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Sunday, October 7, 2012

Dayton Dreams

If you've been reading my blog for awhile, you know I travel often for work.  I've been traveling further and further west in the past couple of months and I love it.  The guys are the kind of straight-looking built guys that make me go crazy.  Those fucking white, bubble asses!  Christ, they make me nuts.  Love the smell of their sweet pussies, love to eat them out, love to fuck them.  Love to be in them so hard and just dripping inside of them, you know?  I have to tell them, 'don't move, don't move', cause I'm so close to cumming.  I just lie there with them, kissing them, by cock deep inside of them, just dripping.

I'm currently at a hotel in Dayton, Ohio.  Here's a pic of my cock I just took.

And here's a shot of me in the mirror at the hotel

So listen, this is what I want:

I want a gay man with his head on straight.  You can't be a druggie...even part time...(sorry about that)

You should be positive like me so I can fuck you without a condom and we can make love like people are supposed to make love.

I want you to have a life outside of us.

I want to see the joy you have for life, so I can see life through your eyes.  I am go go go and with someone who sees the beautify and life and takes time to take it in, I am a better person.

And this is what you'll get:

Total worship in bed.  I'll completely possess you.
My generosity
My admiration and respect.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

This guy has been driving me nuts with his fucking perfect pussy.  He's a masculine guy with very white skin and nearly hairless all over.  Thirty something.  Honestly, it's like he's giving off a chemical that is making me go insane. And it's like he knows he's doing it to me.  I look in his eyes sometimes and I think...are you the devil or what?  It's like he has a grip on my soul, my sanity, everything I am.

I think that's how I threw my back out to be perfectly honest.  He's a bigger guy with long big legs and I think the combination of having that weight on my shoulders along with all of that lower back movement on my part  ;) wore out my muscles.  The other day I was bending over to put something in the dishwasher and I had a fast, shooting pain in my lower left side.  It felt like I had been tasered.  I almost dropped to my knees the pain was so intense.  Since then, I have been having small electric-like shots of pain there, but its no where nearly as debilitating.

Things at the farm are robust.  The recent rain gave everything a second lease on life.  The lawn is lush and emerald and after it's been cut, you have to stand there and marvel at its green beauty.  The sunflowers that I struggled with earlier this year are up and in flower.  The struggle consisted of me and little fucking turd of a groundhog who made it his business to chew off the top two leaves of each seedling as it spouted.  The dog is no help.  She spends hours, stone-still pointing the asshole out, but do you think she ever runs after it, catches and kills it?  Hell no.  I have the world's only nature-loving dog.

Said 'screw this' to the mountain of work I had on my desk the other day, went downstairs, grabbed a glass of wine and headed off into the fields with the dog.  We crossed the stream and the 'wild tub' as I call it...a natural waterfall and place to bathe... then headed up the logging trail into the dark, still forest.  We follow a deer trail, well worn over the years, by the dutiful, short steps of small hoofs that have downtrodden its path. It's like walking in the gutter lane at a bowling alley, but it's a sure, clean way.  Once you are into the forest about 500 yards or so, the path levels off and you get the sense that you are navigating the edge of a dark, large brimmed hat before you begin a descent down a gravely road that opens into another part of the stream and more waterfalls.

One of these days, I'm going to find someone to bring up here, lay him down next to that stream and screw them right there atop the soft earth. I want to fill him with my cum.  Cream inside of him while he's laying on the moist earth with those stark hemlocks above.  Have the drumming blood in my ears, quiet after the rush, and have that sound replaced with the sound of the nearby running water.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Ass-tral projections

I have this sweet boyfriend.  I told you.  He says to me, ‘know one gives you the pleasure that I do’.  He says this while I’m inside of him, holding his sweet, smooth, perfect ass; his beautiful legs wrapped around me.  I can’t get enough of him.  He is right.  He has me completely.  I am spellbound.

I push my cock all the way into him, as deep and as hard as I can.  I slide my hand closer to his pussy and pull it open so that I can go in deeper still.  I wrap my whole body around him, then take his mouth with my own.  I would consume him if I could.  As it is, I grab the back of his head and tell him I’m going to make him mine.  I ask if he’s ready to go on the journey with me.

We look at each other, half bound up as we are, with my dick in his perfect cunt, with his delicious, smooth legs around my body.  We agree with our eyes that we will bond.  I take his mouth again.  I tell him, ‘Open yourself to me.  Let me have my way with you. Let me satisfy myself in your pussy’. 

I stroke harder and harder inside of him.  I pull my cock all of the way out and push it all the way in over and over and faster and faster.   I hold onto him tightly.  I tell him with each stroke, I love you, I love you, I love you.  He’s completely enveloped in my arms.  His mouth is all mine.  And then I tell him ‘I’m going to marry you right now’.  I make him tell me that he wants me to make him mine.  When he tells me that he wants me, it makes me go crazy.  I push my cock hard into his cunt and flood that sweet pussy with hot cum.

I keep my cock pressed as hard as I can into his pussy.  My cock pulses with each squirt of cum, deep inside of him.  He whispers, ‘I can feel you.’

Afterwards I lie there, my cock still in him and he strokes my hair.  He kisses me gently on my face.  I lay on top of him, spent.

I don’t know what we are doing.  I don’t know where or what these trips are, dark as they are, as ecstatic as they are.  But I can tell you that the two of us have converged during those times.  We have met somewhere inside, like its astral.  It’s a connection that will never stop or never go away.  

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

I'm going to a party

It's been months since I've been to a party.  I keep using work as an excuse to not socialize, but the fact of the matter is, I'd rather stay in.  I know that some people find the seduction of someone socially arousing, but it just frustrates me.  If I see you and like you and we hit it off, I don't feel like putting the breaks on in front of a bunch of other people. I want you all to myself, all alone, so I can have my way with you.

I'm with someone now that I can totally have my way with.  It's heart-stopping.  I just keep my dick rock hard, slowly pumping inside of him for what seems like hours (it's probably only an hour or so, but it's certainly longer than what most people are used to).  Do you have any idea how exhilarating it is to be on the edge of cumming for more than an hour, just dripping inside of perfect man pussy?

That sounds crude, but I tell you, I've never had anything like it.  This boy is like a geisha.  He's pumped up, muscular, but still round like a woman...or like anything that is  Having him underneath me, penetrating him, fucking him for hours and then finally unloading two full nuts of cum pushed all the way inside of him is like a bottle of wellbutrin washed down with a hefty dose of scotch.  It takes me 30% longer to get anywhere I'm going after that.  That's how sated and slowed down I am.

I got sidetracked.  Where was I?  Oh yes, the party.  Well, I'm not going to be able to see my regular boy this January 31st.  If I were, I'd probably skip out of town with him in tow on the 30th and spend the weekend up here in this time-stop-capsule screwing him morning, noon and night, but I have a friend really down on his luck and he's been bugging me to come up here, so I'm going to treat him for the New Year.  That said, I'll stay in the city for the party, pick his ass up on the 31st and haul him up here for a few days of farm R and R.

The party is at a theatre and will be filled to the brim with a bunch of theatre favorite kind of folk, since they're mostly gregarious and funny.
I'm planning on doing a lot of flirting and trawling, oh yeah, and drinking ;)

Stay warm, farm followers!  Let me hear from you, wherever you are!

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Christmases Kinky

It’s Christmas, always a time for memories, but I’m not going to talk about sugar cookies and stockings.  It is the gay farmer website after all.  I’m going to talk about a couple of queer Christmases I had when I was living in NYC.

This memory is of a Christmas I must have had more than 20 years ago when I was about 24 or so.  At the time, I was a bartender at a notorious bar in the Village, a left over from the 60’s, called the Ninth Circle.  This bar had already long since peaked, had been visited by some of NY’s coolest set, but now was just a watering hole for the last hangers on of that era, those about to die of AIDS or just beginning to, underworld small time crooks and young hustlers looking for food, lodging and spending cash.  One hustler…what was his name?  I can’t recall.  I can see still see him.  Not much to look at, thin, unkempt, but cocksure and reckless.  He trawled the waters of that older crowd, would sidle up next to them as they sat at the bar, take out his cock and let them grope it under the concealment of the bar rail.  His cock was huge and from my vantage, I could watch the old men’s expression change to lust as they touched it.  Afterwards, they would flag me down to order him a beer or drink of some kind.  They were hateful perverts, all of those old men.  Deceitful.  They didn’t even have the decency to pay the young kid money.  They cheaply doled out their affection in drinks, dinners at the diner, or a place to sleep next to them back at their apartments.

What was I talking about?  Oh, yeah, Christmases.  Well one Christmas, I spent walking all over the city with a friend I met at that bar. His name was Tommy.  He was a graduate of the Julliard School of Drama and kept me in stitches whenever I worked.  He was a funny, funny guy and …well, I can’t remember how or why we agreed to do it, but one Christmas morning, we put on Santa hats and walked all the way from our apartments in the Village, up Eight Avenue, across Central Park, past the Museum, then down through the East Side till we ended up back in the Village at a burger joint.  We had martinis and burgers for Christmas.  It was wonderful.

But the real reason, I’m telling you all of this is this.  After I said goodnight to Tommy, I went to a porno bookstore.  Now remember, its Christmas night.  Still there were a couple of hustlers in there trying to make a few bucks.  Maybe for some last minute shopping, who knows.  Well, there was this one that simply blew my mind.  He was about 6 foot tall, Hispanic, very light skinned, very tough, big bubble ass and a full, red lips.  When I approached him, I wasn’t certain whether he was going to be hostile or what.  After a brief conversation…I remember he was playing a video game while we talked.  My eyes were on him, but his were on the video screen before him… I convinced him to come into the back of the bookstore with me and share a stall.  This place was run by the mob.  All of them were then and you could pay off the attendants to let you share a booth together, normally only 5 or 10 dollars.   Anyway, I got this guy in there and he acts like this tough top and he wants me to suck his dick (which was huge, by the way), but I wanted some of that ass.

After fooling around with his cock for a while, I got him to turn around.  His ass was perfect and when I started to eat him out, the scent of it was sweet and fresh.  For a while, he held himself stiffly, but soon began to relax and after a few minutes more, he was actually sticking it out for me so that I could eat him out deeper.  Lastly, he reached around and spread his fat, bubble cheeks for me so I could really get in there. Even now when I think about it, I get hard. 

The guy was driving my crazy, so I stood up and whispered that I wanted to fuck him.  He told me that it would cost me 60 bucks and I can tell you I practically threw the money at him.  I couldn’t get in my wallet fast enough.  I gave him the money.  I remember the sound of the bills folding in his hand as he turned around to present his back to me again.  His pants were down around his ankles.   I remember the outline of his muscled legs.  He had taken off his black aviator jacket and hung in on the hook on the back of the door.  His t-shirt was lifted slightly to reveal his stocky waste.

I ate him some more to get him good and wet, then rock hard, I pushed my cock slowly into that perfect ass.  He was tense.  After a few strokes, I felt like I would explode in him.  I had to keep thinking of horrible things: the prospect of getting arrested or killed, to keep from coming.   Then, just as he had before, he relaxed and soon he was pushing his ass towards me and leaning more deeply into the wall in front of him.  I was crazy with lust.  It was one of the most rapturous fucks I have ever had and I can tell you that I was especially crazed when I reached around and felt that his cock was rock hard.

After a bit more pumping, I pulled out and came huge ropes of cum.  He did not.  Then we silently put our clothes back on.  He left the booth before me…almost like he couldn’t wait to get out…away from me?  Away from the shame?  I don’t know.

By the time I pulled myself together and moved to leave the store, he was back at the video game.  He never looked up as I left and I never saw him again. 

If I could go back and relive that day, I would not have paid him for sex.  I would have asked him to dinner and then, if he needed money, just given it to him.  As I look back on Christmases past, I don’t remember the money or the presents. I remember the contact. I remember the people.  I remember the rush of feeling that I was in love.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Strong Coffee

Over the many years I dreamed of this house, I anticipated a deliciously brewed cup of coffee.  For years, I had been living with a small 3 cup brewing system in my room of a NYC apartment and I vowed that when I had the space, I would purchase a great coffee maker and brew enough coffee for my 4 cup thirst along with the needs of any friends that might amble in.

While the home was being built, I sated anticipation with shopping at places like Bed Bath and Beyond, the Kitchen Store and the like to find all the things I would need to stock my dreamed-of kitchen.  I wasn’t just out-rigging a meatloaf and potatoes operation; I was out for nothing short of a restaurant grade finish.  And during one of those forays, I bought a coffee maker priced at 120 dollars.

It was a Cuisinart and it had a built in grinder for the beans, some weird kind of way to select the number of cups you were going to brew, and a big thermal pot to store all the coffee in when it was finished brewing so it wouldn’t sit on the burner too long and get acrid.

The first couple of pots were a disaster.  If you don’t tell the machine you would like to brew less than 4 cups, it misdirects the water over the grounds and you get tea colored coffee.  If you don’t preheat the thermas, the coffee pours out warm at best.  If you don’t program it right it beeps…and beeps…and beeps till you want to  throw the mother fucker through the goddamn window.

Yes, folks that 120 dollar Cuisinart was an exercise in anger management for me and finally, I just got sick of trying to pretend I enjoyed operating the machine or drinking its coffee.  So you know what I did?  I dumbed things down considerably.  I bought a French Press and I can tell you I wish I had thought of doing it sooner.  You boil water on the stove till its well, boiling hot, so temperature is not an issue with this brew.  The first sip can set your head on fire if you’re not careful.  Secondly, and this is the real pioneer part of the story that I like, I don’t use the water out of the tap.  No, I fetch, yes, fetch it out of the stream that runs below my house.  I actually fetch a pail of water when I get up in the morning.  It’s one of the first things I do.

I don’t like using the tap because it can sometimes taste like sulfur. The stream water, on the other hand, tastes mountain-fresh.  Indeed, you can watch it roll down the mountain from my upstairs window. 

So I just wanted to give you that report before I started out with my day.  I wanted to give you a heads up on what’s in store for you when you drop by.  Not just any kind of coffee.  Mountain stream water coffee.  French pressed if you like.  And there will be time to talk or share a piece of pie or just sit by yourself if you care to and look at that mountain, listen to that stream and wander off with that water on a trip some 300 miles away to the great, blue sea.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Your Ass is Grass

I never really imagined I would grow up to be an ass licker.  I mean, brown noser yes, but asslicker…literally?  No.  I don’t even know why I’m so obsessed with it.  What is it with queers and their assholes?

When I was in my ‘formative’ years, I never found my own ass erotic at all.  Never, NEVER, did an idea pop into my head…hey, if I shove something up there instead of squeezing something out, it will feel great.  The idea was as far removed from me as PA is from Honolulu.  But I did grow up with a neighbor friend.  His name was Wissy Seletnick.  The Wissy part was short for Aloysius.   He was a short, stout, sexy Polock and he had this thing where he liked to shove an empty enema bottle up his ass, blow air up there and fart.  Now I ask you, how do you dream that shit up?  But anyway, there you have it.  That’s what he would do and on any number of occasions he would ‘entertain’ me with that.  I mean, we were like 9…10 years old.  That boy was troubled. 

Cut to Provincetown, Mass sometime in the early nineties.  I had never been there before, never even heard of the joint, but I went up with a ‘production’ of Vampire Lesbians in Sodom’.   Couldn’t have been rinky-dinkier if you wanted it to be.  And I got housed with this perfect blond, California surfer kid.  I think he was 28 at the time.  I was maybe 29 or 30.  He looked like a young Rob Redford.  Gorgeous.  And he was straight, or so the story went.  Then one night after a couple of belts and nothing to do…they roll up the sidewalk there by 1 or so in the AM…we were in our rooms and I think I must have suggested that I read something to him out of my journal…or some piece of bullshit I was working on …novel, I can’t remember all the crap I was turning out then, but somehow, and I’m vague on the details, we ended up in bed, me reading to him and the next thing you know we were making out.  And I’m not sure if it was my idea or his, but I ended up fondling his asshole and from the moment I touched it, it was like I’d pressed one of those Staples buttons, “That Was Easy!”  The response I got from him was over the top: moaning and groaning and writhing in the sheets.  Well you can imagine what that looked like…Rob Redford squirming around like a finger puppet with my hand doing the fingering…I went crazy.  And the more I fondled, the more he encouraged me to go.  It was dark and he kept saying…another finger….another finger.  Good thing I was only born with five, that ‘straight’ porn star could have taken enough fingers up there to make applause.  

Well eventually he came.  He was half on the floor at that point and my hand was so deep inside of him, I would have had to open his mouth to see my wrist watch.  And we had an entire summer of sex.  He worked at a hammock store and he actually brought a hammock back to the room we stayed in, slung it between two walls and encouraged me to fuck him in it.  My lord, those were fun days.  PS, later I found that the rest of the cast would stand outside of the door and hear us going at in there.  His cover was officially blown.

When we moved back to NYC, we continued to try to make a go of our ‘relationship’ but it was clear after awhile that it was built on obsession…nothing to do with love.  He and I both were trying to fill holes that….well, no matter how much you stuff in the physical ones…the emotional ones continue to gape. 

I’m 47 years old now.  The idea that I still flirt with fucking ass, eating it, having a boyfriend ‘wife’ blows my mind. Yet, here I am still.  I wonder how all of this will play out 3 years from now when I’m 50…how about 55 or worse yet 60?  I mean, I know that straight people have the same problem…finding sexual attractiveness in older partners…but I think it’s going to be especially difficult to find it between two men.  How is any 50 year old man still going to be taking loads, fingers, dildo’s whatever up his ass at that age?

It’s absolutely frigid here.  We have 30 degree temps and half the land is still covered with snow.  The spring birds have returned and must be half starved, half frozen at this point.  A hillside of daffodils planted some 3 years ago is erupting in those stout, pine green stems I love to see.  Looks like the display will be full.  I can’t wait to lie in some warm grass soon and look at them.  Who will be in my arms on that day?  Where will my hands be…and where will they wander?  Over grass, across his sunshine heated clothes, feeling thigh and buttocks.  Where will all my protestations about gay sex be then, when I pull that man to me, kiss him and make him mine?