh? Where, on Mars? And what, pray tell, was a 22 year girl supposedly under the wing of her grandmother, Cissy Houston, and again who should not have had a worry in the world, doin’ with all that shit?

 

“What Did You Expect?”

“What Did You Expect?”

That’s what my very sexy, statuesque married secretary back in my New York City healthcare public relations days who later ran off with my very Catholic, very married CEO would say to me when a doctor or fellow administrator would riel me up on the phone after I hung up and cursed them out.

So, Republican Party who thought you were so smart-assed about finding a candidate who would knock the shit out of Hillary: Well, ya got him, and now the GOP Establishment is scared shitless that Sir Donald (both he and Hil are 69) will be its undisputed nominee. There’s even talk the Establishment may attempt to take over the convention and nominate someone else which means Trump could make good on his earlier threat to run as an independent and hand the presidency over to Hil gift wrapped.

Why this fascination with a guy who answers questions on the third grade level and is the biggest bully since you and little Johnny Kowalski fought over that one pail in the sandbox when you were both four? People are fed up with the career politicians – including Cruz and Rubio – on both sides of the aisle who have done shit. And at least one thing positive you can say about Trump: he’s beholden to nobody.

As far as Marco Rubio being a closet case like some of the gay rags down here in South Florida are implying: What is it about gay guys? They see somebody who’s attractive and who they’re attracted to and suddenly they think he’s gay. Fuck your gaydar. He’s a textbook homophobic who if he has his way would put us all in concentration camps. Besides, I thought Ben Carson who’s finally dropped out the race is cuter, maybe because I like older guys.

In other newsy tidbits worth a laugh:

“STD Surge: Syphilis and Other STDS Nearing Epidemic in South Florida – Condomless Sex Up 20%” shouts the cover of the latest issue of the South Florida Gay News (OMG! No shit!). Page 3: “Winter Party Returns to Miami.” Think there’s any connection? Of course not, all those guys in bikinis are there for a revival meeting.

Lastly, my favorite syndicated advice columnist, Amy Dickinson ran a letter from a woman whose 45 year old brother is getting married to his boyfriend and since he’s broke wants his mother to pay for their $85,000 wedding. Amy’s response: “Grown men and women don’t hit up their mommies to pay for their fancy weddings. Grown people pay for their own celebrations.”

And you wonder why we get a bad rep? These are the same kind of “piss-it-away” guys us working folk are going to be supporting in their own age.

Bonding With My Bondage Buddy

Bonding With My Bondage Buddy

All true …

This past weekend a couple of the bars down here in Lauderdale catering to the butch gay man like the Ramrod staged kink/fetish/dungeon demos. But who needed them? I had my own sweaty, up front and personal session with my very, very hot bondage buddy, Danny, my 5’7” furry (though not as furry as me) Italian stallion who at 41 is old enough to be my son, so when he calls me Daddy he means it.

When I get to his place around 10 Saturday night, he’s got all his leather wares and bondage accessories sprawled over his bedroom floor like toys under a Christmas tree.

We’ve played before, usually in leather, so this time we decide to switch to singlets. After all, we both have wrestler’s bodies, me the stocky type, Danny lean and mean, so why not get off on the look, huh? It feels so good to rub our rising spandex covered crotches and grab one another’s nips, his hardwired to his hairy butt, mine to my daddy dick, in between rubbing our beards against one another, something only two men can do.

Almost on cue, Danny pulls down the straps on my singlet and binds my hands behind me with some sticky red tape he got off the Fort Troff site that clings to itself without feeling uncomfortable. Now he has me where he wants me and pushes me onto the bed, pulls the rest of my singlet to the floor and puts his mouth on my dribbling cock. Nice. He licks the precum from the tip of my dick then comes over and sticks his tongue with my DNA on it into my awaiting mouth. I’m wearing a ball stretcher but Danny grabs some more of that sticky tape and wraps it tightly around my balls so suddenly I’ve got low hangers. He pulls me to the edge of the bed, so my furry butt is squarely in his face and smothers himself in my hole.

Then after bateing me a few more minutes, he pulls off his singlet, stands up on the bed so I can admire that beautiful fucken chiseled body of his, then slowly lowers his lightly furry butt on my face. I’m in homo heaven as I tongue fuck his hairy hole, something I know he likes judging from his moans.

I slide over to the bed board as he moves over in sync and stands above me against the wall. Then I get up and aim my mouth for his manhood. I’ve got a bigger dick and balls, but he’s still a mouthful for this blowjob pro. He quickly releases my hands so I can reach up and tweak his nips and pet the fur on his chest and six pack abs. It’s all good.

Funny thing, and Danny and I have discussed it before, while we’re not fucking partners in the literal sense (“everything safe,” says he), we’re very passionate and sensual in worshipping one another’s manhood and deep kissing as only two men totally into one another can. I gaze at this perfect specimen of male beauty and smile when Danny tells me I’m the hottie.

“The best daddy I ever had,” he whispers as lays on top of me and we rub our furry chests together. “And you’re my favorite boy,” I reply. Some guys need meth or grass or coke to feel this way. We need only one another. Both Danny and I don’t mistake our lust for love, but what’s so wrong with lust?

We take a break for a Gatorade, then a Michelob Ultra, and when I come out of the john after taking a piss, there’s Danny in his bulldog harness and a leather jockstrap with his junk hanging out. I go over and as he slips a matching harness on me, l grab his bound up nuts and twist them. He doesn’t flinch and as we stare one another down, he reaches down and squeezes my balls real hard.

We walk over and get onto the bed, our hands still on our sacs, and facing one another on our knees, our dicks stiff daggers, Danny grabs some more of that glorious tape and binds our dicks together, shaft to shaft, cockhead to cockhead. Reaching over for the Elbow Grease, I lube them up and begin to slowly stroke our brother cocks as Danny sticks some tit clamps on my nips and, with my free hand, I work his. We go to that to finger fucking one another’s furry holes, and sensing Danny is getting close, I strip away the tape, lay him on the bed and begin sucking his cock as I continue to massage his prostate with my index finger. He arches up, pulling on the chain of my tit clamps, then spurts his sweet penis juice down my throat. Now it’s my turn to lay there, jerking my dick, as sits on me, his dripping cock teasing the crack of my ass, and twists my nips into oblivion.

We lay there, sweaty and silent, me cradling him on my chest, my arm over his shoulder, his nose in my armpit.

We haven’t even touched the sounds or the gas mask or the cock pump, all still lying in wait on the floor. But who cares. There’s always next time, right?