Sex and the Second City

Kwan

ROD TIDWELL
Maybe you don't.  Because it's not
just the money I de serve.  It's
not just the "coin."  It's the...-- the kwan.

JERRY MAGUIRE
That's your word?

ROD TIDWELL
Yeah, man, it means love, respect,
community... and the dollars too.
The package.  The kwan.

---excerpt from the motion picture Jerry Maguire.

Even though she placed fourth in this year's figure skating world championships--I still love Michelle Kwan.  How can you not love a 24 year-old "dinosaur"  sticking her middle finger to the figure skating world and saying, Fuck you teenage bitches--I am not too old to show you a thing or two.  Michelle has won a million gold and silver medals at the U.S. and World Championships--easily making her the best living (and currently competing) figure skating champion. 

Yet, one thing has alluded her--an Olympic gold medal.  At the 1998 Nagano, Japan Olympics, Tara Lipinksi, that sprite-ish barely 16 year-old bitch who two-footed all of her landings won.  Kwan took the silver.  Even though Tara was the youngest woman to ever win a figure skating gold--the sprite retired from amatuer skating and went professional.  But Kwan continued. 

In 2002,  I was mortified to see Kwan lose yet again to ANOTHER 16 year old--Sarah Hughes.  Kwan emerged as the bronze medalist, while Sarah was crowned the Salt Lake City champion.  After three Olympic appeareances the gold medal eluded my girl Michelle Kwan. 

All of the reporters and commentators congratulated Kwan on a great career and told the world that Salt Lake would be her last Olympics.  The problem was--they didn't check with Michelle.

Sarah Hughes disappeared.  Michelle came back.  She has been the US National Champion every year since 2002--and in 2003 she claimed the gold medal at World's. 

Now, next year Kwan has one last Olympic games to get that medal--2006 Torino, Italy.  Will she do it?  I sure as hell hope so. 

Why?  Because while all of those little 16 year old hoe's are technically on point--Michelle Kwan brings it on with artistry.  She makes you feel it.  Emotion.  Passion.  Spirals with her leg extended and her arms spread, welcoming all who watch her to see her joy and warmth, and excitement..

As opposed to the little girls who have great technique--who make me do the occasional, Damn, that was amazing when they do a triple axle jump--Michelle compells me to watch her from beginning to end.  I can't take my eyes of her form.  She is the total package.

And the total package isn't that easy to find.

Trust, me I should know.  Two nights ago, I had round two of operation TEST IT OUT.  I met up with a guy from the telephone chat line, JAM--a 5'7 brown skinned brother, 150 lbs, great shape, nice muscle tone, curved thick dick that was just an inch shy of being too short--therefore making it just right.  And to his credit, his almost too-short pipe stayed rock hard.

We talked in his car for a second.   He seemed like a cool guy.  He told me the usual, Guys on the phone line are liars...It's hard to meet good looking brothers...I wish I could find a guy who is looking for more than a one night stand...Brothas tell me that they like the sex I give them, but they don't really call me back after we have sex...Yada yada yada.

I wondered to myself, if the sex is good, why don't guys call him back for a repeat?

JAM liked me. I could tell from his questions.  So do you like massages?  Do you mind if i give you one?  Would you mind if I gave you little nibbles on your back?

For the most part, as nice as he was, he mildly annoyed me.  I don't like guys talking about the massage thing, and nibbling.  It just comes across as too trite--or corny.  I mean if the vibe is there and a massage develops--go with it.  But do you have to discuss it beforehand?

Additionally he kept picking over me--starring at my eyes, holding my finger, constantly rubbing the hair on the back of my hand and on my arms.  I felt like a little baby being primped over by his mother.

But I got him up to my apartment, and we played the strip game.  At first he fingered me for like a good twenty minutes.  Which I have to say was close to best twenty minutes I had experienced so far in the year 2005.  He found that spot, and it was as though he had pressed a button--my dick was on brick.  I couldn't believe how good it felt.  He moved slowly, with stern pressure, and moved his finger in a wave over my prostate.  My dick wouldn't stop jumping.  I wanted to moan and arch my back, but I didn't want him to know how good he was making me feel.  (Sidenote: Yes, I know, hiding feeling is lame).

Then he kept mentioning that he wanted to fuck me.  I had forgotten all about THE TEST RUN--I was really enjoying this finger activity--Could his dick possibly feel as good as what he was doing with his fingers? I wondered. 

I soon found out.  Yes, it would.

He took his time and entered me, and explored the inside of me with his pipe.  His strokes were feeling so good I looked up at him and gave him a peck kiss on his lips.  No tongue, I mean, he hadn't made me lose my mind. 

I positioned my ass and he positioned his torso in such a way that it was like sticking a plug in an electric outlet.  I started rolling and pushing my ass on his dick.  Yeah, that's the shit right there, he said.  Its like this guy had a misile guidance system on my prostate.  I've been fucked by guys with bigger dicks, but many of them didn't find that "spot" as consistently as JAM was tonight.

And when he found it, he consistently pounded.  Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, bang--until I came all over myself.  I was smiling on the inside.  I felt so relaxed and happy.  A little bit of sunshine had hit my insides--literally.  I wanted to roll over and dream happy thoughts.

The good news is that JAM was only concerned with seeing me cum--so he didn't try to continue having sex with me after I ejaculated (a potentially painful experience).  The bad news was that he wanted to cuddle and hold and rub his nails down my back and across my thighs.  I didn't like that.  I really just wanted him to go.

And then it clicked to me why he didn't get "call backs" from guys.  Without a doubt, this man was TECHNICALLY an amazing lover.  He knew all the right spots to hit, the right pace to enter, the proper pressure to apply, and how to use his tool in just the right way.  He was a technical master--ljust like Tara Lipinski and Sarah Hughes-- those little 16 year-old figure skating champions.  Those girls wowed us for one grand Olympic performance, but then diminished never to be heard from.

But like those young girls, JAM lacked artistry.  He had technical skill, but no game.   You lose your attention after he does his tricks.  He was too busy trying to run his nails down your back--instead of using his game to allow the passionate connection to develop in a more natural progression.  In short, he was no Michelle Kwan.  No total package.

I realized that I was looking for kwan--maybe not the best technical fuck, but a guy that makes me feel emotion and passion.  Who gives me butterflies.  Who I can't take my eyes off.

Like Rod Tidwell, in the movie Jerry Maguire, I need my own ambassador of kwan.

This is a Test

Its been a while since I've had some pinga inside me.  Because of some problems that I've mentioned in the asshole area--I've been a little afraid to do anything--let alone let FRIEND inside of me.  So FRIEND suggested that I test out my hole.

Yes.  Perform a test fuck. 

A series of pre-warm-up fucks to see if my hole is alright before he and I engage in the act.  I had to laugh at the idea--but I thought it would be fun.

I enlisted the services of a nearby fuck buddy--YOUGLI--his name, I am sure that you can imagine that he is not so cute.  But he has a nice narrow dick that has a little bit of length.  I hadn't kicked it with him since the summer of 2004.  He was up late on Adam4Adam, and so was I.

I wasn't particularly horny, but I thought--Hey, he'd be a great guy to test my ass--so I thought I'd go ahead and give him a call.  He was game.  I called FRIEND to let him know what I was going to do.

I hopped on my bike and in 8 minutes flat I was ringing YOUGLI's bell.  When he opened the door, the first thing I thought was: Damn, he got uglier.  But it was cool.  His body was lean and his dick was better than functional.

His apartment reaked of the smell of marijuana.  We didn't waste too much time talking.  Thank  goodness, I just took off my clothes and got down to business.  I strapped a condom on him immediately and got to sucking.

I think he was really enjoying the way I looked because he was rock hard.  And he loved feeling my mouth on his pipe.  I liked that he was so hard.  But I was tired of sucking, and I really wanted to see if I could take it.  I looked up at him and asked, Are you ready?  He nodded.

I got on my back and lubbed up and started to stick it in.  It wasn't sliding right in.  I was getting nervous.  Was it going to happen?  Would it get in?  Or would he rip me?  These thoughts were causing me a lot of anxiety.

We adjusted a few times and it wasn't working.  Then I remembered what I tell guys to do when I am a top.  I told him I needed a pillow.  He gave me one and I placed it under my ass.  The angle was what was missing.  A little more lube, and slowly he entered me.

If YOUGLI weren't so ugly, I would have really enjoyed the act.  I closed my eyes and focused on how good he felt pressing against my prostate.  He kept asking if I missed his dick.  Hell yeah man, I lied. 

I have to say it felt good.  And it was sliding in and out with a nice rhythm.  But I was more concerned with whether my hole's structural integrity was still in tact.  Everything was feeling fine.

But then I saw YOUGLI's eyes go into the back of his head.  Oh shit this ass is good, I am about to cum, he said.

All the red lights started to go off.  This was only a test.  And I didn't want this dude ejaculating in me--even though he was wearing a condom.  Yeah, I'm paranoid--you have to take extra precautions today. 

I told him not to cum in me, to pull out and cum.  He looked at me funny, and said Ok.  But started fucking more vigorously and moaning louder.  I was getting closer to the edge as well, and pushing my ass up to meet his thrusts. 

He had no intentions of pulling out.  I could tell by the way he was hitting my ass.  So I did the meanest thing imaginable.  Just as he was about to cum, I pushed him out of me.

He tried to force his dick back in me, but I had locked my legs down.  He was upset, but I knew what he was about to do.  You can't take any more?  he asked.  No, I lied--you wore me out. 

I went to bathroom and got dressed.  He wasn't too mad, cause he told me to give him a call again. 

I hopped back on my bike and was a bit relieved that my butt passed the test. 

Now I just had to find two more guys to test it out.

Pass and Turn

In case you don't know it, the best bathhouse in these United States of America is Steamwork's Chicago (3246 N. Halsted).  Formerly known as the Unicorn, this three level multiplex of sex looks like a a chrome plated post-modern euro nightclub that you might run across in New York City--these bitches even have two computer terminals with Internet access on the top floors--for all those boys that want to surf the 'net and try to get trade to meet them at the bath.

Once again, I found myself at the Steamworks, about a week after my return from Las Vegas.  I was here with FRIEND.  And once again, my goal was to fuck someone DOWN so that FRIEND could watch. 

I entered Steamworks first and got a room, while FRIEND parked.  While undressing myself, I realized that the whole working out thing has been paying off.  I looked kinda hot.  I put my towel on and my flip flops.  (SIDE BAR:  invest in some flip-flops if you're going to the bathhouse.  Do not walk around those places without something covering your feet.  You don't know what you'll come across.) 

I started on the troll stroll.  The troll stroll is when you go looking for gems of men, but end up turning up treasure trolls.  Everyone does the troll stroll in the bathhouse--and yes, I am sure that I registered as a troll on someone's radar.

Not much had changed at the bathhouse.  It was still as sleek as ever with club music playing over the loud speaker.  Throughout the evening when no one was looking, FRIEND and I would break out into a silly little dance when the bass started pumping really hard.

I walked around the bathhouse and saw a few guys that I thought were attractive.  There was a black guy with an incredible body--but he never gave me a second look.  My excuse when this happens to me at Steamworks is:  Steamworks is the place that guys who are into WHITE boys come.  So black men don't want black men, and only the homely white guys want black dick.  Whether its true or not, it gets me through the evening.

I saw one latino guy who had a nice frame.  We did the pass and turn--when you walk by someone and you both simultaneously turn to look at each other.  But he didn't stop.  He kept walking.

Out the corner of my eye I saw the direction he was going in, and raced to head him off at another pass.  When we met up again, he stood there looking at me--obviously interested, or so I thought.  When I walked up to him to touch his chest, he lingered, but showed no interest.  I couldn't tell whether he was talking a pass or not--so I decided to go ahead and walk away.

The bathhouse reflects life--everyone you want to grop takes a pass and wants someone else.  And the one's who want you you'd rather turn away.  Pass and turn.

The evening was crazy.  Unprotected sex everywhere. I walked into one room where a guy was laying in a sling and was repealed by the smell of shit.  And the towels, it amazes me how guys accessorize their towels.  I saw guys who made their towels look like square cut bikinis, and a tall lanky black guy made his look like a ruffled tennis skirt with a belt--it was like towel origami. 

There was one light skinned brother there that I noticed throughout the evening, but I never thought he would give me the time, let alone sex. But I noticed a trollish white guy groping the brother's dick (and from the look on his face, the brotha was enjoying it), and I thought to myself, Surely I must have a chance.  I strolled over and the look on his face when I touched his chest was sheer repulsion.  Snow queen, I thought to myself.  I walked away.

Now before you think I am this bitter white-boy hater, yes I did get some action.  FRIEND and I went to my room and just sat down with the door open.  Along came a white guy who had been chasing every black dick in the building.  FRIEND wanted to see it, so I put the white guy on his back and went to work.  All he did was grimace and wince and tell me how big my dick was.

Liar. 

This white guy's asshole had been on its own pass and turn--passed around to everyone in the bath, and turned out.  By the time he got to me I think he was worn and sore.  He told me, I wish I had of hooked up with you earlier.  I smiled and nodded.  Just get out, I thought.  When he left, FRIEND and I giggled over how he couldn't handle getting fucked.  I went looking for someone else.

I walked past a room with a brown guy--he could have been an arab, a latino--it was hard to tell. I stood at the door and he motioned for me to enter.  I went in and started playing with his body.  He didn't say anything.  I asked him what he liked doing, and he looked at me funny.  I knew immediately that he couldn't speak English--at least not well. 

Where are you from?  I asked.  Peru, he told me.  To make things easier I asked him in spanish, What do you like to do?  He told me that he liked getting fucked. And I asked him if he wanted two dicks.  He paused, and just when I thought he was going to take a pass and turn me away, he turnedup the corners of his mouth instead, and gave me a smile--the universal yes.  I got FRIEND immediately.

We came back and I started to fuck the shit out of Peru--literally.  I pulled my dick out and surprise surprise, I had a brown betty.  As I've said before, it's too trite to even get angry anymore.  I passed the dirty condom into the garbage can, turned and walked the fuck out.  I didn't even say anything.

I was getting tired.  FRIEND and I were sitting next together, and I looked up and saw CRAIG (see who's who).  I hadn't seen him in 6 months.   There was a lot more of him to see. 

That may sound mean to say of a friend, but half a decade ago CRAIG was one of those muscle boys who always took his shirt off in the club and complained about all the attention he would get.  Therefore, forgive me if I relish in the fact that CRAIG is now a fat ass--especially now that I am in shape.

I did a few more pass and turns that night and groped a few asses and dicks--but no more sex. After I almost fainted from hunger and exhaustion, FRIEND and I left to get some breakfast. 

While driving away, I kept thinking how much of a waste of a time the bathhouse can be.  What would have happened if we had did a pass and turn on Steamworks at the beginning of our evening and went to Man's Country (the dirty run-down bathhouse with the larger black clientele) instead.  But after our last encouter there, FRIEND will probably never take me back...

Overall, I had two subpar sexual encouters, met an old acquantance, and looked at a lot of not-so-cute white guys.  It almost would have been a waste of time, if I hadn't filled my bag with about a hundred condoms. 

Look Out For:

Occasionally I like to mention blogs that catch my eye.  Today, my blog might look like a blurb of vagina monologues, because two of the blogs are written by women.

The Heiress Diaries.  There is a new blog to hit the scene, and I have to say that everytime I hit it up, I chuckle.  Why waste your time worrying about the sorry Hilton sisters, when Miss Holiday N--the newest (black) fashionista--has hit the social scene.  She dishes the dirt on all the celebs--and keeps it funny.  She deserves a mention from The Sex for the following quote alone:

Friend: I met this guy last night,he's 6'9 inches!!
The Heiress: Fuck the 6 feet I wanna hear about the 9 inches.

Give this sista her props and pay her a visit.

A Nightcap with Jyl.  I give it to Jyl because this chica keeps that shit REAL.  This is a woman who seeks bisexual men for male on male on female three-way action.  I don't even think The Sex can begin to hang with that.  But this lady pulls out the strap on and fucks guys in their ass.  I say anyone who gets heterosexual men in touch with the "pleasures of the prostate via the asshole" deserves a mention.

Lastly, but certainly not least, I need to give a shout out to Frederick Smith, an author whose black gay novel, Down For Whatever, will be released this summer.  I have skimmed some of the chapter of his book (available free online) and I love the fact that he tells a story involving both black and Latino characters--something many gay writers haven't done (yeah I know James Earl Hardy had a Latino character in B-Boy Blues--but he wasn't that central to the story).  Plus, I also like the way the author tries to infuse spanish language in the text.  I urge everyone to visit his site and check out the book chapter--and tell him (and me) what you think!  He also has a new blog that discusses publishing issues.

When you visit these sites, be sure to tell all of these wonderful bloggers that The Sex sent you!

Grandma Called

A little advice to you fellas on the dating scene--don't be a grandmother.

COMMON is currently out of town on a weeks vacation in Florida--and I get a call from him everynight.  That doesn't bother me--as much as his barrage of boring questions at the beginning of every conversation.  How you doing? How was your day? How was work?  You sure everything's ok?  You don't sound well.

There is nothing I hate more than for someone to tell me how I sound, even after I have told them I am fine. If I say I am cool--take it that I am cool.  What's more annoying is how I start to lie.  I won't tell him that my body is sore from working out because he'll reply, Oh really, you need to get some rest.  No, I'm fine, its not that serious, I say.  But he doesn't listen and responds, I should probably let you go then. You need to take care of yourself babe.  Make sure you rest your body.  It's like dealing with someone with autism who can't comprehend.

So now when I get on the phone I fake the happiest fucking voice I can muster--because I don't feel like him asking me repeatedly if I am ok, Yes COMMON I had a wonderful day today.  It was very productive. And the day was so sunny and pleasant in Chicago, and I thought about you all day. 

Everytime The Sex fakes being so fucking happy I get annoyed.  So either way I don't look forward to our conversations.

But he has mentioned before that our conversations are tense--which is a marked contrast to our actual meetings when we tend to connect much better.  Maybe I am just not a good phone etiquette person.  Who cares.  I just know I don't like talking to COMMON on the phone.

In one of our recent Florida grandma conversation, COMMON asked me, I am not trying to pressure you or anything, but what are your intentions with me?  I am sure you have "alternates" but why do you keep hanging with me.

I didn't have an easy answer.  I kinda wanted to turn the tables on him and ask the same question.  I know that he has been having sex with guys other than me--that didn't bother me at all.  I thought about an answer to his question.

He was cute, a good kisser, affectionate, loads of fun.  From what I knew so far, I liked him.  But for what purpose? I couldn't really come up with an answer.

Usually, when these issues arise, I go to my life compass question: What do you want out of life that will make you happy?

I've always prided my life on the fact that I always knew what I wanted--an intelligent, kind, attractive man to share a loving monogamous relationship.  But lately something has changed.  Maybe I am getting more cynical--but I don't know if I want the white picket fence, husband, and 2.5 children.  Was I just getting bitter, or was there something about getting older where monogamy becomes less appealing?  Which led me to a more confusing question:

How do you date when you're not sure what you want?

I was honest with COMMON and told him that right now I liked hanging with him and spending time with him.  But what the future held, I didn't know.  He seemed cool with my honesty. 

He kept talking about the things he was looking for in life.  But my attention was elsewhere.  I was worried.  It wasn't like me not to know what I wanted.  There was a part of me that liked the idea of being in a relationship--and there was another part of me that didn't want to deal with the drama of another teenage cheesy love fest.  I closed my eyes and really started to search my heart for what it was that I was looking for. 

My heart belched, and told me what I wanted.

I didn't like the smell of what it revealed...

Searching for Tank

In my attempt to make Thursdays more interactive, I am posting an e-mail I received and my response.  I love getting e-mail, questions, etc--so please write me at: sexandthe2ndcity@aol.com.

Dear Sex and the Second City,

For some odd reason, they are no TOPS in my area. I meet everything BUT a TOP. It gets me frustrated because I'm not askin for much.

I always get told I'm a handsome brotha. Someone that is very well dressed, looks good, and is very laid back. Not feminine but not masculine. A nice in-between mixture. Someone that loves love and loves hard. I was tellin my friend today that I'm almost ready to give up tryin to meet men. The men I like look like TANK and usually appear to be str8. I can t find that and its drivin me crazy.

After readin your blog, I'm realizin it might not be to hard to meet someone. Ive tried the net and just started gettin into the chat lines. I had to shake my head because I thought only freaks and weirdos called the chat line. I hear these sexy deep voices BUT ARE THEY ATTACHED TO A FAT SWAMP THING LOOKIN FOOL lol

You might be able to help me. Its like I have no one to talk to about this life we live in and havin an e-mail buddy that I can lean on might help me ultimately find the type of man I'm lookin for.

A real man.

Thank you for your time.

Searching For A Real Man

Dear Searching,

I get the feeling that you are a young brother.  And that is cool, since we all have to start somewhere.  It seems that your primary issue is that you can't find brothers that are tops who are masculine (and muscular?) like the guy TANK from my weblog. And that you cannot find a "REAL MAN".

I have two suggestions.  First, change your expections.  Second, change your thinking.

First, your expections.  I have to ask--do you look like TANK?  And I don't write this in an attempt to disparage you.  But the one thing that I have learned in life is that, birds of a feather flock together.  While there are exceptions, guys that look like TANK, want other guys that look like them.  And by your own admission, you're no butch muscular brotha--you're not feminine or masculine, but a nice in-between mixture.

Why not look for guys who are similar to you, and also a nice in-between mixture?  I'm not saying you won't ever find a thugged out top brother who is gonna bang you out nightly--but you might find more happiness if you change your expectations--OR join a gym get real buff and try to get more masculine (which is extremely difficult, though not impossible).

Now that we've dealt with the expectations--I need to question how you think.  What do you mean you can't find a REAL MAN?  What the hell is a REAL MAN?

By your definition--Are you a real man?  So often we have a desire to meet standards that we, ourselves, don't even meet.

Also, just because a guy doesn't look like TANK doesn't mean he's not a real man. If I had a dime for everytime a guy made fun of chat line callers as having deep voices but are really FAT SWAMP THINGS I would be a billionaire.  I'm not saying that guys don't lie--but don't you have to look at yourself?  How does your voice sound?  Why were you so easily fooled by a deep voice on the phone?

Usually deep voices turn out to be swamp things because we don't ASK QUESTIONS!  Guys get so wrapped up in the voice they forget to use common sense.  We don't ask the sensical questions like: How tall are you?  How much you weigh?  (and then asking more confirmation questions, like: What's your waist size?).

Instead, we are too busy asking:

Are you masculine? Which is a truly stupid and unanswerable question.  You can't measure it and masculinity is totally objective.,

Are you DL? (and then the confirmation questions like: "do you have sex with women?" and "does your family know about you")  As if just because you fuck women you are more masculine.  Or if you are out to your family and friends, you must be a nelly queen.  These notions are ridiculous.  I know straight men who fuck women regularly who are more effeminate and girly than some men who are openly gay and only get fucked.

Searching, please, change the way you think about what a real man is.  Or else you can easily get caught in a trap looking for a fantasy man that does not exist.

Best,

Bernard Bradshaw

Assholes

Everyone meets an asshole in life.  It seems like our mission in life is to navigate and avoid the assholes we encounter.  But there is one asshole that no one can ever avoid--your own.

That's right, we all walk around with a little pucker between our cheeks--and for most of 2004, mine irritated the fuck out of me.  Anal irritation is not a cool thing--especially when you are a gay man who enjoys taking it deep in the ass.

Until 2004, I hadn't had too many problems with my butt.  But then last year, I couldn't take the smallest of dicks without experiencing the most excruciating pain.  I didn't know what the hell was going on. 

I would have sex.  It would hurt.  I would put myself out of commission until I thought I healed, and then have sex again--and get injured all over again.  I went through that cycle for 8 months.  And gradually, I started to not want to engage in getting fucked.

I started to get desperate.  I pled for help to some of my friends.  I asked DEE (see who's who) if he had any tips.  I blamed FRIEND saying it was his oddly shaped dick that was causing the problem.  I didn't know what to do.

Then I decided it was time to come face-to-face with the asshole.  I pulled out my hand mirror, and sat next to a light, and decided to give myself a self examination.  Yeah it sounds disgusting, looking at your own asshole--but remember, some of you eat the assholes of men whose real names you don't know--so stop grimacing while I tell my story.

Things looked the same down there--except for this little flap of skin that felt a little sensitive.  It was the location of my pain during sex.  I freaked out.  I immediate got some vinegar, and put it on a cotton puff and swabbed the area.  No, I wasn't getting ready to get my salad tossed.  Acetic acid (vinegar) is used to test for genital warts.  But my asshole hadn't turned colors.  It was still brown.

I didn't know what the problem was.  I decided finally to go to the doctor.

Usually, being the hypochondriac that I am--I go to the doctor first.  But there is something about having someone examine my asshole that just makes me want to grit my teeth and dig my heels in the ground.  But I summoned the courage and went.

Because asshole issues aren't that big, I didn't even get looked at by a doctor--just a nurse practitioner.  She was an older white lady--which kinda made me feel better in a weird way.  I bent over and held open my huge ass cheeks, and she did a little poking and proding.

Then she touched it. Right there? she asked.  I responded, Yes.  She told me to put my pants back on.

I had hemmorroids.  I felt anger and relief all at once.  I couldn't believe it--that's all?  I never knew that it could hurt so badly.  What caused it?  Rough Sex? Pre-sex cleansing technique? 

Who knew.  I was just happy that I had calmed that asshole down.

*************************************************************************************************

But I have a question for the readers of Sex and the Second City--the ones who like to get fucked in their assholes:

How do you go about cleaning your assholes before anal sex?  I talk about brown betties a lot and how guys should clean their asses--but how do people actually go about it?  I would love to hear exactly what you do.  I want to post a guide to help guys properly (and safely) do inner cleansing--so as to avoid problem and also avoid serving BROWN BETTIES.

Please,email your pre-sex ass cleaning techniques to: sexandthe2ndcity@aol.com.  Thank you!

Trite Roses

I know you like to think yo shit don't stank
But lean a little bit closer and see your roses really smell like
Doo dooh oooh
Yeah roses really smell like doo dooh ooh
--Caroline, by Outkast

I love getting flowers.  I even like getting roses.  But it's something about a guy buying me roses that always raises an eyebrow.  Why?  Probably because it's trite and has become downright cliché.  Roses are given as a symbol for interest in someone, love, like, and everything in between.  Men need to realize that there are other flowers.  Who wants to get the flowers that everyone else is getting?

Why the rant on flowers?  Because The Sex has been feeling a little romance deprived lately.  I've been wanting flowers.  Yes, I am gay--sue me.  The last time I got flowers was actually quite recently.  To my surprise, COMMON bought me a nice bouqet for Valentines Day (thankfully, it only had one rose in it). 

But I've been wanting more flowers.  So I asked FRIEND, You know, you've gotten me a lot of nice gifts since I've known you.  But you've never bought flowers.  Why is that?  He responded, Because I don't buy men flowers.   I will never buy a man flowers.  That's just not me. 

Ready for his answer, I decided to have fun with him.  I interjected, But you don't have a problem buying me Mackinac Island white fudge with pecans, putting me in a Vegas suite and sticking your dick in my ass?  He shook his head and laughed,  See J.L. King talks about you openly gay brothers in his book.  The irony of FRIEND's hyprocritical actions was lost on his (previously mentioned) new intellectual obsession with the prose of Coming Up On the Down Low.  He continued, If you want flowers, go ask COMMON.

I decided to take his advice--kinda. I went and bought my own flowers.

But a few days ago I had a guy come over  he thought he was bringing me flowers--or at least rose scented air.  This brother was neither good looking, nor ugly, but really tall.  TOO TALL came over Friday night--all 6 foot 5 inches of him.  He was relatively fit, with a bit of a pot belly.  His ass didn't look so tight--but his attitude was real cool.

But he was really excited with me, and his piece was rock hard.  His dick wasn't bad AT ALL.  Above average length, above average thickness.  And brick.  He said he wa versatile but made not attempts to get in me.  Which was cool, cause I just wanted to fuck that night.

But like his predecessors, he was a runaway.  My sex life was beginning to become cliché.  To compensate, TOO TALL got me on my back and started riding me.  It didn't feel that good to me, but he was going crazy.  He would tell me, Man, you are so sexy.  This dick is so hard in my ass.  I would pump my dick up in small jabs.  Oh damn baby, you up in my guts.  He was making so much noise.  He was totally into it.  I thought I was watching a movie.  I stroked his dick because I wanted him to go ahead and come, because him riding me was never going to lead to my orgasm.

I started talking really rough with him, and he kept bobbing up and down on me.  Then he grabbed a pillow, put it over his face and started screaming.  I snatched the pillow away and told him,  You don't get to cover your face.  ENJOY THIS DICK.

Ahhhhh, he cried.  He looked at me confused, like he couldn't believe the pleasure he felt inside.  He grabbed the pillow again and started screaming into it.  I snatched it away again, but this time threw it to the other side of the room and said, Go ahead and scream, ain't nobody gonna hear you but me.

That's when he lost it.  There was cum everywhere.  And even after he stopped coming he was shivering.  You just don't know how good that was, he told me.  He was right, I didn't.  I was happy that he enjoyed himself, but the sex didn't feel that great to me.

He laid down on his back, and I slowly pulled my dick out.  And with it came the funk of a 1,000 years.  The most horrible smell permeated the air as I looked down and realized that not only was he a runaway, but he gave me a brown betty. 

Yeah it sees that having shitty ass is so trite it's no longer funny.  I quickly removed the condom with some paper towels and he sat there enjoying his after shakes.  Do you want to go to the bathroom?  I asked.  No, I'm fine he said.  Surely he smelled the odor that was permeating my apartment.  He couldn't have thought it smelled like roses.  Could he? 

Overall I was amazed.  Not only are these guys serving brown betties, but now they don't even feel shame when they smell their own shit.  Have some pride.  I wanted to hold the dirty condom up and say, Those aren't flowers you're smelling.  That's your ass.  But that would have been mean. 

At least it wouldn't have been cliché.

Ping Pong

After my return in from Las Vegas, things have been pretty quiet in my life.  And after my identity was compromised with a now angry COMMON, the break up to make-up event with FRIEND, and my semi-hopeful/bittersweet encounter with the BROWN GUY, I wonder if I even believe that THE ONE exists.  Hell, even if he does exist, I don't know whether he's worth the search.

Whenever things start to get a little quiet in my life, I go looking to resolve unfinished dilemmas.  One of my most recent (and I might add silliest) dilemmas was whether I should meet HAZELNUT. 

To refresh your memory, the day after I met COMMON, I started talking to a guy named HAZELNUT.  I was really excited because the dark HAZELNUT was not only witty in his e-notes, but from his e-description had a nice worked out body.  I learned that not only did he live very close to COMMON, but that they were friends.  After a blow-up with COMMON one night I contemplated the tackiness of calling HAZELNUT and walking over to his house.  I didn't.

And there things have stood for over a month.  The Sex sans hazelnut flavor.

But since COMMON was angry with me for not giving him my first name, I decided to go ahead and give the evasive HAZELNUT a call.  It just so happened that he was free that evening.  I decided to pay him a visit.

To say that I was nervous is an understatement.  Not nervous to meet HAZELNUT--paranoid that I would walk into his apartment and be confronted by a screaming COMMON calling me a nasty two-faced player.  Just to make sure that wouldn't happen, I phoned COMMON as I walked to HAZELNUT's apartment.  He picked up.  Whew.  That meant that COMMON was snug as a bug in his own crib.

I walked up to HAZELNUT's apartment and when I got to his floor the door was open and he had a big smile on his face.  Typical.  After taking me through a lot of shit to meet me, I could tell he really liked what he saw.  Side note: That's how it usually is with The Sex--my pictures on the Internet usually don't look as nice as I do in person (which can be a good or bad thing depending on how you look at it).

I went into his tiny apartment and he offered me a seat.  He was very hospitable.  What was crazy was that from a few conversations with COMMON, I already knew a few things about HAZELNUT--like what he did for a living, etc.  So it was weird meeting someone for the first time, but having to pretend like I knew absolutely nothing about him whatsoever.

We sat in his living room for a good hour and talked about television, current events, and every non-sexual thing you could think of.  It was pleasant.  He got up and walked around a few times, and I could see he was indeed a fit brother.  He didn't look like he was rocking any bodybuilder muscles--but the way his clothes laid on him, I could tell he wasn't sporting any love handles.  I often found myself fantasizing during our conversation about the body that was hidden under that button-up shirt and khaki pants. 

Overall, HAZELNUT was neat and clean.  He smelled good, and was very courteous and respectful.  Except for his telephone.  This is how I knew that he and COMMON were friends--their phones never stop ringing.  He told me, I am supposed to be going to this little party tonight, so I am co-ordinating with all my little running buddies.  Before I arrived, I had told him on the phone that I was going to an event later as well.  The phone even rang a few times and he told me, I'm sorry the phone keeps ringing, but that was my buddy from around the corner, he's my ride.

Oh my.  COMMON had just called him. 

We had been talking for an hour and the conversation seemed to be going well.  But there was no physical activity--we really didn't even flirt.  Which I didn't mind so much.  I told him that it was probably time for me to get going, and somehow we got on the subject of the hair on my arms (go figure).  He used that as a way to compare the amount of hair on his arms to mine--which of course required him to sit next to me.  And it was all over from there.

Clothes started coming off, lips started touching and before I knew it we were grinding in our underwear on his loveseat.  And I have to say it was hot.  Hands all over each other, sucking each others chests and pressing our hard dicks against each others crotches.  He just kept telling me, Damn you feel good. And I kept thinking it.  He did feel good.  His body felt amazingly firm and hard.  Its like you couldn't see the muscles--but you could feel them.  This boy's body was dense.

He got a check plus in all of the major categories.

• Chest: check plus
• Ass: check plus
• Dick: check plus
• Location: check plus

I had really hit the jackpot--AND he seemed into me.  We moved to his bedroom where one big half of my brain kept telling me: Get butt ass naked and have sex with him.  But I didn't.  I tried to pretend like I had some self-control.

Plus, the other half of my brain was thinking about COMMON. I didn't like that he was still mad at me.  Maybe since I was around the corner I could pay him a visit.

It seemed like the perfect deal.  Play ping pong.  Meet HAZELNUT, freak him down, but not go "all the way", leave him wanting more, and then take out my sexual build up on COMMON.

So with a very rock hard dick, I told HAZELNUT that I was going to be late meeting my friends for drinks.  He smiled and told me that he wanted to see me again.  I was happy, 'cause I definitely wanted to see him again as well.  I gave him a kiss and copped a feel as I left.  Damn that boy had it going on. 

And before I walked out of his apartment complex I was on the telephone with COMMON.  He seemed agitated.  But I stroked his ego a bit and told him, I'm in the neighborhood and just wanted to pop by and say hi and see how you're doing.  He agreed to let me stop by. Side note: I want to make it clear that I don't like inviting myself over people's homes, so don't think I make "popping by" a habit.  It's a rarity.

When COMMON opened the door to let me in, he didn't have his usual big wide eyed smile.  He was pouting.  I don't like that.  But I guess I must have really upset him.  I got in the bed with him, and we went back and forth over my being so private with him and not disclosing a lot about who I am.  I was getting tired of the conversation.  And it eventually ended.  I did a few things to cheer him up, and then he started telling me how much he missed me.  I realized that I missed seeing him as well.

And then he started moving that big round booty all over me.  And it was over.  The next thing I knew I was deep in his ass banging him out.  We didn't fuck that long because he said he was getting tired, but he came a lot.  I didn't come at all.  When we finished, and he was going to clean up, he got a phone call.  He looked at the caller ID and told me, Oh wait a second, this is my boy around the corner.

Oh my goodness. It was HAZELNUT, calling to say that he was staying in for the night. And here I was, hoping from bed to bed.

After he cleaned up, we did a little pillow talk and I told him I had to leave and get ready for work the next day.  I gave him a hug and told him to call me later.

I was horny beyond words. And now, all I could think about was being on top of the beautiful body that was HAZELNUT.  I would normally have told myself it was too tacky to go back over his house--especially after fucking someone.  But I felt that I was already like a 100 on the 1 to 10 scale of tackiness, so why not go ahead and shoot for the ping pong championship title?

I called HAZELNUT.  He answered, I am surprised to be getting a call from you so soon.  I asked, Is that a bad thing?  Oh no, not at all, I am happy that you called, he replied.  I went on to tell him that I was in the neighborhood and had finished drinks with my friends.  He told me to get to his apartment immediately.  I was there in 30 seconds.

He and I connected--and we didn't even fuck.  This time we got naked.  His dick somehow seemed a lot bigger outside his underwear.  We talked about the different things we liked, and he told me how he wanted to do EVERYTHING with me.  Which turned me the fuck on.  I have a thing for brothas that are versatile.

What was probably hottest about the encounter was that this brotha was working to make me come.  It was like his purpose for the evening.  And as hard as I struggled not to--he would work even harder.  I would get to the edge and pull back and he would say things (dirty talk) to me that he knew I liked trying to push me over.  He was trying to touch every little nerve ending spot on my body.  And was doing a pretty good job.

Between the kissing, nipple play and body licking we had each other shooting like gang busters.   Yes, streams of cum--everywhere.  There was no telling where his stopped and mine began.

Afterwards we sat in his bed looking at each other.  Its like we had witnessed some amazing event.  I felt good and guilty all at the same time.  Happy from the good time he had just given me, and wicked for going back and forth and back again during the course of an evening. 

We said our goodbyes and gave each other a hug. And as I went home I thought about how much fun I had that evening with HAZELNUT, but thought that maybe I shouldn't play anymore games of ping pong.

Like Porn, Only Written

I won my first blog award ever in the Second Annual Big Rocka Blog Awards.  The Sex won for Best Erotic Writing.  Rocka, from Rockaonline.com wrote that The Sex is "like porn, only written."  Now isn't that special?

I told Rocka that I was a little disappointed that I didn't get to sleep my way to my first blog award.  And that in lieu of his gift bag I would prefer a quick fuck.  But Rocka turned into a prude and started talking about his boyfriend..  I guess he wasn't ready to give me the award for Best Erotic Practice.

I congratulate all the other winners.  I also encourage you all to check the list of winners.  Rocka has some interesting categories and you should definitely check out some of the other fascinating winning blogs.