R.P. Andrews's Blog, page 7

Have You Ever Been “Gaslighted?”

Ever Been “Gaslighted?”

It’s the first time the other day l actually saw it in print, but it’s an American colloquialism familiar at least to me and people l know. It comes from the 1943 Hollywood classic, “Gaslight” `which takes place in the New York City of the 1890’s in which suave but crafty Charles Boyer is trying to make his new young wife, Ingrid Bergman, think she is going crazy so he can have her committed and win her inheritance. He turns down the gas jets in the house externally to make the lights flicker and dim but when Ingrid questions what happened, he denies it and makes her think it is all in her head. Hence to “gaslight” someone is to make them think whatever is happening is not the fault of others but their fault alone.

It’s what l like to call mindfucking.

If you and l were able to have a couple of virtual beers together, l’m sure we could share enough war stories to fill two volumes of “Warped Personalities To Avoid.”

Guys – or gals – who criticize how you look or what you wear when they haven’t looked in their funhouse mirror at home lately?

Guys or gals who criticize your life when their own life is in the shitter? Like the ex-fuck-buddy who criticized my lack of social skills (see my blog, “Pulling a Ray”) and practical views on life when I retired at 55 with $600,000 in the bank and real estate and pollyannic he just lost his job at 56 and is broke and may have to sell his house?

Guys and gals who take advantage of the fact you have a hard-on for them and your emotional feelings override your brains and you even go to the point of loaning them money and then they shit on you and conveniently renage?

Guys who are pissed off that you’ve broke off with them because after all the two of you he claims were having such great sex, only you were doing all the work?

Make it sound like you are the problem child not them?

My advice: Unless the person is supporting you, he or she is your boss, or they’re your mother and you’re living in her basement rent-free, don’t put up with it. Cut them out of your life as quickly as possible.  Don’t be gaslighted by mind fuckers.

They’re poison.

 

 

Age CAN Make A Difference

Age CAN Make A Difference

I know a guy, now seventy, who’s married, legally, within the last five years, a trio of twenty somethings because that’s what he likes, each of whom have left him after a year or so and parting with some part of his assets. The last shipped the nice car hubby had bought him to San Francisco, then texted him, “l miss you.” After the rigors of divorcing each of these guys old enough to be his grandson, Mr. Lonely Hearts, handsome and a retired bank exec – that still doesn’t exempt him from being brain dead – is now working on Twenty Something Number Four.

Do age differences make a difference? Sure they do.

Sometimes they’re intentional like here when the old man likes ‘em young or when younger guys are looking for, not necessarily a sugar daddy, but but an older mentor to show them the way. But coming from different generations can and often does lead to great irrevocable divides.

Sometimes age differences just happen, like with me and my ex. While only a decade separated us it was a momentous one in gay history. G, my elder, was nearly caught in a bar raid and always viewed gay life suspiciously. I, the Younger,  came of age with the dawn of Gay Liberation. The result: we never viewed the sub- culture we had been born into it the same way, leaving me often alone – and wandering.

The other very practical issue – romantics you can stop reading here – is when the elder partner begins experiencing the eventualities of old age, often leaving the younger partner still active –  and horney – to become his partner’s caregiver by default  Some soul mates are happy to play the role but many resent it, a few even dropping out of sight when the going gets rough. Just like str8’s who erroneously think their kids will take care of them in their old age, having a partner half your life guarantees you shit. In a bitter irony, while l’ve been there for G’s crises, he has not been there for mine.

So what advice can l impart? Unless guys much younger or older than you are an auto erection turn on, mate with someone close to your own age so you can experience life’s ups – and downs –  on the same page.

Not on different continents.

Broke Gay Boys

Broke Gay Boys

Now those of you who watch gay porn know about the *Broke Straight Boys” series where supposedly str8 guys who talk endlessly about pussy are willing to suck cock and get fucked when money is waved in their faces and do it so effortlessly like a duck takes to water.

Well l’m tired of the broke gay boys who populate south Florida like litter on trendy Las Olas Boulevard. You know. the ones who move from Wherever, U.S.A., to here, Fort Lauderdale, for the sun and the fun with no job skills, no car, no money and fifteen roommates. Okay they’re hot, so what? And for a pipe full of Tina they can be had for the night.

Then there are the townies like me who lead as different and alien a life from mine as can be.

John, 46 with aging good looks and an IQ of 130, hasn’t worked in his life and doesn’t want to, lives off a small trust fund and has meth for breakfast. Where he gets his candy from, when a glassine of meth the size of a packet of Splenda costs three hundred plus on the street, who knows? Maybe playing bagman for a local dealer who pays him in Lady T which costs the dealer pennies on the dollar yet never brought the candy when the two of us planned a nasty night.

Or Chris, the 54 year old who looks 30 and has the emotional maturity of a seventeen old, who parties away his HIV inspired disability check since he lives practically rent free with his older kinda responsible str8 brother who has made three babies by two ex-wives and whose kids will get everything should something happen to him, leaving little brother on the sidewalk.

Or Peter, the political activist, another IQ Olympic record breaker, whose primary career was as a sometime actor and fulltime bagger at Whole Foods, who now at retirement complained he would only be getting $600 a month from Social Security.  Did you ever work a real job Peter?

Or Travis, an IT genius who would prefer surviving on his disability check and PNPing as some Daddy’s Pup which gives him a free place to live rather than make great money in a field that’s hotter than hotter. Brains + No Ambition = Nowhere.

Or my ex-fuck buddy Jim who got canned from a good job at 56 and has $30,000 in a 401K to carry him before he loses his house – at his age l had $600,000 in my 401K plus real estate, and was already semi-retired.

Understand why l’m fed up dealing with broke gay boys?

Enough already.

Love Machine Or Insatiable Addiction?

Love Machine Or Insatiable Addiction?

You know what l’m talking about. It’s our smartphones, which besides being used to stay in contact with business, family and friends, is our source for “love” or so us gay men think who are hooked to the pickup apps like Grindr and Scruff and Bear411 and all the rest. That’s why Manhunt, the granddaddy of all gay hookup sites, is dying. Though available in a mobile version, MH is behind the times for most of us who don’t want to wade through layers of data junk. Just show me the guys please, especially the ones who desire me, alright?

Okay, the web killed the bars that are now largely social and left the bathhouses for the most part the domain of the old and the anonymous sex boys. But while in the beginning the web promised the possibility of good sex and even better love, sadly it too has deteriorated. Over the last couple of years the guys who hit me up fall into several not very desirable categories:

The illiterate. My profiles say l’m looking for hairy, bearded inshape guys over 40. So why do l get smooth or sloppy 24 year olds or guys who look like they belong in a nursing home or at some Jennie Craig Failures reunion?

The flirtatious. More pics please.

The drive-by breed me all night boys. See Fort Troff > fucking machines.

The out-of town hotties looking for a free vacation in Fort Lauderdale.

The meth heads who think you’re hot till you tell them you don’t pnp or don’t have any candy around.

The don’t get it’s. Fifteen years they hit me up, fifteen years l don’t respond or finally you tell them you’re not interested, and like somebody with Alzheimer’s they continue.  Ditto with guys who send you three messages in a row.

The no-shows. promise to call you, promise to come over, even schedule a hook-up and never show or even text you they can’t make it like they were abducted by aliens. (Or maybe they ARE Aliens.)

Do l sound like I’m disgusted. Well, guess what? l am.

A writer to “Ask Amy,” my favorite advice columnist complained about being addicted to his smartphone, and Amy pointed out that studies have linked smartphone overuse to unhappiness and depression. She went on to describe her experience of app fasting which made her feel free.

Could be it be we expect too much from these taps and oinks and “you’re hot” and when they don’t deliver our little fantasies, we find ourselves in worse shape than when we started?

I’ve got one good steady who actually loves me as much as l love him, so l think it’s time l went on my own app fasting diet.

How about you?

The Radical Transformation of the Gay Bear Man

The Radical Transformation of the Gay Bear Man

I’m not alone in the stance I’m about to take here; a lot of in-shape older guys like me I’ve spoken to feel the same way. And I’m ready for those stale jelly donuts to be thrown at my car and some more hate mail (“how can you be so insensitive, closed minded….”) flood this site. But fuck it.

When I was coming out, bear meant only one thing: a beefy, built-like-a-brick-shithouse, masculine-as-all-hell gay man, with plenty of fur, if not a prerequisite, certainly preferred. Today, the term “bear” has been triangulated and sliced up like a piece of deli style hard salami into muscle bears, cubs, otters, and “Big Men.” While a great number among this sub-set of gay demographics still fit the classic traditional, gay porn fantasy of Tom of Finland (even if Santa Claus for some of them is their steroid supplier), the Jenny Craig failures, who besides the “something extra” are often effeminate, effete and smooth to boot, have seemingly overtaken the franchise. Hey, I find a bit of belly on the right humpy guy sexier than a six pack, but these guys, as many under 30’s as there are over 40’s, are not just beefy or humpy or chunky or pleasantly plump or a few pounds overweight, but morbidly obese. “Morbidly Obese” means they’re walking time bombs for stroke, heart attacks and the like, and contribute to the ever higher health care premiums all of us pay, even those of us who take care of ourselves. (Check the National Institutes of Health or U.S. Department of Health and Human Services websites if you wanna know how many pounds morbidly obese is.) Fat under 30’s would rather hide behind all these “bear” labels than face facts.

Now I see these so-called “bears” at Bear events, often in chummy circles, bobbing in the pool like their own buoys, enabling one another to eat that extra helping of fries like druggies edge on their fellow meth heads to take another puff. They seem content, yea, maybe even happy in their own skin and God bless ‘em if that’s true. (I think the only way they’re gonna lose weight is when the docs lop off a limb because of advanced diabetes.) I can understand the comfort they find in surrounding themselves with their own kind, since many of them I’m sure were grossly overweight from a young age and were ridiculed for it. Hell, I was the second shortest guy in my class and am still branded by the humiliation of being picked last for every fucken team in high school.  So, guys, I know the feeling because I LIVED it too.

But, having said that, I’m also pretty pissed on how the image portrayed by these full figure guys – the multi-layered look, shall we say  – has largely superseded what bear means in the eyes of the rest of the Gay Community. They are NOT bears as far as I’m concerned; they’re just Fat Men (those of you who follow my blogs know I call a spade a spade) who have pirated my pride as a still muscular, still in-shape and still pretty hairy gay man who fucken sacrifices what he eats and works out to make it happen – there’s no magic bullet.

Is it a symptom of us baby boomer gays growing older just like the larger straight men’s population of America? (Check out the middle age spreads at any mall on a Saturday afternoon.) Our sub-culture’s version of the obesity epidemic spreading among our youth? A sign of rebellion against the twink swimmer build boys or gym bunnies?  A carryover from the Sixties “I’m O.K., you’re O.K.” mentality? A mod twist to the “chubby” in “chubby chasers” terminology of a bygone gay era?

Whatever the reason, and you have no problems with your body image, fine. Just call yourselves something else – O.K.? (maybe Full Figure Guys?) – and leave me my “bear.”

T

Closet Cases: Make Up Your Mind!

Gay life is shades of gray, and closet cases are no exceptions. But if you tried to neatly organize them into categories, I’d say there are generally two types: closet cases, lower case “c,” and closet cases, ALL CAPS.

Closet cases with a small “c” lead their professional and personal lives on parallel tracks that almost never intersect. Professionally, they’ve “arrived” and realize disclosing or broadcasting their sexual preferences would have no practical advantages and could lead to innuendos, outright bigotry and even loss of job. In my past tense life, I worked as a senior executive with a six figure salary for a Catholic health care system so I know what it’s like. A fellow administrator, who was up for the CEO job and who had more degrees and experience than half the shitheads in the organization, got passed over because everyone knew about his scene and the archbishop vowed “no queer would run one of our hospitals.” Period.

But that doesn’t mean closet cases with a small “c” can’t have robust lives outside the office with their gay friends, partners, fuck buddies or any combination thereof, and feel content and well adjusted about being gay. (I rarely use the word “happy.” The only “happy” people in this society are on psychotropic meds.)

But then we have the Closet Cases, cap C, cap C. These are the guys who not only wouldn’t dare even use the word gay in a casual conversation over the water cooler but, worse, hide or even deny their sexual identity in their personal lives. They’re particularly prevalent, for some reason, in the suburbs or rural areas, though the burbs and boonies hold no exclusivity to these strange paranoids.

You know the type. The guys who, when you make contact with them, want you to meet them in strange places like the cereal aisle at the supermarket, or ask you to park in the mall shopping lot two blocks from their house or apartment so no one (like their nosey neighbor or, God forbid, their girl friend) sees you. The guys who say they’re bi, want to experiment, but aren’t sure. The guys who respond to your bar or bath house advances or ad or profile with another twenty questions about you without once even divulging their name. The guys who, when you ask for a photo, say they’re on another computer their sister borrowed when she went to Prague to finish her doctoral degree in Medieval Studies. Or who have no camera or pics. (Then what are you doing  on a smartphone hitting me up on Scruff?)

To these guys I have only one thing to say: make up your fuckin’ minds. Either don’t act on your sexual impulses and move on, or DO IT ALREADY! So you were brought up Catholic and didn’t get molested by your parish priest, or you’re married with kids, or you were the class jock with the girls waiting in line to get fucked by you. So?? You can’t be discrete and still play? If you’re truly unsure about your sexual identity (and if you still are at 25 you’ve got other problems, buddy), the only way to find out is DO IT ALREADY!

What are you waiting for? Til you’re too old (and some guys are over the hill at 35), and the magnetic strip on your gay access card doesn’t register anymore?

It’s your life, buddy. If you’re content in your paranoia or jerking off over other guys having fun is enough, God bless you. Just don’t waste the time of those of us who fail to see through your bullshit and want the real thing and think we can get it from you.

Deal?

What’s Wrong With Serious Erotica?

What’s Wrong With Serious Erotica?

I write serious gay erotica, not pornography with cardboard characters, but complex, contemporary stories with complex, contemporary men who happen to have sex like men have sex with other men. In fact, in my mind well written serious erotica is the most honest kind of fiction out there since it reflects how gay guys – frankly how any two person relationship live – with dead on, no holds barred honesty.

I have six books to date out there, four published by gay publishers, the rest self-published because frankly gay publishers do shit for you as an author, but l’ve run into roadblock after roadblock in getting my word out.

You need to be on Amazon, and all my books are available on Amazon as ebooks. Oh, Amazon will stalk you about doing paid promotion on its pages but when it hears you write erotica, suddenly you’re outside their community standards. Give me a fucken break. The average 10 year old knows more about sex than l did when l was 21. And as far as offending anyone, well, I get pretty offended when l hear Evangelical Christian propaganda. Does anybody care then?

Facebook ain’t much better. Sure you can buy paid ads, but when l tried to promote one of my books using its cover l was told two bare chested men just wouldn’t do. Christ!

Most gay publishing houses are run by women and their editors will rip your man to man sex scenes to shreds till they read like “Little Women.”

My publicist – a woman – told me that a significant portion of readers of male gay erotica are women, yes women!  (Says a lot about the American Female Psyche, doesn’t it?) Consequently, says she, l must make my stuff more appealing to the so-called delicate sex. No drugs, crazy rough and tumble sex, or off the wall themes. (When, for example, l write about man-boy love or incest, no-no’s with the gay publishers, it’s an integral part of the plot, not there for mere titillation.) And unlike some Nebraska housewife or New Orleans lesbian writing gay erotica from their fantasy imaginations, my sex is real because it happened to me.

So where are the male readers l write for – jerking off, camming or watching porn? I’m hoping my just completed audiobook version of my latest novel, “For The Love of Samuel,” narrated by yours truly, will change their naughty behavior.

You can find all my stuff at eroticgayromancebyRPAndrews.com

And here’s a sample chapter from the audiobook version of “For the Love of Samuel.” I’m the narrator.

First a quick summary of the book:

New Yorker and aging gay man Billy Veleber who abhors growing old has lost Mitch, his former meth head lover, to his habit, and Gus, the older man in his life and mentor, to despair, when he is confronted with the [image error] chance to become 21 all over again, through the magical prowess of the dog tag of a long dead Civil War soldier, Samuel Evans. Young again, Billy abandons Manhattan for Fort Lauderdale where he meets Dare, the love of his life, whose clever quick rich venture first bonds them, then threatens to end their idyllic lives together forever. Billy also faces the reality of having to tell Dare the truth about himself.

Chapter 9: With Gus no longer in his life,  Billy, the once aging 51 year Manhattan gay man, begins his transformation to a youthful 21 year old Billy thanks to the prowess of the magical dog tag of Samuel Evans, a long dead [image error] Civil War soldier, which he was given in a thrift shop in Chicago. As long as you have or had love in your life, you will return to the age of the Civil War soldier died whose dog tag you wear. Suddenly cocky with his libido now of a young stallion, Billy visits the local baths for the first time in years.

https://str8gayconfessions.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/rp-andrews-for-the-love-of-samuel-ch-9.mp3

“Samuel” is available on Amazon as an e-book; audio version soon.

Fast paced .. hot sex .. wonderful prose…” says Amos Lassen Reviews About My Latest Erotic Novel, “For The Love of Samuel”

Fast paced .. hot sex .. wonderful prose…” says Amos Lassen Reviews About My Latest Erotic Novel, “For The Love of Samuel”

[Edit]

Rarely does an author get a flawless review but that’s what yours truly got from Amos Lassen, one of the leading national critics of gay erotic fiction, about “For The Love of Samuel”, my latest erotic gay romance of love lost and love found, set in contemporary New York City and Fort Lauderdale.  “Samuel” focuses on an aging Manhattan gay man who has a chance to relive his youth, thanks to the prowess of the magical dog tag of Samuel Evans of the title, a long dead Civil War soldier.

Here is Mr. Lassen’s review:

“There have been countless stories about the quest for youth and everlasting life making it difficult to find a new way to approach it and write about it. Here is where Andrew succeeds. He takes the facts that he has learned and converts them into fantasy and he gives us a very sexy story. It seems that there were certain dog tags that contained the life force of their long dead owners and when the tags were transferred to a new owner, the person returned to the age Samuel was when he lost his life.

We meet some very hot men who have some very hot sex but the reader must be ready to read fast because the novel is fast paced. I actually heard, and thoroughly enjoyed the audio version that made it all seem very real (and very sexy). However, it is not only the sex that keeps the story moving. Writer Andrews tells a good story in wonderful prose…

There are a lot of characters and the story changes directions a few times keeping us alert. This is one of those books that will stay with me for quite a while.”

New Yorker and aging gay man Billy Veleber who abhors growing old has lost Mitch, his former meth head lover, to his habit, and Gus, the older man in his life and mentor, to despair, when he is confronted with the chance to become 21 all over again, through the magical prowess of the dog tag of a long dead Civil War soldier, Samuel Evans. Young again, Billy abandons Manhattan for Fort Lauderdale where he meets Dare, the love of his life, whose clever quick rich venture first bonds them, then threatens to end their idyllic lives together forever. Billy also faces the reality of having to tell Dare the truth about himself.

Audiobook  version available on Amazon soon. Here’s a sample. Billy, the aging 51 old gay man, puts on the magic dog tag of the long dead Civil War soldier, Samuel Evans and over one weekend begins his transformation. Already feeling his libido renewed, Billy visits Manhattan’s last remaining leather hole, The New Eagle…

https://str8gayconfessions.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/rp-andrews-for-the-love-of-samuel-ch-11.mp3

Taxes: Silly, Stupid – And Unfair

Taxes: Silly, Stupid – And Unfair

I live in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, which was named a disaster area for taxes purposes so that four letter word Irma at least meant you can deduct any losses from the storm that were uninsured. And there were plenty for me and my damage was light: fences, lost landscaping that had to be hauled away, a leak in the roof not covered under the high hurricane deductibles… okay, but the instructions for completing the essentially one page Form 4068 are six pages long? Does that make any sense to you?

Or how about school tax which represents the bulk of your real estate taxes that we gay people who don’t have kids, which means the vast majority of us, have paid like forever? Even str8 couples l know who fuked and made babies complain why they have to continue to pay school tax long after their kids are gone and they’re retired.

I have Turbo Tax that l’ve used for decades – very user friendly – and as a favor l did the very uncomplicated taxes for one of the security guards at the Ramrod, our leather bar and the most happennist place in town for the over 40 male. Retired from PA, he makes barely poverty level, just over twenty thousand, yet had to pay $600 in taxes. Does that make any sense to you?

And you think the average American, and that means 99% of us, is going to benefit from Trump’s new tax plan?

Don’t bet on it.

Five Tips For Surviving and Thriving in The Real Work-A-Day World

Five Tips For Surviving and Thriving in The Real Work-A-Day World

From a gay guy who lived and succeeded in it for almost forty years:

Tip # 1: Don’t bad mouth a staffer whether they’re higher or lower than you on a pecking order. One day, he or she may be your boss.

When l first started out in hospital public relations, l handled the employee newsletter, and for my initial issue, l did a story about one of our young, kinda sexy, physical therapists. Both of us in our twenties and just beginning our respective careers, we hit it off instantly.

Fast forward twenty years. My physical therapist had gone for his master’s degree in hospital administration and became our new COO – and my new boss. By that time l had become PR director, and while all my colleagues wondered what made the new guy tick, it was “Hi Ray” to me.

Corollary #1 to this: Try to be positive with fellow staffers. It goes a long way to getting what you want. That doesn’t mean you have to be saccharine or agree with everything they say. You should also sound like you are knowledgeable and can support a position. But too much fighting gets you nowhere.

Corollary #2: Be nice but trust no one.  Don’t give them any ammunition they may use against you (even gay guy to gay guy) just because you think they’re your pal. There’s always somebody who will smile to your face but who’s out to get you for whatever reason.  Maybe they figured out you’re gay (could wearing your pumps on Thursdays to work have something to do with it?) and they are a conservative Evangelical. Who knows.  Or when things get nasty, it’s every man and woman for themselves, which means someone trying to fuck you to save their own ass.

Tip #2: Listen, don’t talk. Don’t try to push how much you think you know on someone more experienced than you. Listen and you may learn something, and making that person feel important – even if they’re an asshole  – doesn’t hurt when you need a favor. (See Tip #1, Corollary #1.)

Tip #3: Don’t flaunt or talk about being gay. Unless you’re in a few industries where that’s a plus, or forward thinking companies like Apple or Amazon, homosexuality is still a negative in, for the most part, the very conservative mainstream corporate world  and worse can lead to bad things happening. (See Tip #1, Corollary #2.)

One guy, degreed up to the ass, was a Iittle loose about his sexual persuasions on the job, and when the COO position became open, a position he should have had hands down, he was rejected. According to the rumor mill, the Archbishop of New York was quoted as saying, “I don’t want a faggot running one of my hospitals. “

Tip # 3 Don’t think your looks or gift for gab will save you, or make up for hard work, knowledge, experience or tricky office politicking. They won’t.

Tip # 4: Always take on tasks and projects beyond your job description. That’s not only how you learn new skills on the job you might apply later, it also makes you more valuable to your organization. When things get bad and cuts need to be made, you’ll more likely to survive the slaughter.

Tip #5: Adapt to a changing corporate culture. Over my thirty years as a hospital executive, l had a dozen CEO’s and COO’s, each as different as their hairline, and each with his own managerial style of working. I had to adapt to them, they didn’t adapt to me. And l don’t care how valuable you think you are, if you don’t adapt, or fight the tide, they’ll find a way to unload you for someone who’s on their wavelength – even if that someone knows shit compared to you Ditto to being a team player. If your principles become that comprised, it’s time to move on.

If I remember any other pearls of wisdom to save your ass on the job – after all I got off the public relations merry-go-round in 2002 at 55 and have been semi-retired/retired for 16 years now, so I guess I did something right – I’ll pass them on you.