HellYeah

If I had to choose a woman's name what would it be?

2017-07-02T12:49:00.001-07:00

Well, that is a question! Given I wouldn’t have to depart from my very own best friend ‘John’ (down there) I could actually settle with many beautiful names of the female queendom - and enjoy life as a woman with an amazing name... and with hot boys of course, lolz :D

ELIZABETH - When I was young I always loved children stories. Those amazing princes and princesses. Elizabeth would be my first choice. I’d be that petit Lillibeth prancing around the stalls looking for a stallion - Lizzie of the horsemen. This little Liz would be on it 24/7. No stone would be left unturned when I’d hop on the saddle of My Little Pony galloping away to the far-away kingdoms to meet my perfect (kinky) prince charming.

JESSICA – I do like the sound of that name. Dripping with lust, full with south-American passion, horny after hot day at beach and yarning for men. Yes, why not. Jessica sounds like fun too. With the name Jessica I could also make puma-hunters tick. I mean who doesn't just adore Jessica Lang.

ISADORA - There is something that really make me tick with the name Isadora. Isadora – like Isildur from the Lord of the Rings. Formidable and still light footed. Dancing away on a podium making gongs dong – stepping on that galvanized steel edge, twisting backwards, letting my hair curl down to hot guys laps and pressing my boobs together whilst they'd press their noses into my bust. Gosh, why not their cock actually. Yeah, Isadora sounds royal and lustful, formidable but not too heavy and stuffy to be accidentally taken as Isolda – a fat cock-hungry fart from the mid-west nearing her 60’s.

VICTORIA - What’s the way home Victoria? “That would be first via mine – a short but slow detour (just saying) – and then, well fuck, you could just buzz-off when you’ve done, okay”. Victoria sounds so snobbish and at the same time so prone to make it in the men’s world. Victoria, she’s making it. She is doing it. She doesn’t care and she loves it. Victoria jumps out of the wedding cake and wishes bride and groom happy hell as she just did both thirty minutes ago. Victoria doesn’t give a fuck – well she does give and fuck but that’s beside the point. Victoria does it – and the rest – they’ll be the audience.

CLEMENTINE - When the sun rises Clementine hops on her bicycle and starts her tour around Nice. Five star hotels first. Breakfast rooms are full with men who didn’t get it last night. Eager to accompany a lustful but serene Clementine with her Parisian accent and sharp, thin and upward pointing nose. “She has nose for business” they lament. But she knows best. Her nose in man’s crotch really is the business – for her. She, after all eats men for breakfast and chuckles – before throwing them back to the empty tables. For lunches Clementine doesn’t shy away. She dresses up, applies carmine red lipstick and prepares her nude eyes for the light touch of mascara. Her hair waving down her neck and lower back – locks of

brunette hair gently brushed behind her left ear. She is hungry for lunch. She wants meat. And she has never had a day without one. Clementine – yes, she eats. Breakfast, second breakfast, brunch, lunch, luncheon, midday, snack, supper, dinner … she does it whole day until the evening and doesn’t stop before the last order – and then she retires on it. Yes, Clementine does it whilst others are thinking about it.

AMANDA - yeah! Now we are talking. Name Amanda brings to my mind the one and only Heather Locklear in her Beverly Hills 90210 debute. She is blond, feisty, cold-as-ice and hot-as-hell, all at the same time. If Amanda doesn’t give you a hard-on then no-one does. Men of all ages. They’d be so in for a treat was my name Amanda. I could wear a bloody burkha and still get men. Heaving up my skirt, blinking my eyes, and whispering slowly and with serious contemplation; “I … want …. you … now”. Yes, I think I would work well as an Amanda

Lastly… I really didn’t have to think too hard to be honest. The name is of course Alexandra.

ALEXANDRA - Alexandra has always been one of my favorites. My daughter will one day be called Alexandra – unless I remain Alexandra myself which would make it a bit awkward… Alexandra - It sounds quarter-Russian, quarter-Preussian, quarter-Swedish and quarter-Dutch. Alexandra could also be Alex on vacays, when I wanted to let my cock hang out a bit and I’d still wouldn’t be too far from the real deal. Alexandra would bring a tad of fluxury to any crowd – and in particular in the to the middle. She’d be the one to master it all. She could easily take one or twenty. All up there or just treat them with her trained and eager mouth. She’d finish when they’d all had their heart attacks and wills signed. She’d be the Queen. Ah, I do like to sound of Alexandra on my lips: “My name is Alexandra, Alexandra Jones – And, I bloody hell want it shaken

Gym etiquette for the gays

2017-07-02T07:26:00.003-07:00

We all go to gym for the looks – not for the health benefits, right? I mean come on just admit it. We all want the perfect body, no ounces of fat, ripped and looking like Men’s Health cover boys. We all want to look good because the market is tough. That's of course unless you have a big fat wallet and willingness to spend. Your chances are slim if you think your fat low hanging belly is going to land you on a hot dude.

Going to the gym and following etiquette is not rocket science. Well at least so we are let to believe. I sometimes find it hard to cope with the intricacies of gym etiquette amongst other training gay guys. But most of it is just common sense.

Rule number one – even if you find someone hot act like you don’t see him. It’s the only way to get this morons attention. He is so full of himself he’d go nuts if someone doesn’t pay him attention.

Rule number two – When you see this super muscular guy training his chest for the 5^th time that week don’t mention he could spare some effort for the legs – which haven’t been trained for years. Kebab on a stick isn’t sexy but he doesn’t want to hear it.

Rule number three – You know when guys train in the gym and you are keeping your breath as any second they could break their back, neck or other body parts due to ridiculous ways of training – read; completely wrong and with too much weights. My God do not try to correct them and save them from injury. These prissy queens do everything perfectly and need no instructions or help. God forbid, you’ll get an enemy for life.

Rule number four – Cats have nine lives – you only have one. And if you love your gym don’t fuck around. You’ll still see that dumbass the next day whether you liked it or not. The worst is to make out with a super-hot guy and find he is a tinderella or a wankarella and when he opens his lustful mouth you hear Dorothy speaking: “this gold brick rd. only leads to my anus!”

Rule number five – If you really like someone – don’t bother to make out in the shower, steam, WC or sauna. It just means you are cheap and easy. And, most importantly the other guy has a bf, husband or worse – a gf! Then again if you are in for a quick wank all the before mentioned are pretty good bets. Just consider rule number four. Your are in for a treat.... lolz.

Rule number six - association. You do not want to be associated as a back-bencher. Back-benchers are those who you know have entered through the gym gates every day for the past few years and have gained no muscle mass to speak of but instead amassed themselves an ever growing belly. Back-benchers tend to enter the gym, spend way too much time dressing up in the changing rooms, wonder pointlessly in the gym floor fiddling with their phones, and after running out of batter gently flow down back down to changing rooms, shower and steam where they spend the next 1.5 hours hovering around and glancing guys with their hungry eyes. Basically – slimy, disgusting old faggots who’d be better at “Grannies’ leisure home”.

Rule number seven – Don’t think for a second that a ripped body equals healthy lifestyle. Many of the Muscle Mary’s in the gym take too much steroids or growth hormones and their muscle is just water. Also, good bunch of them dope during weekends and party 48hrs if not 72hours in row. To get a lean muscular body means rigid and diet and hard work. Most of the guys you adore have never done any and have taken the easy way. Sad part is, they don’t get it up, their body heat is fucked up and they sweat in bed like sweat sacks and in addition to muscle growth they grow bigger organs too which in the end leads to an early death. How’s that sounds for a future bf!

Rule number eight – You want your hard work to be visible. That’s fair enough. Adore yourself someplace else than gym. Nobody wants to see you training in strings or in a tank-top sized for a Chinese baby girl. It’s just gross.

Rule number nine – If you sweat like a pig use towel. No-one wants to land on your sweat pond. Firstly it's unhygienic, and secondly it stains clothes. Thirdly (and possibly) you stink,which makes you very undesirable. So yeah, use a sweat towel.

Rule number ten – your phone. Stop fiddling with it and get on with it. Wasting space by fiddling with your phone like a child is irritating and annoying. You could easily complete your gym session half the time without your phone. So do it. You are not that important you could not be un-reachable for an hour.

Rule number eleven – Take a God damn shower before using sanitary spaces. If you were raised by two pigs I’d understand but any human being knows to take a shower before steam, sauna, Jacuzzi or pool. Imagine how many others desire to sit on your germs, bacteria and sweat – or for that matter step on flooring your sweaty, dirty and bacteria-filled feet have been passing. Even children know how to behave. So should you :)

Dear diary, please explain me what are bears

2015-08-10T14:26:00.001-07:00

Dear diary, why do people with enormous bellies, bald head wearing mink-coat worth of hair on them call themselves bears? Wouldn’t fat do?

It isn’t really the ideal of a man – nor bear. It is the look worst of both worlds. I tend to become somewhat passive aggressive with the crowd. I do not know why exactly but it’s like “checking out” from the society at large and signing-up for a smaller, more secluded inside gang instead. What that gang has in common with eachother I do not have a faintest idea but I guess it has something to do with more: skin, fat, and hair (below crown).

People like to associate themselves into groups; preferably in-groups than out-groups. Who defines what is in and what is out is again a different matter J I guess it is subjective from start to finish.

One of my friend defined bears as: “Those muscular big guys who are very masculine and dripping sexuality. hot guys with honest hair everywhere”

Another friend of mine explained the same thing somewhat like: “Greasy and hairy unattractive men who think the bigger (read: fatter) and hairier you are – the more attractive, for some miraculous reason, you have become –not true, by the way”

My friends seem to talk about very different things or - they just have very different taste in men. Wikipedia defines it as follows

Why is it that some love and some hate the stereotype of a “bear” male. Given the controversy in attitudes I came up with a brilliant idea to test the ground. Are bear men nice? I signed up to few sites:

Now before you start thinking… no, this wasn’t easy. It was a laborious task and not only because I do not look like a “gay bear” at all. I do not have massive hair growth and I am not fat nor even sizable in any meaningful, nor purposeful way. What I did found out however, was that these communities have a genuine interest in round men preferably with (if not insisting on it) hairy cover where short or no hair is not preferred – being hairy is almost an absolute must.

I have bear friends. I do not find them attractive. They do not find me attractive eithe. They constitute in my books as potentially good friends or friend candidates. Truly bearish behavior is – I am told, not intolerance but being indifferent. Unless you possess qualities they prefer they just act indifferently - like bears! Now there is a fine line between indifference and arrogance. Bears, aren't generally arrogant.

Queens, MuscleMary’s and Gym-Jocks however are all but arrogant to people not rising up to their "self-set" standards – and there, is that key difference. Is it the “just be and let others be” –that defines bears better in terms of their attitude towards non-bears? What I gathered from discussions on the websites was that though they did not deem me “bear” they were civil enough to chat and say politely good byes. Now, whether they are fat, ugly, über-hairy or bald – politeness is an asset and quality which transcends bears into another level of gay-existence; it makes them rather nice and huggable J

And no, none of the chat’s led to sexual encounters. I guess that was good for both me and them.

Cheerio J

Set objectives first - then execute with precision

2015-08-07T09:51:00.002-07:00

I decided today was going to be a bit different than my normal day. I started with a long hot shower and mud exfoliation, whilst my conditioner did its work with my hair. I had a good breakfast at my terrace and went unto my wardrobe to select my “happy-go-lucky –clothes.”

I honestly think people should express more about themselves and how they feel with what they wear… come to think of it; if most people already do they must hate themselves!

The problem with dressing up is that you need to make a choice. This choice is terribly important. This choice will define the rest of your day and how it will unfold - choice about what to wear and why. One should always pay attention to day’s objectives. When it comes to objective setting I am the master of objective setting. When I set objectives I hardly ever miss them. For example:

1. Blue lightly washed straight cut jeans, white top with short sleeves, white socks, white, blue or red trainers, a black wrist strap and a back-bag equals = 99% probability of getting laid.

2. Black skinny-fit jeans, black Loubutin shoes, black tightly-cut John Galliano vest and a hat pushed on right side and a black Versace leather bag with gold stripes equals = sitting alone in any café reading your sad paper with a 45% probability that someone will come to talk to you – to bum for a cigarette or cash.

Life is hard, it really is.

I have recently tried to cross-dress. And no, I do not mean I would wear a single piece of women’s clothing. This new type of cross-dressing is objective-oriented. Selection of clothes to wear based on objectives. Say, feeling extremely good about yourself and still getting laid in the end or in-between.

This might sometimes mean you need to layer clothes based on your two very conflicting objectives. Wane off hot guys who idealize to have “straight looking boys” and you have narrowed down your interest-based-fuck –agenda for the day.

Now, is there a balance between Abercrombie & Fitch oversized t-shirt and baggy shorts and say, cat-walk “okayed” -look? Maybe.

I’ve performed few trials to test my theory. The easiest to go wrong is with shoes, bags, belts and other accessories. Patsy, we do love you still :) You could strip off all of it but the sad thing is those are the pimping elements of your outfit - the fun part. The simpler your outfit gets - the more likely it is that you can, when opportunity arises, strip off all of it in a split second with a hot guy – when and where-ever.

Complex buttons and laces are definitely a "no-no" for getting laid on-the-go, but might give you that extra time to think about your strategy if you arrive home with a hottie.

Objective-oriented dressing up has to come with a strict and set agenda. One needs to know exactly what one wants. "Maybe’s" and "If’s" are not allowed. Objectives must be set and then plan put in place and executed with precision.

Sun was shining outside and I felt terribly good. Once I opened the front door my cleaner exited the lift. “Goooood morning!” We chatted a bit and off I ran. The dust will be gone today – no rock will be left unturned! My cleaner is a miracle worker and does an excellent job at the house. She is worth her weight in gold! (She is, luckily for me, a very skinny girl)

Evidence

My objective of today: Get laid with at least two guys, go to the gym and then dinner afterwards without detour home in-between.

My outfit: Black slim-fit t-shirt, black cap, black skinny-fit jeans, white Converse’s, black Merino-wool cardigan and a waiting in the black rug-sack.

Results: First guy winked his eyes at me on the street – leading to a slow-moving cat-and-mouse -follow to his house, Check! Second guy at the café terrace, started chatting with him leading to amazing oral sex at the back, Check. Ready for gym at 15:30 and ready for dinner at 18:00.

Objective setting matrix: Objectives met? Check!

Cheerio! :)

Dating in London

2015-08-02T09:00:00.001-07:00

Setting up a date and time for a date isn’t as easy as one would imagine. I know it should be a pretty simple task. Set a date. Set a time. And be there. But hey, that’s almost impossible here. And when you land on blind dates - it’s even worse. Why is it so hard to be at a certain place on a certain time per pre-arranged schedule?

I described the Grindr –app I newly discovered few posts back. On that post I referred some men - to the saner ones - that aren’t all but nut cases. The one’s you could actually have a dialogue with including full sentences and at least some content other than the easiest but still quite uncommon greetings “Hi” and “Fuck now?”

I have never claimed to be a sleuth or incredibly good at analyzing online profiles. However, I have always thought to have at least some sense and understanding on the makings of fake profiles. You know, murky pics or none at all, absolutely no content in the profile (read also: lazy as fucks = not worth it) or copy and pasted nonsense about absolute love and happiness – you know, Dalai Lama scripts. If profile holds at least one clear face pic without shades and looks reasonably sane it’s a good start.

So, there I was chatting to a one “saner one”. Half Swiss half Namibian white male living in London aged 29. Now that doesn’t sound bad at the outset. Hey, he even speaks English! It does make it easier to have a conversation don’t you think?

Well I suggested a nice place in the old town part of the area I love in London. We set a date on the restaurant terrace. I have to say I didn’t expect much – after all it was a blind date. I was observing guys passing by. Some of them really handsome and hunky. Damn, I knew I wasn’t expecting any of them! Nah, weren’t my dates, no.

Then I saw him, walking towards my table. I was the only one sitting alone so that wasn’t hard – and yes, my profile pics actually resemble me quite well. And yes, they are less than 2months old. His however was not I quickly figured out. When he opened his mouth I already knew this wasn’t going to take long. I mean honestly, he could have at least washed his teeth before coming on a date. I am not overly judgmental. At least that’s what I think of myself. My good friends might disagree but that’s their prerogative. I judge only what I can see, hear, taste or sense. And now I used all my senses to find something positive about this guy. His trashy looks wasn’t among the great finds, his accent was directly from East-Enders and he started conversation by mumbling about his day on a fashion shoot. I inquired what was he doing on that fashion shoot. He explained to me they were shooting him – pictures for his new portfolio. As it turned out he had paid 800 pounds for a portfolio of pics to become a model. I didn’t want to chatter his unrealistic dreams but being 175, average looking, not exactly in a great shape and having teeth like briskly dog having no bones to chew in its sad life – and the face, well nothing special about the face, honestly.

He went on and on about his parents in Switzerland, about their beautiful home there and – well, you’ve get the pic – talking big. I found the guy more uninteresting every minute. How the fuck to get out of the situation…

Finally the bottle of wine we ordered run out. Yaiaiaia!

“Should we ask for the bill?”

“Yea mate, yea, that’s cool”

I visited the bathroom to wash my hands. I took my bag with me. Didn’t trust this guy a bit. When I came back the bill was waiting on our table.

“Should we halve it?” I asked

“Oh you know, I forgot my card home. I don’t think I have much money with me,” the prick started.

“Sorry, you came on a date in to a restaurant without any money?”

“Yes, I totally forgot it. But I will invite you to a dinner next I promise”

“Babes, there won’t be another one”, I snorted. “I will pay mine and you can sort out your bill with the restaurant. I am not going to pay your bill.”

I left 2/3 of the bill amount to the table and walked out. Now, don’t take me wrong, if that guy would have been honest he would have just said sorry and apologized, but he didn’t. Instead, he suggested a second date, which we both knew was never going to take place. These are the types of pricks that make you either laugh or be very sorry for the ill-spent wasted time.

The thing is people like this guy obviously has gotten away with this kind of behavior before. Maybe this teaches him a lesson. The sad thing is I didn’t get laid – whattafuck! J

Why do gay men look like prostitutes?

2015-07-26T09:55:00.004-07:00

I remember when I was young and gorgeous men looked more, well how should I put it, more dressed up and civil.

It seems London of today is infested with either fat and hairy gays boozing all-day-long calling themselves “bears” instead of old, hairy and fat, or guys looking like prostitutes half the arse hanging out, tattooed head-to-toe and with hairstyles more commonly found in Berlin produced gay porn movies. Of course you still have the accidental “stereotypical” gays with

tight, too short tank-tops and jeans with piss-colored hair and the “suit-men” looking for only “discreet” fun – whatever that is. I asked few questions from myself just to test the idea in my head:

Do men like their sex partners to be, or look like prostitutes?
Is there a reason for gay men wanting to look slutty?
Does the London drug scene have something to do with the fact men look slutty?

I do think that overly imposed with sex and porno, gay-scene has changed to be more accepting of prostitution and its caricatures. In effect, looking like stereotypical gay porn star straight from the scene filming isn’t actually a bad thing but this slutty look is seen as somewhat hot and desirable – that is, for quick sex and encounters. Would anyone actually want to date with one is a questions which still needs some further research.

So, if the case is that the sluttier you look the more chances you have to get laid should I dress-up as one?

I went to the notorious “gay-clothing” stores on Old Compton street in Soho to find out what it had in store for me. Well then. I had no idea that one could buy briefs where the ass is left bare while cock is positioned in a cup like enlargement - sewed into the frontal part. Ah, I think I am getting the point; “Ass out and dick up!” I thought rather not to wear that piece. I also tried a wrestler-suit; you know a one-piece Lycra clothing where speedos are combined with braces. I looked rather funny in them. Made me giggle, but not really tempted to buy. I also saw a long row of socks, footballer socks I thought, on one of the walls. I had no idea how they are related to the slutty look so I asked the guy at the store. “Well, some people have football player fetish, some like socks and some like to have an image of an athlete,” he explained. “Now wait a minute, are you saying people get kicks out of the image of an athlete only by wearing the gear?” “Yeah mate and some like to smell the socks and sports clothing too,” he continued.

I imagined what would a 120kg, 156cm, 56yo hairy guy in a wrestler suit wearing white socks and trainers look like … What a ghastly thought! I thanked guys in the store and exited. I guess I am more a Prada-boy.

Now how about drugs then?

Drugs have been around us as long as the prostitution as a profession. Whether its cause and effect I cannot tell. But what I can tell is that no sober minded would act like the gays in the gay clubs of London. I have been questionably privileged to witness the ghastly atmosphere in the clubs in this town. The clubs are like birthday cakes. They look wonderful, colorful and fun at the outset but once you open your eyes, like cutting the cake, you see all sorts of weird zombie-looking people waving their bodies and cocks around hundreds of like-wired. I witnessed a really hunky and sexy guy on his early 30’s nearly awake totally wasted with a line of guys behind him wanting to test his asshole with their fingers. Now I do love sex but quite honestly being fingered by tens of men on a dancefloor, and those fingers been in god knows where before, isn’t sexy. Quite far from it.

These places and people are most probably swarming with STD’s (=Sexually transmitted deceases)! When I turned around on the dance floor I saw bunch of hormone-stuffed beefs snorting something up-their-nose. Given that this took place on a dance floor I suspected it wasn’t cocaine but instead ketamine - you know the infamous horse-tranquilizer. In the toilets I saw people smoking crystal meth – the life sucker. Now, I am not an angel myself but what I witnessed here was an absolute horror of an evening. I got an entirely new meaning to an expression “H&H” (high and horny) on that night – and no, it wasn’t an uplifting experience.

More from classy London again in my next post.

Cheerio J

Quality apps for meeting the right one...

2015-07-26T08:47:00.002-07:00

I had a really bizarre encounter on the first day I arrived here in London. I got a following message on Grindr:

"Bb Raw now? H&H!!!” accompanied with a picture of an anus sperm pushing out.

I was quite astonished. Firstly, because I knew none of the words / acronyms or their meaning. Secondly, I am more accustomed to talk to faces rather than asses, or arse holes. What makes a person to send a message like that to another stranger? And what was the purpose of the spermy anus in all of it? As I later found out these acronyms actually did hold some secretive meanings:

RAW BB = Bareback sex = Sex without condoms
H&H = High and horny = Being completely fucked-up and drugged and wanting to have sex while being fucked-up and drugged.

I am still kinda wondering the meaning of the spermy anus picture, but let's forget that for a second. It was quite a disturbing image.

Messages like that kept pushing in like snowflakes on a snowy January afternoon in Lapland. They were all suggesting on first sentences quickies and encounters spiced up with some form of a drug. I learned by glancing through the profiles that a "well-dressed" in this context was having no more than a thong on. In most cases even that was "an excess of garments".

The application indicated in its description field that it was built for gays to find other gays around the area. I.e.: GPS -position enabled service bringing local guys on to your fingertips. In this case, as I learned it helps boys to land on your cock very quickly - or so I thought. After completing few discussions with profile holders I deemed saner that most I learned that the app is actually for weirdos who have no intention what-so-ever in meeting you or anyone else in the real world. Chitchatting naughty and probably wanking away rest assured was the objective for the most. I managed to uninstall this messaging service of disgust by accident - and the inflow of dirt stopped coming in.

Well, I thought, this is the internet of the 21st century; apps of all sorts for "specific interests". My friends told me of some other apps I might enjoy a bit more. I’ll elaborate my experiences about them in following postings.

Cheerio J

I totally forgot I had a blog!

2015-07-26T08:06:00.003-07:00

It has been two years or so since the last blog posting ... There is of course a reason for this. Firstly, I forgot I had this blog and secondly, it took a bit of effort to find out how to log-in back to edit my dear blog! But hey, I am in and quite a few stories in mind ready for publishing :)

Stay tuned! :)
Cheerio! :D

Life - right now

2012-08-04T11:05:00.000-07:00

I know, most of us think life is lurking around somewhere next door. But you know what? It is most often around you, hugging you, kissing you, fucking you gently and quietly whispering: "We are alive and in love" :)

Ping Pong

2012-07-31T13:22:00.000-07:00

I woke up early this morning. I felt very happy. I had a gorgeous boy lying in my room. He is actually hot. In a special sort of way. You know, a boy next door but such warmth and genuineness emanates from him… If he would not live fucking other side of the globe I would probably ask him to marry me. Well, maybe that’s too early to say J

Earlier last week we had gone to see a Ping Pong show. You know, old tarts stuffing weird stuff to their cunts. If you’ve seen a cunt before you would be surprised. But what reactions did they get from the audience. Straight guys were looking like tinkering: “have I fucked that!” and gay guys going “oh for fuck sakes, this is exactly why I am proud to be gay!” and women… well, the either laughed or puked. My close straight female friend could not watch half of the show. She really felt dreadfully ill.

So what are these ping pong shows? Well I shall enlighten you.

Setting the scene one:

First you select old females to dance around in a podium built into the middle of some ghastly and

snotty bar filled with cigarette smoke and half-lighted up with old neon lights.

Secondly you ask people to pay obscene prices for their cheap locally brewed beer or cocktails made from concentrated juices, fake Vodka Podka, and flat mixers.

Thirdly, you ask people to gather around the podium in awe. The more the merrier.

This is the setting for the show. I forgot to mention you did drive to some God forsaken joint where the only transportation back to the city is provided by the establishment for a very hospitable price. Say, half of what you happen to have.

Setting the scene two:

First tart arrives almost naked. She’s smiling without any visible teeth and the effect is bringing the audience to a halt. She starts her act by nodding to the audience. The she smiles to the north and sticks out her behind to south. And she orthodoxically repeats the act in all main directions. We all get a share of her cunt and toothless smile. The place started to have a cheerful feel. This is repeated before every act.

After the start ritual weird things start pouring out of those poor pussies. Flowers, serpentine, fluffy toys… followed by needles, razorblades, round shaped things I couldn’t make out what they were. Well that wasn’t all. Then come the weird stuff. One of the ladies stuffed two cigarettes up hers and started huffing and puffing. It was my time to throw up. Have I seen a sight like that in my life – like ever? NO! It was absolutely horrendous! How can there be such things in this universe!

And the show continues. Next flushing down the pipe came a shoal of gold fish (a bloody tank full of gold fish!) At that point my friend fall of from her chair. We laughed – at her. Gold fish followed by turtles and frogs. One of the girls with small frogs inside her did have a bit of struggle there but there they came pomping alive as ever! After that the show was over, our drinks done and then …. A long bumpy way back home to our hotel. Gosh, disgusting!

I turned around and check my friends butt but it was still nice, small and definitely not loose. No frogs, no turtles, no gold fish… ah, but he was a guy, gay and unbelievably cute! J

Cheerio! J

Watch (out)

2012-07-29T07:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I arrived to Bangkok with some of my friends. I’ve been soooo busy! J

It is probably not a wonder my blog’s name is “Fucking Factory” as I started writing it here in Bangkok. It is just amazing how much of it there is - right here. In every street corner, almost every alleyway, in malls, in hotels and even in the bars you’ll get a chance for a happy ending.

We visited Sirocco bar last night - the 64^th floor roof top bar of the Lebua Hotel. First night ever I truly felt I was unfortunate to not to be a woman. I wanted to walk on 13cm high heels and in wear a stunning night gown down those stairs accompanied by the hottest man in the city. Well as it happens I am not a woman – and so, that hottest man of the city did not make his appearance either. Well I had my lovely friends with me which made it all up.

After having some drinks we took off and went to Silom Soi 4. It is a gay strip of a street full with gay bars. Couple of my other new friends joined us too. It’s amazing how you meet such a great bunch of people while travelling.

We had an interesting chat about lux watches yesterday. We talked with one of my friends about the reasons of wearing a lux watch - or just a watch, whatever. You know Rolex, Piaget, Omega Breguet, Blancpain, Patek Philippe etc… Personally, I haven’t worn a watch since 1985 when I realized it gives you tan lines, yeah I was around 5 but already then quite particular about tan lines. Watches also make your wrist sweat. It is always hanging on your clothes. Weather when you take your shirt of, when you put on or take of your jacket or overcoat - and you always think you might lose it if you misplace it. Watches also come with weird combination of materials and colors, you know silly things like; gold, diamonds, silver, platinum, leather, stainless steel, white gold, rubies etc… almost always in combination of more than few of the latter mentioned. So how do you combine them with simple silver attire, gold or metallic accessory collections? Well, I truly do not know. I have not even tried.

For me watches stand for old status symbols – nothing to do with fashion. Who wears watches anymore these days! Nice Balmain’s wristband is so much nicer. And hey, you don’t necessarily have to spend a penny less! And better yet, when you loose them you only lost a leather wristband with some nicely bent aluminium...

But, these luxury houses keep buying watch houses. Why, because if you can create a silly story like Philippe Patek's: "You never actually own a Patek Philippe, you merely look after it for the next generation", you can make a fortune! Not you, the seller. Catchy, and good advertising though, but honey, it's a watch! Could Samsung and LG come up with similar slogans please! I want my f**ing fridge and washer last more than a year!

Many do though

My friend told me that Rolex is not that copied in Australia. So, getting a Rolex replica from China or Thailand is worth the 50 dollars one needs to pay for the fakes. And, they are so good copies that without thorough inspection you couldn’t make out the difference. He told me the service he gets in restaurants, after placing his hand on the table and asking for something special, is always flawless. He’s got style, he’s got money, and he is wearing a Rolex! Phew!

When I sit down to a restaurant I do it with my incessant leer. First, they cannot take their eyes off from mine, and secondly, they cannot say no to any small and modest wishes. I mean what does it cost for a small joint to offer a meager salary earner like me a complimentary bottle of Bollinger Blanc de Noir, eh? Yes, I do it with my eyes! :)

My other friend has a Philippe Patek watch. Fake as well. He wears it like most women here their fake Luis Vuitton bags. And do I consider that elegant?

One of my friends has a large watch collection. You know expensive watches. I asked him why. “Well, I have either inherited them or bought them as investments,” he told me and continues “I don’t wear them really because they are too expensive and it would be distasteful to show up in a watch, which is some ones three years’ salary (before the taxes).” What a predicament! “Why then?” I asked. He continued that some people collect art, some clothes, some watches. “You see, it’s not all that different” he said and looked a bit sad. “Okay, so if you are a collector I understand. But if you are saying that you’d wear them only in rare occasions like during total solar eclipses and only were there no common or poor people around ... I do have to say it’s probably not worth it.” He looked at me and snorted. “Whatever…”

So watches are a bore. ...Unless of course you are boring and have no idea what to tie around your wrist that is.

I am waiting for my date to arrive. He is sooooo handsome! But, if he is wearing a watch I am going to give him a boot. First of course I will check if it is a fake. Fake gives an automatic boot. If it is not, I have to correct him that I am in a wrong pay grade and would highly recommend him to leave the table before I need to reveal something far more disturbing news about myself... J

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Change of scenery

2012-07-25T21:53:00.001-07:00

Oh, fantastic three days of absolute bliss behind and I have pretty much nothing worthwhile to say… J Eh, well…

Gulf of Thailand in front of me with tens of its islands, emerald blue sea greeting me with a gentle faint breeze... Oh what a bliss indeed! Piano concerto’s playing in the background as loud as these Bose’s could muster and all the sliding doors in this villa sled open. A wind played its little play with white see-through curtains and I thought for a moment that I had landed on to heaven. No, not heaven - not quite yet.

Fourth night to come and whole day still ahead I felt supercharged. I hadn’t done anything worth mentioning for three days. Grilling under the sun, getting tanned, was hard work it did take its toll. I really felt rested but at the same time quite worked out. You know, at the same time feeling absolutely nacked and rested one just wanted to sit tight and relax. “Stepheeeeeen, bring me a Vodka Tonic!” Nothing happened; well maybe he’d hoisted himself into a flagpole. Anything darling, anything to get away from my loving arms… Phew, that poor bastard was most probably still sleeping in upstairs. Why do people sleep and waste whole days’ worth of sun without any particularly good reason. You can take “cloud” when it’s raining, but right now I preferred to be at our infinity little pool and see the magnificent views and write about it while tanning myself. See, one can show little productiveness in action if one just spends a little time before to plan it all.

Oh well. Concerto Pour Piano N1 En by Emil Gilels’s playing in the background and the rest of the gang somewhere I had whole downstairs for myself. Gosh I enjoyed being alone music turned to north. Being Gary had been fun so I decided there and then that being Alexander could be great too. I amassed myself a harem of boys and felt like little tart in a Sunday tea & cake party - the biggest one of course. Past days had been fun – well grilling in the evenings at the big patio and swimming during the day. I had not had this much laughter since… well few months!

I need to plan my evening now. What shall I invent for tonight? I guess more boys could do. Yes, sounds like a great idea – and why not, it’s mine! J

Cheerio J

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It's always worth a try dudes!

2012-07-22T06:25:00.000-07:00

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We were at Simon Cabaret on Friday night here in Phuket. You know 30 lady boys and 30 Thai guy’s cabaret show - all playbacks. It was funny. My girlfriend said it’s pretty sad she could spend any number of hours making herself look pretty but would still look less fortunate than those lady boys. I confronted her stating she had a real pussy – for better or worse. She looked at me like chewing over what I just said, nodded and looked back towards the stage. After a moment she turned back to me and whispered: “And I have much nicer boobs!” which she certainly had. “You know, tying a robe behind your head and taking a benji-jumb would lift your face a bit too…” I continued and faced a bolting bird just about to knock my head of like a good damned woodpecker. “Fuck you too,” she hissed.

I do have to wonder though. These guys dancing at the Cabaret looked more like faintly undulating snag of logs. Hands protruding out like some “extra” branches waiting to be smartened up for the party that ought to be following the performance… but no, still hanging there idle. “You know if they felt like dancing would they not take their hands to the party too?” My friend glanced at me and laughed. “Yeah, looks a bit dumb.”

I had to say the past two days of being Gary had been a blast. I never thought before being Gary could be so much fun. I know, Gary’s of this world remind you of beardy, hairy, bald, and chubby men on their 40’s. I made a much better Gary. And that French did agree. I truly hope the real Gary got a bang for himself too – I knew it couldn’t have been better but for the pity – and for gratitude. We had fucked 48hrs in a row excluding momentary feeding sessions, provided by discreet room service at our hotel. He flew out this morning – back to France, back to his girlfriend, back to misery. I truly felt sorry for him and his poor pussy-bird. I hate dishonestly, I could never live with myself if I'd that be dishonest to anyone. Thus, I have refrained from making promises I cannot keep. That is as simple as that.

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I met a wonderful woman today at the poolside. She was having a short break from work with her daughter. Delightful company at the poolside where we emptied few glasses of wine (They call it wine here) or bottle or two. Well, one shouldn’t count what one drinks. The important thing was that we had a good laugh. She possessed this marvelous sense of humor and an eye for spotting gay guys at the poolside. It really helped a lot. I am not hopeless but not an expert either. Anything that moves is a potential target but you know all this wasted energy without properly targeting it is kind of useless. I needed a trained eye – and who’s better in spotting gays than women. Some women are hopeless in spotting gays. Some are inerrable. She was – well much better than a mediocre.

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Some of the poolside lobsters were horrendous. I think it’s really been a while since I’ve seen so many fat people at once. All supercharged into sunbathing chairs next to each other made this slick hotel pool area look like a meet store with lost lobsters tucked away into a remote location to burn to death - out of sight. Well they were not out of sight, they were THE sight - not a requested sight I must say but all lying shamelessly there regardless. Gosh I hated fat people – Could they just loose those extra pounds and look decent!

I emptied my (yes, I do not count anymore) glass and plunged in. I paddled to the end of the pool to see this nice guy down there. He’d seen me with my girlfriend at the pool area everyday so he unsuspectingly let me paddle all-too-close to him. We chatted and laughed. His girlfriend had gone to the beauty parlor and I suggested we’d go for a beer at my terrace which he agreed. He must have guessed what was in my mind because as I had closed the door behind me he had dropped his pants and asked if he could take a quick shower. I agreed to that with only one pre-requisite – I must accompany him. He winked and we took a shower. The rest is self-explanatory.

And no, it wasn't this one, hahaha!

Cheerio! J

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A day of beauty!

2012-07-20T03:57:00.001-07:00

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I reserved today for total relaxation and rejuvenation. I know – you bitch! Haha, well once you’ve born as gay, why not taking an advantage of the best parts of being gay.

I woke up this morning and had another amazing breakfast at my shabby five star beach resort. My plan was very simple: First, one hour tanning without any sunscreen, then 3 hours with Lancaster Tan-deepener, 1km swim, then quick gym and shower. After that I was ready for treatments.

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I walked into Hanako beauty parlor. Got a seat and kicked back and relaxed. I choose a two hour facial massage with a gold mask. My “girl” started with a cleaning-milk massaging it gently onto my face. After followed very light scrub and a vitamin C and aloe Vera concentrate massage (Phonophoresis). I had tried that before and it really gives you so nice complexion! I know, the gold mask is a bit excess on top of that but I just wanted that too. So there I was eyes closed in total relaxation.

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I was about to sleep and dream. I started counting sheep, jumping over some old fence, when I remembered lambs give me rash. So I decided I will count recent fucks. How many fucks had I really had during this little vacay – hmmm. Let’s start. Departing from the airport, check! Landing in the next airport, check! Arriving at destination and taking a cab to my hotel, unpacking completed, a jump to poolside, shower, and check! Little bit sunbathing, tuna salad with fresh mineral water from Tasmania, turning around, taking sun onto my back, asking a guy next chair to apply the lotion, smile, running upstairs, check! … Oh and that was just the first 48hours… Gosh, I’ve been busy! I got to the 4^th day when I became conscious of the fact that my girl was rubbing my nostrils. “Excuse me!! “ I screeched. I heard a distant “sorry, sorry” and those hands were gone. Phew, don’t you just hate when someone is stuffing fingers to your nostrils! Well, I don’t like it! And now, where was I… Yes, on my fifth day…

I felt my girl’s hands rubbing my neck and shoulders… “Rise please,” she said. And I did. What? Was it over already? Apparently yes. I turned and faced the mirror on the opposite wall. Oh yes, quite finished indeed. I looked like a little boy, a 2^nd year student from College. From what I could tell my treatment had worked like a charm! And I felt amazing!

I slowly rose up from the treatment chair and after my girl had helped me to put my shoes on I walked slowly and graciously out two ladies keeping both class doors open for me. Mmm, I felt great!

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Next, pedicure, manicure, and foot massage. I went to my favorite place in town where I was greeted with Thai bows and Thai smiles. Oh so enchanting! Nothing compares to the beauty of Thai women in beauty parlors when they put that smile on their face and do the traditional hand & head bow. I responded in my gawky way and blushed for which they responded with a friendly giggle. You know those dodgy Thai massage places where you walk past and 25 girls scream at you “Masssaaaaaaaage mister massaaageeee – vely shiiiiiip for uuuuuu?” Well, this wasn’t that sort of place. This one was classy – one which I can really recommend to friends.

Two and half hours passed quickly and before I noticed I was back on my feet walking out of the door. Only difference was of course that I had shiny nails on my hands and feet, all four felt like baby’s butt and I felt overall like a butterfly -so light were my feet I could just take a few steps and speed into a fly. Oh a perfect day and not even done yet!

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Next treatment was a 1hrs full-body rose-salt scrub followed by 1hrs sport massage ending to a one and half hour oil massage. By the time I got out it was 23:00 and I was so exhausted of the day’s activities I had to go to sleep. I really had had a long and tiring day… but, I would sleep like a little baby tonight. No fucks today, but hey, tomorrow is a new day!

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I was walking towards my room at the top floor when a door opened. A French looking guy popped his head out. Messy brown lightly curled hair just enough to reach his shoulders, little moustage under jawbone, bright eyes, long and tanned face, and smooth and aesthetic lips –full and so sexy. He looked first the other direction, then directly into my eyes, and asked: “Are you Gary?” I couldn’t breathe for a second but instinctively answered “Yes,” to his question (Honey, I can be whatever you want!). He opened the door a bit wider and motioned me to follow him into his room. He lowered his pants and looked straight into my eyes. “I have a girlfriend you know, so this must be a totally secret okay?” I hummed yes to him, kneeled down and placed that magnificent Bratwurst into my mouth.

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We had amazing sex. After 3 hours and just before the sunrise, lying on our backs and watching stars I fell asleep his dick in my mouth. My big pacifier found its long lost home! The day had been absolutely perfect. I had no guilt over ruining some sad fuckheads date – this was destiny’s calling. I felt him next to me. He rubbed his chin to my hair and growled gently in his sleep. Mmm, good nighty!

And this story continues…

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I feel a bit weird today

2012-07-18T21:01:00.000-07:00

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I feel a bit weird today. I do not seem to have appetite for sex. Can’t be my medication (I don’t have any) or weather (hasn't had a negative effect on my libido - ever), nor can it be this recent abundance of sex. I don’t know what it is. This feeling is quite weird indeed. Maybe I need to re-read the manual: “Being a Man”, written by no-one else than … ME! Sometimes hot weather makes me drowsy. It could be that. But, as soon as the aircon hits on I am fine – at least normally. Yep, I still need to try that one out a bit later.

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Did you know, when a guy doesn’t feel like having sex he's said to have a low libido? When a woman doesn’t want sex it’s because she’s having a head ache, menstruation period, or because she’s just so awfully tired – continuing with a list of possible other excuses. Yeah. And gay guys, well, if you are so run down by days festivities you can't spare a damn hand to your boyfriend then there's definitely something wrong there.

What excuses do men have?

Well, if I would have a boyfriend he would not be a “bottom-only” guy as I wrote here previously. You see, having a hard day at the office, then heavy training at the gym, then going to a department stores food courts and carry out truckloads of groceries home, and then, waiting on your kitchen table is a bare ass looking for a bang of its life. Dude, sorry.

I just want to kick back and relax – you’ll do the heavy lifting while I am giving you the butt!

Yes, guy’s excuse can be simple, honest and very believable. We can admittedly just be tired. Now that’s exactly what I don’t like in “coupled-up’s lives”. I can’t pre-plan my occurrences of urgent need for sex. I happen to know when I feel like it – but I can’t pre-plan it. And having a schedule for sessions is a turn off – at least for me.

So, what to do about it?

I think I am onto something. Is this the reason I don’t want to get coupled up or married? Or maybe there are several other reasons I just haven’t uncovered yet. Suddenly I started to be afraid of my precious routines!

You see, I love my routines. I have daily routines, which motivate me, keep me fit, happy and energetic. But then I knowingly do not plan certain things like when to have sex – and it has worked out, so far – perfectly for me.

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I turned to my friend and asked whether she plans when she’s going to have sex. “What?” she responded from the other end of the pool and continued: “I never have sex!” Well, not much use of that insight for this discussion then…couple of old biddies looked at our direction disapprovingly. I gave a snort, turned my back and put my arm under my cheek while the other one was scratching my ass - on display for the ladies.

While I am writing this I got really horny. Oh no, not because of the old ladies. No, I was thinking the guy I had last night. Not his face, or even his cock, but his body. It was so cuddly!

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We went to movies and reserved a “sofa” for two. I have to admit I can’t recall half of the movie but the sofa did prove to be a perfect setting for cuddling. I am sooooo really in need again! Gosh, and I didn’t even need an aircon! Gotta go now, plunge into the pool and hit the road with my precious Honda ST1300 ABS! (joke, i am driving a freaking Vespa!)

Cheerio! J

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OMG!

2012-07-18T08:40:00.001-07:00

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I run out to have my breakfast this morning. My friend said she’s going to join me a bit later. Morning was absolutely beautiful. No cloud in the sky – ocean breeze gently padding my shoulders. I ordered my usual breakfast menu: Omelet with spring onion, onion, little cubes of tomato’s and sweet red peppers, 4 fried eggs, nicely cut pineapple, papaya, guava and watermelon pieces and a cup of coffee. Gosh I love breakfasts - especially with an unobstructed sea-view!

Suddenly I remembered last time I was travelling. I was missing my friend at a breakfast table. I gave her a buzz but she didn’t reply. And then, there she was, walking towards my table – face all red.

“You never going believe this, I am so embarrassed,” she started. “Oh my God I am sooo embarrassed!”

“What? What happened?”

“Well you see when you left I went to the toilet and you know I had a poo and…”

I cut her short. “You went to a poo and you are telling me this???” I waved my hand dismissively and burst “I am not interested!”

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“No, no, that’s not the point. I mean it is, but it’s not THE point!”

My friend who is small and petite looked so fragile. She looked so dreadfully lost I had to give her the benefit of a doubt and let her continue with her ‘poo story’…

“You see the poo was so big it did not go down the drain when I flushed it so I flushed again. And the water started pouring out of the toilet… I opened the front door and went looking for a cleaning lady.

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I found one doing the room next door.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “You see I tried to explain her what had happened, but that poor girl didn’t understand a word in English so I tried to describe with my hands a big poo. I showed an arm’s length of poo and showed as if floor was a toilet and big poo there and water flooding everywhere. She still didn’t understand a thing so I motioned her to follow me to my room.”

My friend waved her hand in demonstration of how it had happened. It looked a bit queer but I nodded and let her continue.

“So, we went to my room and I opened the door to the bathroom. I opened the toilet seat cover and pointed at my huge big poo. By then of course the water level had gone down and the only thing the poor girl could see was, it really was, a giant twirl of a poo covering half of the toilet. I motioned the girl to come closer as I was about to flush the toilet again. I flushed the toilet and pointed my finger on top of the flushing water. Look, look,” I said.

“That little girl looked so puzzled and incredulous, she obviously didn’t understand what I was about to demonstrate.” My friend took a deep breath and looked directly at me. “You know what happened next?”

“No idea. But I am sure you’ll undoubtedly tell me,” I said.

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She looked at me. Like a cat just after forced to take a shower. “Nothing! Nothing happened! You see, nothing happened, I flushed the toilet and the poo went down the drain just normally! The girl looked at me pointedly and hissed loudly: “You VERY VERY BAD GIRL!” and run out of my room!

I looked at my friend and burst into tears, I was laughing so much I couldn’t stop. “OMG, indeed, ha-ha, you VERY VERY BAD GIRL!” J Gosh I am happy I had done my breakfast already! J

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Traveling in “style”

2012-07-18T07:44:00.000-07:00

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I remember what traveling was say 5 years back. You found a nice peaceful and quiet boutique hotel. You checked-in in silence. Bell-boys well versed in English took your luggages and carried them to your room. The days when hotels where places of tranquility – where one could sink into one of the carefully selected design chairs and let the world outside pass by – are over? Traveling was, if not indulgence, a more expensive hobby than simply taking your car for a weekend road trip or going for a "vacay" to the next town. Cheap airline tickets, high oil prices and the rise of Asian tigers changed all that. Now every place is infested with newly rich but still quite common people.

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I also remember airlines. The amazing feeling of being escorted to your seat, being kindly smiled at and serviced fully, like your precious Bentley (lol) if you so wished. Fellow passengers were adequately distant and kept quiet out of politeness. I remember the times when I could have a smoke on-board the plane and airhostesses would kindly offer me light with a glass of champagne. I remember luggages, those well manufactured leather cases. Taking them with you to the airline was a no-brainer. Long past are those days. Now airlines are infested with small and lardy people, who are noisy and look unclean. Most of them carry everything they probably own with them all the way to the plane (as hand-luggage!) and stuff themselves next to you - huffing and puffing like the air is going to run out for some queer reason. And champagne? Hahah, I know, I must be joking! We are hardly serviced water these days! Luggages are destroyed on sight – so the best thing to do is to re-purpose your old leather cases to hold some nice magazines and a lamp on top of them back home.

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What changed in hotels – really? Can you honestly walk into any joint in this world anymore in peace! It is practically almost impossible to find a peaceful lux place without new rich people of the growing nations. They fill nice joints by crawling in from the doors and windows. You can’t hide from them. They are ever present with their constant noise and buzzing. Even a proper noise cancelling headphones would not save you from the above ground Hell they create where-ever, and when-ever they travel.

And why do they have to be so rude! I mean honestly, a nod when you see a person walking by isn’t insuperable hurdle. And you know what, when you are checking-in or checking-out anyone or anything coming to barge-in to ask some stupid questions is not just irritating – it is a fucking nightmare! “Get your fucking face out of my sight!”

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And how about breakfasts! Ordering breakfast to your room isn’t nice. By the time it all arrives (if they got it right- which is doubtful as none –anywhere - speak proper English anymore) it is all stale. So breakfast rooms it is. There, first arrives a fat, hairy, bigmouthed Arab man, then a thin veiled fragile women followed by 5 dark brown babies all equipped with toy guns and a cheeky inhospitable smiles.

Then, strolls in 55 small Chinese comrades with their AdiBas t-shirts and Luis Fuitton bags accompanied by 110 cameras in motion. On the left hand side, the doors open, you hear mur mur, and loud “Priviett”, and a harem of the ugliest men and most gorgeous pumped up Barbara dolls arrive with louder than life row. And just when you thought you could turn your head and run away, you are surrounded by loud Indians who complain about the color of the napkins, temperature of the room and the shape of the breakfast egg before them – and that is before they turn and realize they had arrived to a lounge area. Of course, just before closing arrives Australians - decibels hitting the ceiling. Once you finally though it's all over arrive five Essex girls wearing (wrong word I know) nothing proper on them - lipstick covering half their face and mascara dropping to their teapots. Idiots in motion!

But it isn’t over yet! When all of them have crawled back to their rooms for fiesta or siesta arrive those red faced English tarts followed by Swedes still half-drunk from last night (infamous Swedish blond girls still in bed suffering from hang-over of being too beautiful last night). Their noses verge on ceiling and they are just about to stumble on their own feet when the Germans arrive with their huge black plastic bags and empty whatever was left in the buffet table. Finally slide in Americans, group of four, carried by a tractor. Those lardy asses sweep anything and anyone close by and with their big wide mouths they empty whatever was left on the table after the Germans depleted the food supply. Their discussion is loud and every second sentence is to do with some kind of complaint. Whatever they do not know or understand is well positioned to be subject of nagging. Yes, things have changed.

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And in the airports?

You know the concept of queues? Well Indians do not. Queue is a fantastic construct which sweeps away redundant people out of your way so you can cut into the front to ask some trivial questions. “Yes, but I want, dthis is nodth nice behavior. I will make a complaindt. Whod ids your boss. Du you know dthat dthis is nodht good adth all!” and how blatantly obvious their obnoxiousness is people still smile at them – kindly. But - go to puke afterwards. You’ve got to appreciate new money.

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And how about Chinese? Like Japanese, they carry cameras anywhere, they come with their own food supplies (I don’t even want to think what’s in those sachets), and they look always like lost in some space vacuum eyes rolling here and there and in groups of 10 or more they mop the floors clean of dust and other questionable objects. And Russians? If they’ve been in the airport before it’s been the departure lounge McDonald’s or Gucci – or both! Speaking not a word of English they are pretty incredible people – being able to travel around the world without understanding a thing. Okay, once you actually get to know them they are pretty nice people – but the language is a barrier.

They also used to have nice Lounges in the airport. Now lounges are full of these multiplying lemmings that fan mediocrity where ever they go. Where is the “class” and “classy”! Oh, these days, on-board private jets only I am afraid.

What to do?

You have pretty much two options:

1. Roll over and die my darlings! Or book a gay “LUX” holiday! Tranquility without children, straight couples, fat or ugly people! Did you know you can even choose an age-bracket of fellow travelers? Same goes for nationalities you want to share the hotel with, and – maybe soon also, there is the dickometer. Oh splendor!

2. Sit back and relax. This is life. Take a deep breath and smile. You were looked at just like that few years back. This is progress. The more people travel, the more people see the world and more educated they are - the better place this world will be.

I wonder how travel will change in the next 10 years!

I am off to fuck. Gosh I need a good session! J

Cheerio J

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“If I could turn back time…”

2012-07-17T03:01:00.000-07:00

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If I could turn back time

If I could find a way I’d take back those words that hurt you and you’d say…

Rest of the lyrics from our famous never old dame

Well, frankly speaking, I don’t want to turn back the time. Do you?

I could iron out some of the budding wrinkles on my forehead but, hey, there is Botox for that. When I look at teen boys it does not make me feel I want to be back “there”. I’ve been there already, years ago. When I was at their age I had fun. But I had fun because I experienced it for the first time. Having to grow up and do all that all over again doesn’t really sound that swell when you are looking at it from my angle. Being 30 is great. Best time of my life - so far! But why are we so obsessed with youth and turning back time to change things that are bygones already. I am STILL having fun, everyday! No regrets and fun is just getting better every year.

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I guess I am fortunate. Many people have few or more things they would like to change if they only could. But would those people be what they are without those actions… reminds me of “the Butterfly Effect” starring Ashton Kutcher... I think, we are better left what we’ve got.

I guess few people want to be old! Well I know few who do, but statistically speaking most do not. So we live with what we’ve done and what we've got. If we’d spend our time pondering about getting old, then we’d miss all the fun of now. And we only live once so we better live every single day – in full.

Some of my gay friends are drearily negative. They complain about getting old and the more they do so the more old they look. Being old is a mental state of mind. Well, at least for me. And I do not feel a bit old. It must be the abundance of sex! Active sex life keeps you virile!

Well there are of course other things that can help to lift your spirit up. For example, this is my view where I am currently sitting and writing:

Splendid, isn’t it. Currently nothing is obscuring my view. I am looking at the Andaman Sea. Sipping my Caffe Americano and picking at my chocolate cake. Life is great! Not sure if it could be any better. I mean of course one could make a list of things one needs and wants but honestly – I don’t really need anything more right now.

Sea breeze, water fountain on my left, enough battery in my computer to finish this posting and motorcycle upstairs waiting to get on to the road later on this afternoon. And, I can’t wait to ask that cute guy sitting on a table upstairs terrace to join the ride – behind me :)

Cheerio! J

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Why do gay guys have small … dogs?

2012-07-16T05:47:00.000-07:00

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Size of the dick is the measure of man's manhood. Like with dogs, the smaller the dog, the snappier the dog... ;-) So when a gay guy is choosing its dog what does he want to tell us with his selection?

There are few things a guy wants from his dog in addition to the fact that he wants his dog to express his personal style. So, what to consider in the selection process? Color, size, sex and breed are probably the most important attributes. Some select only mixed breed dogs, some will only accept homeless dogs and some like their dogs to mix well with their interior design. Some people find little bit about themselves in dogs appearance and some just select randomly or based on friends referrals. And some, get a dog by accident. Like my mom when my younger sister wanted one but grew tired of taking it out after few months.

So yes, how one selects his or her dog, is not a complete mystery for me, but i still don't get how one wants to land on with something like a dog for 10+ years!

So what does a gay guy wants to communicate with his dog then?

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I don’t need a big dog to boost my ego – I have a big cock
I have a big dog because I am big too
I have a puppy because I want to be a puppy too?
I chose a big one – Are you getting my hint?
I have an ugly, big and briskly dog – you see I am pretty llama myself
I choose a big dog, a Doberman – I need protection. And you’ll need it too.
I am an old fart, going on my 60’s and I choose a small peppy dog – if it doesn’t cheer me up nothing can
I have a small dog - i feel masculine. I'll protect it with my life
I heard big dogs eat a lot. As I am 180 and weighing 40kg soaking wet my budget could not bare a big dog eating me into a brink of bankruptcy
…

Dogs tell much about their owners don't they! So they tell us. I have never cared for a dog. Why? Well I am never home and when I am home I prefer to be left alone and not turning on my heels and head back out for a walk. Goddammit, I just walked home!

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I think it would be wrong to close a dog behind the bars in a relatively small city-condo. I thought about a cat too. But I hate the smell of cat pee and poo, and my textiles are far too nice to be torn down by deceitful little cats.

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How about getting a gold fish then? Well, I thought about it for a while too – but as you know their memory of 3seconds makes them happy in the round bowl for a month or so and then they catch back problems from all that clock-wise swimming and die on you. Ethically speaking, I am better off alone.

I rather have men… many… J

Cheerio J

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Demand follows supply… or was it other way around…

2012-07-15T04:12:00.001-07:00

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If the only people you’d see would be ugly as hell, fat as you could imagine and all straight, wouldn’t you want one for yourself too? Apparently yes. Based on our 21^st Century economists and many of our times most accoladed business men and women people want what is available – and they shun all different. Oh, flashbacks from America. How can they dress in so ghastly and boring rags!

I walked in Bangkok night markets and in the Weekend Market. Then it kind of hit me. I don’t want any of this crap! I don’t need it – I don’t want it. Hell, I want to get out of here.

Same happens in the average Joes’ heavens - Malls. Who the fuck goes to malls?? No-one I know. So who are these “masses” that stuff their lardy asses in-between the revolving doors, stop the pedestrian traffic with their bag loads of crap and those crying misbehaving kids from Hell?

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I think we need some sociologist or anthropologist to explain us this in a bit more detail. I found some poor insights how to target teens in Mall’s here. One of the first observations from authors themselves: “It is intuitive that the shopping mall is a place that is socially significant to the teen population,” said Jane Traub, senior vice president of research for Scarborough. “We may have our own personal memories of spending time in malls as teens ourselves, and many of us who have teens in our household know that the mall is a favorite destination. This study shows just how much time teens are actually spending at the mall.”

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Now this just says researchers were and probably still are in the Mall’s target group segment… Study basically says teens spend 2-3hours in malls by shopping crap, getting fat in the joints like McDonald’s and Burger King, and are observant to screen displays bombarding 99cent deals and promotion of all sorts of rags. This did not make me any smarter…Malls are crap, in my opinion. And because I am almost always right my statement is most probably true as well. The worst thing about malls is that they promote mediocrity and at best can deliver only average or poor experience. If your research question was: “why do gay people go to malls” it would not produce a result. We do not visit malls. Or at least any self-respecting gay does not. We do not find anything from malls. And in addition we get rash from entering into these dungeons of averages.

In many ways fashion tries to be a form of art. Fraction of it is. Mostly, it is about satisfying the most common denominator which unfortunately is a straight, slightly overweight, middle aged, stumpy man: “The-mall-goer”. Right, so men’s fashion has become to a stage when it is a nice little play of different colors on different shapes and sizes of t-shirts, jeans and some ghastly coats. Right, production cost for T-shirt is 10cents, for jeans around 50cents and coats vary in between 2-20eur. Now the retail price in the same order is: 30Eur, 150Eur, 200ur. You don’t have to be an astrophysicist to realize that with these margins you want everyone to be average Joe’s wearing T-shirts. Why would you do anything different whilst keeping doing exactly what you already are doing keeps your margins healthy? Who needs margin erosion anyways! And malls, the perfect setting to get your horrible rags out of your doors – carried straight into the cars and towed far away to the suburbs - are the machinery which makes the business running.

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To play down the indifference in almost all clothing being produced by the industry for men, companies have re-invented colors. Well not re-invented COLORS, but merely taken the palette from the backroom and applied different colors on different season with a slightly different fabrics to the same dull designs. I know, haute-couture is different – but remind me again, when was the last time You bought haute-couture? Industry sales volumes tell unapologetic story – basic shit, that’s what men buy. And that’s what is ultimately on offer.

I am tired of dull, uninteresting, deathly boring clothes of the likes of brands like: H&M, Zara, Emporio Armani, Armani Xchange, D&G, Gass, Guess, Levi’s, Diesel, GAP, Top Man etc. There is nothing they bring to the market which truly surprises you positively. Why can’t we get some cool stuff to the stores! I think I’ll elaborate “cool” in some later posting...

Now, I am feeling in so need I could die. I guess erotic massage by two nice boys will suffice…

Cheerio! J

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If you are straight and you did it with a guy - would it make you gay?

2012-07-15T02:38:00.002-07:00

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The answer is plain and simple. Just think about a guy moving to NYC from Minnesota. Is he suddenly a New Yorker? Hell no! He is not! Having visited some of the bars and clubs in London does not make you a Londoner either. So a guy giving you a blowjob or a hand job does not make you gay. You know you are doing it three times a day anyway. Guys can have fun with each other and that does not make anyone gay. Nor does playing with a pussy make you automatically bi or straight. I think we’re too worried about getting a label. Some people perceive labeling others the most important thing in their sad lives. Mostly, because their lives are so incredibly dull… partly because they have never had the courage to do anything themselves. You know, labels do wear off – eventually – but for some that time is too long to bear. Especially in some God forsaken cities and towns full of hillbillies and religious freaks who – apologies – cannot fathom anything the Bible did not say.

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My bi-sexual friend explained to me that he could fall in love with same sex or the opposite sex and extrapolated that anyone wanting to share a life with and being capable to love– both mentally and physically - both sexes is bi-sexual. Now if you do not identify yourself here and you just got a blowjob from a guy you are safe – you are still straight and in my books a viable friend candidate. Personally, I don’t do straights for few reasons:

Most of them have unshaven hairy ass
They most often do not trim their hair – anywhere
They are more often than not seduced to drink beer with mates and they carry the proceedings around their waste line (definitely not all!)
Shoes…
And I know, a bit GAY; but un-manicured hands un-pedicured feet, lol. It’s not unmanly to have yourself in condition.

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I came across this little article on Wiki How on: “How to identify yourself as gay?” Here is a nice step-by-step guide and absolute joke video on same topic

There are so many poor straight guys who think little fun with boys will make their precious “straightness” crumble and disappear. Not to worry, what you’ve born with – you’ll carry to your grave. Sorry, that’s the way it is. You are fucked! J

Cheerio J

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Top or bottom?

2012-07-14T22:45:00.005-07:00

There I was having a beer with my (female) friend last night when I spotted a nice 189cm well-built guy walking across the street. My immediate reaction: I lift my hand almost automatically and said hello and smiled. The guy smiled back but shyly and kept walking past us. Whattafuck! And then I realized it. He must have thought I was straight! What a predicament! How could this happen to me!!

I told my girlfriend to run behind the chair next time I spotted a sexy porn star candidate walking towards us. She wryly smiled at me and lifted her glass to her lips – placed it back to our table and turned at me facing directly observing me with her cheeky smile: “Ah, a night’s first missed fuck that is then?” “Bitch!” I said between my teeth. “I am sure he is coming back,” she continued in a more conciliatory fashion. “He was gorgeous and he definitely liked you,” She continued. “He is coming back I am sure.” I wasn’t convinced but smiled without responding.

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We observed the obvious. A gay street full of Thai boys and old farts accompanying them. Not a pretty sight. I wanted to avoid this experience as long as I could but decided today that I needed to show my friend around the town. We had spent peaceful days at beaches and at our resort and we needed some fresh air (read: stale, hot, humid and sticky town air)

I thought about my missed opportunity. One missed fuck as my friend put it. Then a group of three, Australians all of them, 100% sure, walked by with their flip-flops, beer bellies, and cheap Chang –Beer shirts. All straight, all boring. Oh well, fuckers are everywhere apparently. Not the right types though! “Why can’t I just have some a-class meat!” My friend looked at me and nodded. She sipped her drink and lighted up a cigarette.

Then it happened. First, I saw a climbs of it. Then came the full figure. The guy who passed us previously was indeed walking back towards us. “Run, RUN somewhere, HIDE!” I yelled at my friend. She smiled at me and sipped her drink. The guy was passing our place. He looked towards us (hold, hold, right timing…), and right when he looked into my eyes (or so I imagined) I motioned him to join us. He smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and joined our table. Yippee!

He was a Norwegian Viking. LOL! We chatted this and that. He had come back to see a show running at one of the Bars opposite side of the street. He asked me to join which I did without much further thinking. We left my friend to keep an eye on our bags. She can sometimes be soooo accommodating!

We sat in a theatre-like bar facing closed curtains. It was very dark. I felt the guy’s massive hand on my leg where his fingers were rubbing it. Oh, well I am not complaining here. I placed my arm almost automatically between his legs and found what I was looking for. Oh yes!

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His masculine arms, and chest where leaning towards me and I sensed his big wide mouth close to my neck. He whispered something like “I want you”, to my ear. Ok, ok, I was a bit aroused. Then he asked me: “What are you into?” You know this is not the first time I’ve been asked this question. I have never honestly really understood how I ought to respond to it. I just replied with a “Dunno”. He smiled at me broadly - almost sheepishly. He was about to tell me just about everything he “were into”…The whole list of things he liked. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to hear it all. He could have started with something more general like favorite food for example…

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Then, there it was - bondage and bottom! Oh for crying out loud! Now did I really see myself tying 190cm tall guy into some straps and fucking him while he enjoyed himself being all tied up? OH NO! He also liked to buy go-go boys for entertainment. Why do I always meet these bottom guys with a weird taste for fun! Like it wasn’t hard enough already to meet good looking gay guys with beautiful bodies – couldn’t they all be just versatile (meaning: they like being both on top and bottom = Fucking and getting fucked). I don’t like bottom-only guys. Why? Because it brings to my mind an image of a lazy bream – and an image of a corpse-like woman lying in bed and waiting to get fucked. So no, I do not prefer bottom-only guys.

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After the show we went back to the bar to meet my friend. I told my friend that it’s time to go. She looked at me in awe. “I’ll tell you later,” I said and ordered the check.

Now, this was the first day without sex for 5.5 months – up’s no, not quite. I did have this nice boy earlier this morning at a poolside – kind of just happened whilst we were walking towards our rooms…couldn’t help myself lol! So no, no break in my lucky streak yet!

Cheerio! J

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Tan - oh that sweet color of copper!

2012-07-13T01:55:00.001-07:00

Hell, it’s a perfect season for tanning! Getting right tan lines though is a form of art. You know, you see people with ghastly white lines and whole areas running throughout their bodies and you think – what were they thinking!

Is tanned skin still fashionable? Well in Europe and the western-world it apparently still is but definitely not in the S-E Asia. the more white you skin is - the higher social class one may belong to. Considering this statement true in Europe would make many of giggle.

Tan makes people look healthier. When I look people as pale as pasteurized milk it gives me an urgent need to spray them with “Spanish Brown” color – you know the most used spray tan color in the world – and shout at them: Gosh, get away you mummy, you are making me shiver!” Pale people, like vegetarians you know, look frail but are still able to absorb huge quantities of fat in them! Pale for me is equivalent of: Unhealthy, fragile, a nest of some fungal growth and definitely something like a cross-breed of frozen turkey from Iceland, chloride, and a random biddy buried 3months ago. So why are people so insistent on staying white? Search me!

This year’s tanning spree for me is hard work. You know, you wake up in the morning, take a shower, apply your sunscreen, pack your pool or beach garments and stuff, get a taxi, or limo or … well a bike (also, if you happen to be in a nice 5star resort like I am at the moment – just ask the bell-boy to carry you down to the pool).

Sunbathing itself is – as said a form of art. One needs to plan everything down to the smallest detail. You know, the chair in right position, enough liquid with you to prevent de-hydration, small healthy snacks that do not turn into lakes while exposed to the sun, right brand sun classes that go well with your accessories and garments you may tie over your hips - if needed – when you stroll down the pool area or down the beach searching for eye candy. While you are at it, don’t forget condoms and lube for sudden beach boy attacks or a book that will serve you well in the absence of latter. Now then, that is an awful lot to remember already! So you see my point – well prepared beach Barbie’s and Ken’s are a rare breed and should be respected with at least an accepting nod when encountered.

Moving on to the selection of sunscreen part

There of course are so many sun creams out there. You have the average Joe’s jars with clear instructions, +50 screen, and which inevitably will let you remain pretty much untouched. Like my virgin aunt Griselda put it: I will have in my grave a very short epitaph “Returned unopened”. There will be no need for you to buy new foundation or powder to compensate your altered complexion.

Then there are those Betty Boob jars for god damned spastics who splash it everywhere without thinking. You know these amateurs who always join the parties either too early or too late. They will be grilled no matter how much they apply their lotion, because they do not know how to do it. And anyways, rubbing in lotion to those boobs could only do more harm than good. All the men in need gather around them like bees who’d just found their honey. The amount of trash around Betties is constant.

The lux branded lotions promises you youth, silky smooth skin and a list of other valuable attributes. It is entirely up to you whether you believe a jar of fat and vitamins makes any difference under the burning sun or not. However, 50ml jar do look much nicer than a 1liter canister of cheap Tesco’s Economy Line Super Saver Sun Cream – for Families!

I prefer something moderately priced but with absolutely proven divine results – Lancaster’s Tan Deepener. It gives you a perfect complexion, that sought after copper tone - and fast! - with a smooth skin. For face I highly recommend Helena Rubinstein's face sun-screen (+15).

Now, I am off to do some 5star grilling down the pool. I think I am going to skip the bell-boy carrying service though. Having packed everything I mentioned above makes me a venerable Gay Queen of the Pool Area. I think I am going to hoist the flag when I find my lux-area. “This is my kingdom girls, crawl!" I would very much appreciate if all the nice boys of this island would arrive in time too...”

Cheerio :)

Oh Shit!

2012-07-11T21:21:00.002-07:00

I read an article today on loudly pooing women and men agitated by it.

'Why do loud “voices of nature” mess up men so badly?

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This one guy explained it to me: “You know first she goes to the bathroom – she looks so innocent and fragile. They close the door and apparently change! They don’t put music on or even try to hide it. They make considerable effort to push out hard whatever they were previously holding onto what is then followed by enormous splashes. It’s like they turn momentarily wild. Then they come out and want me to fuck them on the number 2 – I am horrified.”

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I didn’t want to answer to his line of thought. I knew too well what he meant.

I once met this “so-called-straight-guy” who told me he had had some experience in gay-sex but that he didn’t like it. I asked why. He explained to me that it didn’t feel good at all. "Oh!" I said and asked if he had taken some dick up his ass to which he responded simply by saying yes. “Well what was so awful about it?” I asked him. He explained that it didn’t feel so good.

I had an image of a TVG train running 300mph entering into a tunnel passage - and just finding out there and then that there already was a train in the tunnel, stopped in front of it. I imagined what happened next...

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“Oh, so did you clean yourself up before this treat? I mean did you clean up your ass?” I asked, knowing the answer would most probably be no. “No,” he replied as expected “…why?”

There! If you’d buy a vibrating dildo wouldn’t you read the instructions first? Well, most people do. Men normally do not. They are just too quick on the trigger. Me, now, fast, and then for a beer!

You cannot feel pleasure in anal sex if you haven’t cleaned up your ass beforehand - precautionary measures against sudden attacks of nice guys in lay-man's terms. Just as that TVG train will never get to the other side of the tunnel were there another train on the same tracks ahead stopped in front of it, a guys dick in your cute little butt won't feel that great either.” Once you’ve done your necessary errands with your rear end it all feels so much better. It can actually feel quite magnificent!

At the same time men are complaining their women going to toilet they glory themselves with their pal's in how big poo they’ve got pushed out – and how good shitting sometimes feels. Now, isn’t that queer! No, as it happens, it is very straight thing to talk about shitting.

A tip for Straight men in their awful predicament: When your girlfriend next goes to a loo for a poo – press “play” on your über cool sound system and start to play “Ella Fitzgerald’s and Frank Sinatra’s “Dancing Cheek to Cheek"

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A tip for Gay men: When your boyfriend begs for a fuck next time lure him to bend over and shoehorn a hose into his anus. Press gently at the tap and shove it in. Open the tap and ask him to push afterwards. After few rounds your boyfriend is clean to be fucked up in the ass by his gentle and masculine boyfriend. And yes, please do not forget to press “play” on your cute little Gay-I-Phone for the evergreen tune of Village People’s "YMCA".

Yes, oh shit! And this line of thought must be at the end of its course. It is time for a swim, gym and sex! Oh, I love Koh Chang! You should definitely visit Thailand if you haven't done so yet!

Cheerio! J

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Tall Men...

2012-07-11T20:30:00.001-07:00

There is something erotic about tall men – I’ve heard. Maybe parts of this exoticness relates to the expected size of “the third leg”, maybe not. Tall, well-built, or just slim but athletic built men do get noticed by both women and men.

Sometimes when you see midget-size women with very tall and framed men you wonder what the catch is. Like one of my girlfriends told me it requires quite a lot of legwork from guys to bend down and try to fuck from the back. Skinny guys equipped with less capable legs cannot do it she told me.

Is there something pervy about having 140cm short woman being fucked by 210cm guy? Some guys get kicks by fucking small-size girls. I mean if a guy’s dick reaches from hips to her neck then where does it fit in absolute terms when it is inside her body? Well, just thinking of it makes me puke. Or poo to be exact.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/3953405/Man-with-UKs-biggest-f
eet-sleeps-with-30-women.html

I saw today two Australians, tall Australians. They both walked their feet curved outwards and they looked like penguins with “speed-ice-skates” on commonly refered as “sneakers” – sailing boats (loafers) would have been funnier.

I am sitting here with one of my straight woman friends. I asked her to describe tall men and what does she think about tall men:

“Tall men are wonderful when they grab me in their arms and make me feel the most cute and petite thing in the world. This happens to me rarely, being over 180cm and not weighing 40kg soaking wet. Too rarely… Of course a tall man needs to have also that content side checked – in every aspect. Being tall is not an excuse to have a stomach. Hanging 80 kilos of life around waistline and “heavy bones” would not suffice as an excuse. Tall men should neither look like lamp posts so that on top of them all clothes wave in the wind. They should not be dumb basketball players or runners either who after magnificent careers of sweating their pants off don’t know what to do with the rest of their lives. I have met a few of those.

Sometimes when they (can) bend down to whisper to your ear, it is hard to turn you head away. Even if you want to avoid their words. I also long for their big masculine hands to caress me and be ready for me after a hard work day.

I also love men’s legs. Sometime tall men have gorgeous long legs – not always though. Sometimes shorter men have more proportioned legs but I find tall men’s well-built strong legs really erotic. For me one of the most attractive things is seeing tall men with their long legs and gorgeous faces walking in front of me – yes in front of me. I just can’t but to think and get tempted to walk fast in front of them and say “hello little one – here I am”.

Once the temptation was too grand so I did it, and this romance has been lasting whenever convenient until today. Now he calls me little one, and it’s true! Next to him I am!”

Oh well, I prefer tall men – sometimes. But I just don’t care to sleep with trunks of Sequoia Tree.

Cheerio! J