Sunday, May 29, 2011
The early 1980s were a fearless time for the outré and the experimental seeping into the mainstream, but the fear was around the corner.
António Variações was a Portuguese pop star who channelled Sparks and Soft Cell and dreamed of the bright shadows of New York. His songs echoed with loneliness and desire. His heroes felt different, outlawed, burning with physical needs unrequited. His first song was a new wave interpretation of fado diva Amália Rodrigues - 'Povo Que Lavas No Rio'. He was brazen, and shimmied on stage like an exotic bird.
All around and on the streets, the mood was a rejection of the grey of yesteryear, but few were as daring as he. His second album 'Dar e Receber'/'Give and Receive') ready, it's 'Canção de Engate´was about to catapult him centrestage. It invaded the radios, just when he died of AIDS-related pneumonio in 1984.
Some 26 years later, slipping through the turgid, grey gay scene of a wonderful but somewhat embattled country, I felt compelled to start a celebratory party in the name of innocent, gaudy fun. Enough of thinking small, or safe. It's early days yet, but as I dream, I think of António Variações, and wish he were here. And I want to create something that honours his wild, wooly energy!
Saturday, May 21, 2011
I always was a hiphop kid. I was that before I came out. In 1982 that meant Grandmaster Flash and New York. Chrome and glass reaching into the sky and Adidas. In 1986, living in Brighton, UK, I saw the Def Jam tours of the Beastie Boys with Run DMC, and LL Cool J with Public Enemy. I had the Def Jam sampler cassette in '88. I knew what they were saying in the lyrics, but I was just responding on an intuitive level. The beats were everything to me, and the idea of living street life. Jimmy Sommerville, twisting in garish (pink) videos was giving me no comfort, no matter how hard my subconscious was telling me to come out. I saw Big Daddy Kane about the same time. I bought Roxanne Shanté and thought Queen Latifah was... ahem, dope. By the early 90s, I embraced hiphop as it got more mainstream, and stupider. I bought Doggystyle, and The Chronic is still right up there.
Between then and now is a long time. Easy E died of Aids, Jam-Master Jay got shot. The charts begat will.i.am. I think he's a closeted homo, right? Oh, and Pharrell. And Missy Elliot and Queen Latifah - duh. I read somewhere that Dr. Dre has a boy toy hidden away out somewhere on Long Island.
And then these fellers came along.
GLAAD has already spoken out about Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All. They're right. But why do I, a 43 year old hip hop kid, get excited by the beats, by the twisted, surreal bile laid over the top like arsenic on french toast. Why do I feel we need these skinny bitches, more than they need us?
Who's a fucking walking paradox now?
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
OFFICE OVERTIME (aka. MERGERS & ACQUISITIONS)
The day Stephanie, our retail manager, told us we would be merging with Kajima Enterprises, was a great day. Trust me, mergers and acquisitions are not jerk off material for me, but pretty Asian boys are.
I’ve been into the pleasures of their smooth, succulent flesh since my first vacation to Bali, maybe ten years ago. Since then, I have got busy on Asian boy ass to the point where I consider myself an expert. Cambodians have the tightest holes, Koreans smell the sweetest (like satay sauce), Thais love to suck dick. At least, they love to suck my dick. But then, it is pretty remarkable, thick with big hanging balls.
So I’m almost creaming my pants when the big day comes and we get to meet Mr. Ozu, the Head of Operations, who has come all the way from Tokyo. Oh yeah, we’re talking The Land of the Rising Hard On here and I’ve a taste for some cool Japanese sashimi.
I haven’t fucked a Jap boy ever. Yikes! But I’m ready to put right that glitch in my record. They’re just too cool, I guess. But playing hard to get has always made me shoot my wad. There’s a general air of expectancy when he’s on his way up in the elevator, I can feel it. Well I imagine they feel it, my co-workers, but I can smell it. I can smell his tight little buns and his coy plaything nestling in those stiff, bristly pubes riding all the way up to the 31st floor. And when he does finally walk in, bowing gracefully to us all, it’s me that’s floored.
He has got to the most beautiful young man I’ve ever wanted to ram my cock into. First of all he’s impeccably dressed in a Gucci suit, open white Hermes shirt that reveals a milky neck and a pale Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. That gets points. His face is framed by a stubbly day’s growth of black facial hair, which has got to be a first. Most Asian boys are clean shaven. It’s also intensely erotic. If I didn’t know better he has logged onto my intense interest and is staring straight back at me with a pair of half-moon eyes that shimmer with desire. At least I hope it’s desire, but I look away because now is not the moment to jump to wrong conclusions.
At the first opportunity I excuse myself and get back to photocopying papers at the machine near my desk. I can’t help myself though; I have one eye firmly trained on that boy’s butt all the time. I can’t exactly be sure, but I’m hoping – did I say hoping? I mean praying that he is checking me out. I guess I wasn’t so subtle after all.
Aware that I’m actually shaking I excuse myself and head for the supplies closet, for which you need a key and I am the keeper of the keys. So, as soon as I’m in there on my own, I take a deep breath. I’m so horny I could top a sumo wrestler. I pull at my zipper and have such an erection it almost finds its own way out my pants. I start beating off, somewhere near the post-its, imagining all the time I have his butt cheeks banging up against my thighs and he’s swallowing my tool with his tight ass. Five more seconds and I’m going to ruin all the printer paper.
It’s right then I get the fright of my life. The closet door opens and Mr. Ozu is standing right there in the shadow of my boner. “Excuse me,” he says in clipped English, “I was looking for the bathroom?” I’m busy stuffing my dick back in my pants, about to speak up, but he waves my hand away. “Please, carry on.” He shuts the door behind him, and turns the key in the lock, which I had forgotten to do the first time, idiot. “I said carry on,” he continues, when he sees my embarrassment. “I am your boss. You will do what I say.”
I spit on my hand and pull some more on my cock, not quite believing I hit the major league jackpot here. Pretty soon I’m working up quite some steam, him watching me all the while with a glint in his eye, arms folded. When he’s seen enough he crouches down and begins to suck me furiously, making all kinds of slurping noises. I’d say Mr. Ozu never got where he was by being discrete, but he’s good. Oh boy, he’s good. His stubble is rubbing against my balls and I see a bead of sweat trickle down his porcelain forehead, and it’s all I can do not to cum a bellyful in his mouth.
We don’t have all day clearly, so he doesn’t waste any time and unbuckles his belt while chowing down on my fat cock. I can’t take my eyes off him, not even to let them roll back in my head. I see a flash of a garden path snaking up his belly and then his circumcised dick says hello. I looove Asian dick. It ain’t the biggest meat on the block, but it has got to be the best cut. This one is sweet, a good size and smooth, with a pretty head all creamed up already, leaving little snail trails on his expensive pants. It would look good in my mouth. But before I can get too attached to it, he stops sucking me off, and has turned around, wiggling his rump in my face.
“Eat my ass, now,” he says.
Wow. I take a quality moment. I reach up and hold his cheeks in my hands. They feel warm to the touch. Flawless. Slowly, I pull them apart. I hear the man’s breath quicken. He has the most sexy hole I could hope to make sweet lust to. I lick a finger and run it softly over the puckered flesh, coiling it through the little tufts of curly black hair He moans and immediately grabs at his cock, letting out a gasp.
“Rim it, I said.”
Wondering if my job would be on the line if I don’t do as I’m told, I grab his cheeks hard, digging my fingers in and land my face right in between, darting my tongue hard and fast into his butthole. He begins to wiggle furiously, clamping himself onto my face, as I suck up the smells of his freshly-showered body. My own dick is already about to blow its top, and somehow Ozu has managed to reach around and grab my nipple inside my shirt. “Next… time…” he is grunting as he pumps at his cock, “you are… going to… fuck… me… HARD!” He yelps and cums like a water cannon all over the door, great cascading fountains of ejaculate that don’t seem to stop.
“Yes sir!” I bellow and I jump to my feet, shooting my wad across his naked butt before me, experiencing a gut-wrenching orgasm that doesn’t subside till I’ve licked all my sperm off his smooth Asian ass. “Jeez.” I squeak, totally spent. He’s already hurriedly pulling his pants up and I say a silent goodbye to his butt that I hope to get real busy on.
Someone knocks gingerly at the door and I realize I ought to freshen up fast myself. “I’ll be right there!” I holler and I rush to appear a little more presentable. I swap an excited glance with Ozu, who is already looking quite the pretty picture.
I unlock the door and open it to reveal Stephanie, regarding us with perplexity. “What’s going on, Daniel?” I can see all heads turn in the office and I know I’m going bright red. I have no idea what to say.
Mr. Ozu butts in, and as I watch that beautiful mouth save my ass, I know I can’t wait till it see it wrapped around my dick again, some day soon. “Daniel, thank you for showing me the office supplies situation,” he says briskly. Then he winks, so subtle only I notice. “I am sure I will enjoy working with you. Man to man.”
(This gig was somewhat shortlived. Apparently there were far too many subtexts in my porn. I admit - subtexts get me hard.)