Old School Cruising vs. The Internet

(IN SPAIN ON A 2 1/2 WEEK HIATUS FROM PARTIES)

How does one go about cruising for sex?
Sometimes it seems to be generational: the young men are cruising on the internet and perhaps not even meeting anyone in person. And then there are those old school people who cruise public toilets.
I mention that because today I was walking in a public park in Toledo, Spain and noticed some men in their late fifties or early sixties exchanging glances outside a public restroom. To see older men so blatantly cruising in a small conservative town was kind of shocking to me. Yes, Spain is progressive with its legal gay marriage, graphic porn on free television airwaves during evenings and an age-of-consent set at 13, but it's also very Catholic and in small towns, you don't see anything remotely gay, except perhaps the young man we observed on roller skates in another section of the park teaching a group of 50 young girls how to move with the grace of an Olympic figure skater. Watch out Johnny Weir! He smiled at us as we walked by.
When I did a search for "Gay in Toledo Spain" on the internet, no such cruise area was mentioned and none of the links were to anything that would work in real time. Although there was the profile of a 22 year old who lives here along with a provocative image and description!
So who are these older men that might not even have a computer? And how did they discover the public restroom? Have they been cruising there for years? Perhaps they are married. I didn't want to dig further because honestly I wasn't turned on.

It did remind me though of my first gay experience when I met a guy as a freshman at the University of Michigan in a cruisy bathroom at Angel Hall, which I believe is still active 25 years later. Public sex never goes out of style. But for myself, public restrooms pretty much served their purpose once I came out of the closet. And the (oral) sex that I ended up having with that guy was at his home, not the bathroom, which proved more to be the place to make a connection via eye contact, with the sexual activity occurring elsewhere.
My preference is for sex clubs and bath houses where everyone's there for one thing: sex. Where looking at someone's cock at the urinal won't get you potentially beat up. You're not going to get a ticket or arrested at a sex club (unless you manage the space and get handcuffed and brought to a local police precinct for selling beer without a liquor license, more on that in a later entry)! I like to watch and be watched and not have the possible threat of "getting caught." I'm sure that's a turn on for some people (and I've had to deal with that in my gym's steam room) but it's not my preference. I want to relax and enjoy the experience with the knowledge I'm gonna have fun. And I can take a hot shower when all is said and done.
That's why I host sex parties: they are my preferred way to get off when I'm in the mood for doing something publicly.


Now if I may, I'd like to mention five non-sexual observations about Spain before I end this entry (sex addicts can skip to the next posting):
1) All the guys here have big deep soul searching brown eyes, thick black eyebrows and fully ripened red lips -- think Antonio Banderas. Every guy here looks like Antonio Banderas. Just the way every guy in America looks like Brad Pitt.
2) I've never seen so many people pick their noses in public. I think it's a European thing, because I saw it in France, too. And Arnold Schwarzenegger is known for doing it. And I saw a paparazzi photo of Roseanne Barr picking her nose -- who knew she was European? And now I'm even starting to become European. Yikes.
3) What's with not-having-a-dryer and instead hanging your clothes to dry? This is absurd. Yeah, it's great to reduce one's carbon footprint, but the shitty washer in our apartment leaves the clothes so wet that it took five days for my hooded sweat shirt to dry. And it's the only one I brought and it's freezing outside!
4) Turning dinner conversation into hours-long therapy sessions is great. (Thank god I don't understand 99.5% of it.) But when it comes time to leave it is neither simple nor fast. It literally takes 70 minutes to say goodbye when leaving someone's home: "Okay, gotta go." And then there is talk for another ten minutes. "Time to go (again)." Talk for 15 more minutes. Get up from the table and stand in the same spot. Kiss goodbye on both cheeks. Talk ten more minutes. "Where are our coats?" Ten minutes. Putting on coats at the door. Five minutes. "Okay, we're going." 15 minutes. "Bye (again)" while standing outside the door in the hallway: five minutes. "Adios!" Second kiss good bye. And the then you're gone -- if you're lucky. And pray you didn't leave something behind.
5) Did I mention I love Spain? Seriously, I do.

Lips of Charmin

This past Saturday we had two parties on the same day: Bears in the afternoon from 3-7pm and one for the entire LGBT community ("NO HETEROS ALLOWED!") from 11pm-4m.
FYI: We don't let hetero men into the LGBT party because they'll only hit on the girls (most of which are lesbians) and our little fantasy world needs to be an oasis from that kind of treatment. Besides, the bisexual men are bad enough. They can get dick anywhere, so when pussy is around, that's all they're focused on. And then when they can't get any, it's back to cock again.

Highlights: Since the Bear party is generally low maintenance, I was able to play at that soiree and fortunately had the pleasure to reacquaint myself with Gabriel, a previous play buddy from Israel. He's a short young cub with the face of an angel and the Lips of Charmin: remarkably soft and most commonly applied to the ass.
Whenever he's there, that's where my focus is.
Running out of paper towels at the sink? Who cares. Mouthwash cups nowhere to be seen? I'm busy. The video playing on the television monitors has ended and needs to be replayed or a new movie put in? I'm creating my own live porn, thank you very much.
Actually that's not true. Whenever I do play, I'm always having to excuse myself to attend to some urgent matter. Or investigate random odd noises. Did someone fall? Or was that the water closet door slamming?
But having the option to run off at a moment's notice is a blessing when I want to get away from someone I realize I don't want to play with anymore. Yeah, I'm bored. Go ahead and suck my dick, Mr. Creepy. Ouch! Teeth? (You're a faggot -- learn how to suck a cock!) Sorry dude, I work here and have to check on the amount levels in the soap dispensers. Or that's what I'm thinking. What usually comes out: "I have to take a break (from having sex with you -- if you even consider sucking my dick as having sex)."

And what about the LGBT party? It's really all about the ladies and keeping them happy. Be they biological or fantastical, the "ladies" are the life blood of that party. And speaking of life blood, I suppose the highlight was during cleanup when I was transferring one of those white plastic tall kitchen garbage receptacles into a large black contractor's bag and a used tampon fell on the floor. A used tampon -- that was a first! So I picked it up (with my bare fingers of course!) and gingerly placed it with the sometimes-slightly-browned used condoms in the garbage bag. Alas, every time I throw out a sometimes-slightly-gingered tampon, I think of the love that one sister is showing to another...

But back to Gabriel: a good friend (with a big dick) and I took turns fucking him in the dungeon sling next to the prison cell. And as usual I couldn't remember Gabriel's preferences. (It had been a while.) Nipples are sensitive and like to be played with? Check. Likes to be kissed? Check. Wants to be spit on? Check. Wants his face slapped? No! Proceed with caution and/or reckless abandon. And of course use a condom. A good time was had by all.
Our play came to an end (that means Gabriel had his orgasm) with my sitting on his face, similar to a toilet seat. Only when I sat on this toilet seat, I didn't have to raise my hips to use the Charmin.

The Affirmation Circle

I'll try to be less didactic in this posting.
But this blog is my soapbox, so it's gonna be hard.
Did I say hard? Yes, this is a blog about hosting sex parties. Or rather, managing a space where sex parties occur.

Last weekend we managed two successful piss parties and I was able to keep the heat up high enough to avoid any yellow skating rinks in the basement play area. That's impressive considering temperatures were in the low teens. A good time was had by all, except maybe the guy who lost his cell phone (or had it stolen -- for the ninth time!) And there was also the one who had too much to drink and was sitting on the floor by the bathroom, leaning against a mirror, vomiting (or dry heaving) into a blue recycling bin over and over. So I gave him some water and had him sit in a chair in the coat check area with a tall white plastic kitchen garbage receptacle underneath him. For being so inebriated (supposedly), he seemed incredibly coherent and apologetic. Maybe he just had a bad combination of food, beer and sex.

But all that was Saturday night's young guy piss party. The older guys on Sunday seem to keep their drinking habits in check, although there is one particular guy who obviously has a drinking problem that I've noticed for a while, so he's been warned that if he starts stumbling around again, he will be too much of a liability and will be 86'd from all parties at the space forever. That sobers up the diehards pretty quickly. (To clarify the obvious: beverages help the piss flow sooner and more abundantly, so having something available to patrons is essential!)

What happened to our affirmation requests for no drunks or vomiting, then?

RE: affirmation requests: in an attempt to keep the parties under control and put the staff on the same page, we all hold hands in a circle (how gay!) before each party and put out positive thoughts regarding what is about to unfold: no patrons passing out, no vomiting, no barebacking, the plumbing will not back up (as it has in the past and flooded the space) and everyone will have a fun, safe time: there will be no drama.
It was my idea to start these affirmation circles (inspired my Madonna's "Truth or Dare") when the parties were getting out of control. I'm not necessarily even a spiritual person, but I believe in the power on the mind. And with the handholding and spoken word, we put whatever we want out there.

So we do what we can to establish the right mood from the outset, and monitor as much as we can. But we can't babysit or provide rehab. This is just a place to escape (safely) from a world of stress and responsibility. And when the economy sucks, that works in our favor.
Sometimes the parties will go off without a hitch and other times a few annoyances will occur. But on the whole, we haven't had the problems we used to.
In other words, our affirmation circle likely has no effect at all, but at least it makes us feel better and brings us together.

Life's Velvet Rope

It's really kind of sad...
Discretionary door policies.
And so it went with last night's piss party for guys under 30 -- "or look under 30." So there is wiggle room. If you're attractive enough.
Aging 36 year olds walk through the door, hoping they're still on the list... it's kind of sad to watch them get turned away... the desperate negotiations. "I came all the way from Philadelphia" or "I was on the list last time." Well, there's a reason you're not on the list anymore. You just don't cut it... You no longer look young. Or maybe you have a bit of a belly now -- your metabolism isn't what it used to be...

Isn't it great how we gays treat one another?
I can understand the reason for having a party for younger guys, but it's not a party I'd feel comfortable hosting. I don't like deciding who's pretty enough or young enough. It's cruel. But for young people who want to play with other young people and not have a creepy 50 year old man pawing at them (I'm 47!) -- it's good that they have a place to call their own. But if the person deciding who gets in and who doesn't is over 30, that's even worse. That's not the case here, though. The door person is in his 20's.

So let the young men play. But leave me out of the politics.

Sometimes it's not so simple though. The police have arrived at our private residence twice. One was the fight mentioned in a previous post (those involved left, as did the police when they realized the call was bogus and unnecessary.) The second time was for tonight's group.
Why did they show up? Because someone was turned away at the door and got pissed off. So they thought they would cause some trouble by calling 911. The police showed up, asking about an injury that apparently occurred. Again, the officers left without even entering the club. Crisis averted.
It was after the second police visitation that I realized I needed to be in the party, monitoring behavior to make sure everything was under control. And also have a sense of what's happening at the door and letting the person at the velvet rope know how to be more diplomatic. (The former door person no longer is employed here -- and happened to be drunk when the police showed up!)
Now I'm upstairs (ground floor) and downstairs (the party is in a basement) making sure everyone is safe (with regard to everything) to the best of my ability. If any trouble is brewing, I'm the first to hear about it. And hopefully I'll be there to diffuse any problems should they arise.

But back to turning people away from last night's party: the good news is that today there is an event that's open to everyone. That's an option to be presented to those not let in: just wait 24 hours and then you can get peed on! Happy now?
But being told you're no longer young... well... that's just life's velvet rope.

Jarring

In rereading my first post, I have to admit it seems a bit jarring!
Jumping right into stories about fisting, ball insertion and double penetration was perhaps a bit too much to start out with! (What about things like, introducing "Who am I?" and "Why am I jumping on the Blog Bandwagon five years late?") But then after being sexually active for over 25 years, this was the first time I did double (penile) penetration and ball (non-testicular) insertion.
So I guess that was first on my mind!
As for who I am and why I'm writing this, hopefully that will reveal itself with each new post.

But is such graphic sexual imagery too much information? (TMI?) Who cares. I've hosted sex parties for almost 17 years (it's time to get a real career!) and I am shameless! My MOTHER knows I host sex parties. As a matter of fact I think most conservative straight people think that whenever gays get together, it is for sex. I mean, why else would we get together?! (When I told my born-again Christian mother the parties I hosted were sexual, let's just say she wasn't surprised.)

The problem is, do people want their "private" sex lives written about without their permission in someone else's blog? (The sex occurs in public, since there are no private rooms, except the water closets.) It might prevent them -- or potential new patrons -- from attending future parties! Or perhaps they'll restrict their behavior and not really be able to fun.
But my aim is not to drum up business, turn people away or alter their behavior (unless it's to make them use condoms)! I think I'm maintaining peoples' anonymity by being deliberately vague about certain information, like the name of the parties and where they take place.
If someone "passed out and shit in their underwear," I guess you would've had to be at that exact place at that exact time at that party to know who I was talking about. I don't think even I could pick that Indian man out of a line up.
And that person who got into a fight and called the police? All I remember is that he was a tall Caucasian with short dark hair and big bulging Crystal Meth eyes. (We do not allow drug use at the party, so he must've done it before he arrived.) Hopefully Coat Check Kelly (who is okay with his name being used) will remember Crystal Meth Eyes if he ever returns. Same with the Indian shitter, who insisted we not call an ambulance because he was married and didn't want his wife to find out. (Didn't she discover the liquid fecal matter in his shoes when he returned home? I hope she's not reading this!)

Am I humilialating/embarrassing the people I talk about? Who cares! If you can't hold your beer and vomit all over the glory hole wall and I make you clean it up, you deserve to be humiliated, Alex! Especially if you refuse to leave and continue to say "I'm alright."
"Umm, NO YOU'RE NOT! You have vomited three times tonight and you need to sober up and go home! Here's some water. Drink!"
But I digress.

There are two parties this weekend: a piss party for in-shape guys under 30 years old on Saturday night and ANOTHER piss party for older guys (everyone welcome) on Sunday afternoon.
Let's hope the heater works and the projected sub-freezing temperatures won't turn our sexual playground into an ice skating rink.

P.S. Please don't ask for information on the parties. That is not the purpose of this blog!

P.P.S. I just proofread this entry and the parties sound like a drug haven filled with people passing out and vomiting. Let me say those instances are extreme and rare, barebackers are 86'd for life and that the vast majority of the people have a fun, safe time!

Start of a New Decade!

Sunday, January 3, 2010
My first sex party of the new decade was last night.
I'm exhausted.
Some college student from France (who currently attends my Alma Mater, The University of Michigan) kept me up until 9:00am. (I was rebounding from a sexless 12-day trip home for the holidays.)

A few hours earlier that same night, a group of six of us went out to eat at the local bagel shop after the party ended at 5:30am. In attendance were clothes check person Kelly, DJ Jason (yes, my sex party has a DJ!), Basil, James, myself and the French student. Slowly each person left the deli until "Frenchie" announced, "where does someone go in NYC for sex at 6:30am?" He wanted to play for a couple more hours and as usual, I am the local go-to guy for where to find such venues. Kelly was fading, but when he realized Frenchie was sort of propositioning him (or anyone!), his energy suddenly bounced back.

To make a short story long, Kelly and I ended up returning to the party space and double-penetrated Frenchie, put 2 1/2 inch diameter balls into his ass, our fists into his ass (separately). A giant black dildo also went up there. The generic fucking ended when the Crisco came out, because you can't use condoms with Crisco! And Kelly and I don't bareback. We went on for quite some time with all the attention focused on our European bottom.
Conclusion?
I wish I could have that kind of attention given to my ass (minus the oversized toys).

I woke up after only five hours of sleep (I require nine) and had to clean up the filth that consumed the entire club. I could've put it off until Wednesday when I put out recycling, but this is the New Decade and I resolve to not procrastinate! Normally (depending on the event) there would be a small crew of people to help clean up after a party, but because we went out to eat last night, cleaning was put off until later (so much for resolving to not procrastinate).

So there I was, squatting down solo for two hours picking up used condoms that were stuck to the cold concrete floor, plus the little packets of lube used for jerking off and making the fucking go smoother. And really, who doesn't want a smooth fuck? Part of the cleanup included collecting all the water bottles and soda cans, because we DO recycle.
Truth be told, I kind of like cleaning up used condoms. And I even have the reputation of doing so without using latex gloves (gasp!) I like the idea of people being safe and respectful with one another. And with each sticky sometimes-slightly-browned used condom I pull of the floor, I can feel the love that one brother is showing toward another. I'm serious!

Before I end my first entry, can I tell you what a 180 degree change last night's party was from one year ago, where an older Indian man passed out on poppers and shit in his underwear, and later a fight broke out and the police showed up?
There are stories to be told.
Things needed to change. So I switched the layout of the space to have fewer open areas and more intimacy; I hired a doorman so I could monitor peoples' behavior in the club; we stopped putting free beer in the communal fridge (now it's water and soda); and we brought in a DJ to make announcements that barebacking is not allowed and that anyone caught will be kicked out. And it's true! I've done it. The Department of Health will close us down -- as they have two other places where I've hosted parties. But those spaces were owned and managed by other people. This is MINE. And I'll run it as I see fit.