2006-12-09 - 2:54 a.m.
It is becoming increasingly clear that I am just dreadful at managing the elements of a normal life. And yet – I am a BRILLIANT sleaze. Not just a good one – a FANTASTIC one. Clearly it is my true talent and calling and I should just embrace it.
What does it say about one if it turns out that one’s true skill is in debauchery? When I try to cobble together the things that folks generally do to prove themselves useful, I am almost woefully inept. A regular job? Not right now, it appears. A standard love life? Not quite. Wonderful creative projects that earn millions of dollars and win Pulitzers and Tony Awards in abundance (like some of my schoolmates did at the dear old University of Chicago)? Nuh uh. But give me an iced cappuccino, two gin and tonics, and some erect penis and I am able to do marvelous, marvelous things it appears.
You must excuse me: I am rather hung over today, as I sit here in Duttons Bookstore Coffeehouse nursing a cuppa tea. My story starts out around five o’clock yesterday, when I was feeling quite blue and bored and decided to impulsively head on out to Weho. It was Thursday, so it was the day of Cocktails With the Porn Stars at Mickys, a sort of live talk show in which an unctuous host interviews guys who make their living sucking cock and fucking ass on film and on webcam.
The bar was quite jumping when I got there, and to my pleasure I discovered that it was “half price drinks” night as well. So I was able to get quickly plastered for a very reasonable price. The porn star show was also well underway – and on the night I attended, the guests were a crop of fresh young boys from the http://Mikehancock.com, which is one of those online sites that have sprung up in the shadow of the larger and better known Sean Cody or Randy Blue or whatever they’re called.
It had been something like two years since I had been to Cocktails With The Stars, and the show has evolved quite a bit – it’s dirtier now, which I think is a good thing. I mean, who really wants to listen to porn stars descant about politics and their jobs as Starbucks clerks in their home towns in the Midwest?
No -- You want to see them as God intended. You want to see them drop their jeans, wiggle their asses inside their American Apparel briefs, and try to deep throat peeled bananas. And that is what they do these days, instead of just sitting around in their chairs being pompous. It’s quite delightful! And these young men were all “newbies” to the biz, so they all started out giggling and blushing, before gradually becoming more comfortable with the debaucherous activities they were being asked to perform on stage.
One of the guys was a former Army sniper, just home from Iraq. By all accounts he had a massive dick – and he had also killed people! How’s that for hot? Interestingly, the site’s webmaster had also brought along this quite pretty girl, Mia I think her name was, who serves in the movies as the unalterably straight guys’ fluffer. At one point, the crowd called for all the guys to rip off their shirts – and, out of sheer politeness, Mia ripped off her shirt as well, exposing me to the first female breasts that I had seen live since I was 23. Go figure!
Mind you, even at their height, the sleaziest of the porn boys strutting and groping paled next to what you could see in any New York strip club any day of the week. During the last 10 minutes of the evening, the porno boys were ordered to move about through the audience and meet and greet everyone. By some magic, I found myself myself right next to one of the hottest young Mike Hancock boys, a cute, twinky-ish boy who goes by the name “Mike Brick.” When I first heard him say his name, I figured, like any sensible person, that his name was “Mike Prick” – but it is clear that I was incorrect.
Anyway, Mike Brick was ten sails to the wind by end of the evening, as he had been downing free shots during the time he was on stage. And I am afraid the booze goggles must have been firmly in place, because he linked eyes with me. Now I am not going to say that it was love at first sight or anything like that – you know what drunken porn boys are like.
He leaned against me and smirked. I gently ran my hands under his shirt, feeling his beautiful smooth chest. And then, as he ground his bubble butt against me for a minute or two, I could not help but give him a little goose. Inside his jeans. I mean, who could resist? He did not seem to mind, though he was, I am sure, just being porn star polite. You know how drunken porn stars are.
Much to my amazement, I subsequently found myself at the bar, within clutching range of a hideous old troll, who kept buying me drinks. Isn’t that lovely? I can’t remember the last time someone bought me a drink. And all I had to do for them is chat in a polite and genial manner, which is what I would do anyway. Actually, as I said, drinks were two for the price of one, anyway, so all that was happening was that he was giving me his second drink, which happened to be the same gin and tonic that I was enjoying. But I daresay by the end of the evening I was staggering home.
A short time later, I found myself scanning disreputable sites such as Craigslist, looking for some… oh, I don’t know, some of the old you-know-what. I received an e-mail from a promising young fellow – he claimed he was shy, 26, tall and lean. He desperately wanted to get it on, but instead of a photo, he asked me to pull up the IMDB photo of a certain actor who appeared in several goofy teen movies, such as AMERICAN PIGLET and SILLY SKI BUNNIES.
“I look JUST like that guy!” he said in his e-mail. Now, me, I hate it when closet cases tell you that they “look” just like some movie star to give you a general idea of what they look like. Though I did have a laugh one day when I asked some fellow on line what movie star he looked like and he admitted he looked like Michael Bloomberg. Hot!
Anyway, even if the kid was fibbing about looking like some movie star, I decided that his stats sounded appealing and so I invited him over. “I’ll be there in 15 minutes!” he cyberburbled. No more than twenty minutes later, the boy buzzed from downstairs. I let him in.
And a moment later in came, not a kid who LOOKED like the famous young actor – but the actual actor himself! Seriously. I would have recognized him anywhere – he was that familiar. Not quite a household name, but sort of a schoolyard name, I’d say. Above B-movies – but not quite in the A movie range. I’d say he is well known to folks of teen comedies – but was not likely to make a breakthrough to appearing in THE ICE HOUSE or SPIDERMAN.
No, do not ask who he was. I shall not tell you. I mean, I have had a possible cybersex relationship with another famous person before – but the fact that I could never absolutely assure myself and you that he was who he said he was, gave the whole thing deniability. Here there was no question whom he was. So I shall remain fairly discreet about his identity. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, I must stress to you, dear blog-a-licious blog, that he was not THAT actor – he was NOT the Superstar Twink: Those days are long gone. This was, I assure you, a much less important, yet still well known young star.
Now, I am trying to write a little less about actual sex practices, which, with their “he-did-this-I-did-that” concatenation of mechanics are rather boring to recount. Yet, these circumstances are unusual enough to merit some closer description. My tall young and hot movie star was really a very charming boy, all told. He looked just like he did on camera, except with perhaps just a tad of sadness around the eyes.
I slid off his shirt, revealing a smooth, boyishly toned physique. And when he slid down his jeans, he was wearing a long pair of pajamas, indicative of the haste with which he had run out of the house. He had one single tattoo -- a pair of intertwined crescent-shaped laurels right on his hip bone. His prick was rock hard from the start, but satiny soft to the touch – and it was nestled in a thatch of light brownish pubic hair that looked pleasantly trimmed. Perhaps by a make up artist or other couture professional?
He gave head like a champ, too, all the while feverishly rubbing his above-average-sized pink penis. He demanded that I shoot right on his face, so I had the distinct satisfaction of seeing a face that I had seen on the silver screen many times, now covered with my sperm. And with his face still buried in my crotch, he shot his own movie star load on my leg.
As he tidied himself up, the star mentioned that he had been out that night with friends, celebrating a pal’s birthday at the Chateau Marmont. He was expected on set the next day for some thing or other – but he was just not able to sleep and needed to… well, you know how it is.
But, you see my underlying theme here, don’t you? For some reason, I am much better at sleazing it up than at anything else I do. I mean, movie stars and porn stars aren’t battering down the doors in my other life – there I am barely able to get anything done. What do you think is the moral here? Should I go and bury myself in debauch, since that seems to be what I have a knack for? Or should I punish myself by being “moral” and swearing off all that stuff? For the life of me, sometimes I am rather confused myself.
