20 August 2014
However, I think the time I've given to not being on top of blogging on the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge has afforded the world the beauty that is the human male body.
For those who are still not with the program: through social media avenues, people pour a bucket of ice-filled water on themselves in the name of ALS or Lou Gherig's disease then pass on the deed through challenging friends to do the same or donate $100 to the cause - in some cases, such as mine, some completed the challenge and donated as well.
The philanthropic-fad sweeping the nation has brought some controversy - "Why do that at all? Just donate!"or "Why are you wasting clean water to get motivated to avoid donating to charity?" - But one thing is for certain, just like the Britney Spears head shaving of 2007 or the infamous Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction of 2004, it has garnered enough of the philanthropic at heart to not pass up the chance to not only brandish their half naked bodies on the worldwide interwebs, but also donate to a great cause.
Feast your eyes . . . . HERE.
Or here. . .
Point of the conversation: Just do it.
- Dee Cue
03 July 2014
I always fall for the guy who likes woman wants to dabble with guys and ends up leaving me in the dust. I am totally comfortable with owning up to guys not liking me and moving on; have you read my blog lately? But come on. Seriously?
My love affair with Ian lasted all of three weeks.
I met Ian on Craigslist looking to hook-up late one night. We actually missed each other the first time because I fell asleep and when I posted again the night after because I was brimming with cum, he was quick to respond again.
We finally meet up after an endless exchange of emails - checking if I was discreet (or discrete?), clean, negative, gay, bi, straight, curious, "for real." He of course, was straight and curious. Also, he refused to send a face picture which is usually a deal-breaker, but he was confident in his "VGL" status and even encouraged me to turn him away if I wasn't to standards. I almost had my fill of the 20 Questions game until he asked for my address. JACK POT.
He arrives and was definitely to my standards - breathing with a dick.
He brought over a bottle of vodka and some mixers to calm our nerves and because he "rarely does this." Ian was very intelligent with a great job. Allegedly, newly out of a relationship - with a girl - and was open to newer things sexually. So we finished a few rounds of vodka sodas and ended up making out and fucking.
We hung out again, but after that, I didn;t hear from him for a week. To which he sent a long text about feeling bad. "Why?" "So much going on in my life and my girlfriend is trying to talk to me again." Sigh. I told him to do what he had to do and hopefully we could hang again in the future. The future was three hours later. That night though, after playing in-and-out, he suggested looking for a third.
My apartment became a revolving door of third parties, the last of whom stayed the night. The three of us. In my bed. Oy vey!
Another full week passes and when I contact him, he tells me he is seeing someone and HE wants to be exclusive. Ian wants to be open to it so he doesn't think it would be a good idea for use to meet up just yet. WHAT?! I told him I was happy for him, but was regretful I didn't ask about a homosexual exclusivity pact because I would have been totally open to the idea of a relationship with him - I just thought he wasn't even about that life because of his insistence on a third and fourth and fifth and sixth. Bah.
Point of the conversation: Beware the str8 man.
30 June 2014
Last night, as the music was dying down on the pier...as the drag queens were de-lashing...as the out-of-towners were getting on their flights to the next pride-party in X-City, I stumbled upon my young-not-yet-20-friend's Facebook status that read:
I'm probably gonna get so much shit for saying this but I think pride is the most ridiculous thing ever. If gay people think they need to celebrate pride to feel good about themselves, then straight people should have pride to, because whether your gay or straight we should all have pride in ourselves for who we are, we don't need a few days every year to celebrate it we should be celebrating our pride everyday. End of story
To which I replied:
Oh [friend], so much to learn. Pride is all about being able to be who you are. The Stonewall Riots (look it up) is what it was all about. [Th]ere was a time when you were arrested for being open. Pride is a celebration of that end.
And followed up with:
Straight people are lucky they don't have a parade. They don't have to prove anything or celebrate the end of hatred.
There were a lot of comments in favor of what he said, agreement with my soap-box, and some pax-freaks who want everyone to be happy. This is one discussion I won't idly stand-by on. As I as proudly wrote years ago in Sticks and Stonewall, there were many who fought for the basic human right of being who you are and want to be. For someone, albeit a young friend of mine, to be as naive to say "I don't get it" is seriously a heinous display of ignorance. Sure, have your opinion, but to not understand and know the struggle the gays before you endured as you sit there in judgement of those who do appreciate in their own way by parading around in leather and feather is even more "disgusting."
Sashay away, gurl.
Point of the conversation: We're here. We're queer. Get used to it.
22 February 2014
One of the best parts of my chosen career path is it affords me time away to get the fuck out of Dodge for extended periods of time. After some deliberation, the holiday destination chosen was Buenos Aires. Aside from my affinity to good ol' Madge and her semi-splendid rendition of "Evita" and the quest for a tasty empanada, I really had no outstanding reason to go. Except for one. This wouldn't be a true STWTG post unless a guy were involved, so of course: a guy is involved.
Initially a Grindr interest whose time expired, Mike and I have known each other, on a technicality, for the past year - touching base randomly but not ever quite being able to meet - and physically for the past four months or so. More on that later.
Mike, a mid-western 28 year old white boy, is a pretty smart guy. And when he reads this, he will throw it in my face any time he deems it necessary - and maybe screen-shot the post and throw that in my face, too. (Eeooww!) In any case, we both agreed on Buenos Aires for two reasons: one, neither of us had been to South America and two, it's winter down there at the time of this posting. (NYC in July? Girl, I can't.) Additionally, he knows four languages. English, Korean, Spanish and American Sign Language. Six languages if you count Sassy Bitch and Hashtag. The point is his promising-omniglot status would come in handy. And it did.
My Spanish sucks long, uncut Castilian chorizo. The con queso sin cebolla kind. For much of the trip, I kept my comments to a "sí" or a "no" with a smattering of "gracías" here and there with a sprinkling of "muchas." I felt like a US official with a personal translator - whose cock I jerked, sucked, and rode on their South American tour. They do that, right?
When we got to Buenos Aires, I felt lost. Nothing familiar: language, feeding times, public bathrooms. Nothing. My reliance was on Mike and I suppose I liked that. On day three of our 10 day Rainbow Tour, we went to a bar/club/strip show with a sassy, fast-talking drag queen. Of course, she picked out the two of us to come up on stage and grind with the hot as fuck BA boys. I may or may not have had an unwanted cock in my face with only sheer Lycra separating us.
By this point, I had thrown back enough (....) to give me strength to twerk up a storm with the locals. Mistake. Thinking that I attracted two leather clad boys with my salsa skills, one caressed and dirty danced with me while the other felt me up and pick pocketed the shit out of me. Alas, he had stolen my iPhone and before I knew it, they were long gone.
There were things about him that trip I could not stand about him. And I am sure he can say the same about me. But the one thing that made me forget it every single time was the gentleness and understanding he had the next morning when the liquor wore off and the bass beat stopped. We laid there in bed the next morning and he held me. Well, after I jerked him off.
Point of the conversation: there is good in everyone.
06 November 2013
I shared it with several friends through Twitter, Facebook, email, iMessage, text. Amazing.
I went to the gym to work off the pent up sexual tension and to my dismay when I got back to get my jerk on while he got his tweak on, it disappeared. If you don't know what I'm referring to, check out the Vine compilation of catcher (yes, that's his position) John Magnum (yes, that's his name), a NC State Baseball player who decided to hijack his friend's Vine account and plaster himself twerking, wiggling, and Dougie . . . ing.
Whatever the fuck he is doing, I just can't. It's got me all hot and bothered.
Originally, these were their own Vines, but apparently because they were "going viral," his friend Brett Austin was forced to take it down by his coach. You know, because they were only supposed to be for them to see . . . makes sense now, right? Well, thank gawd someone with nimble fingers quick edited them together and posted up on YouTube before the damage was done. I mean, I couldn't find the tweaking one ANYWHERE.
27 June 2013
Below is in a nutshell (from PBS.com) what has been rightfully recognized and given to the LGBT community. It spells out a lot of things I didn't know myself.