It’s hard to get banned from a sex party but Emmett managed.

“Emmett” prides himself on being one of the most down-low gay black men in Baltimore.

He never lets a hook-up come to his house because he doesn’t want the neighbors to suspect his sexuality. 

And once he had two birthday parties on two consecutive nights — one with his church members and the next night with his gay buddies — to keep his straight lifestyle from intersecting with his gay one.

But although you will never catch him in a gay bar or the Pride Parade there is one thing Emmett does with frequency — sex parties. Every weekend you will find him haunting one in D.C. or Baltimore.

However, he called me a few weeks ago to say he had gotten banned from a popular one that a man from Africa runs once or twice weekly in Baltimore or the Maryland suburbs of D.C.

“I don’t know why it happened but I’m cool with it — I’m not going to worry about it,” an oblivious Emmett said.

I didn’t feel like hurting his feelings so I didn’t speak up. But I know why he was asked not to come to the African’s sex party. 

Remember, my partner and I have sex parties too and Emmett always come and we know how he swings. And we know people complain about him.

I have tried to advise him to change this irritating habits but he won’t listen. So readers, I will offer this advice to you so you never get banned from a sex party like Emmett:

— Don’t touch or initiate sexual contact with a person unless they invite you with a word, gesture or look. Emmett is known for being pushy.

— Pay attention to the sexual needs of your partner. Emmett is selfish. It’s all about him getting a nutt. His partner is just a tool.

— When two people are having sex with each other don’t try to butt in unless they invite you by word or gesture to join. Emmett is known for jumping in between people.

— Improve your sexual skills. Emmett’s sex game is so lame folks ask him to kick rocks! In fact, he is really into giving massages which is not what most people at sex parties are looking to do. That’s why I have advised Emmett to at least get a boyfriend to be affectionate with although getting a boyfriend is hard for a man who will not invite someone to his home because he is afraid of what some stupid neighbor thinks.

— Be genuine with folks and part of the community. Most people know Emmett is DL and just wants to come to sex parties to get his rocks off and leave. If he sees you in public the next day he likely wont’ even acknowledge you unless you are masculine enough to “pass.” Who wants to invest time in a person like that?

Luther only visited Damon’s bed on Friday nights and left before Sunday. Photo courtesy of Hollywood Reporter.

My friend “Damon” knew when he started dating “Luther” the odds were against the relationship working.

Damon is an out and proud gay black man. A professional with a well appointed townhouse in a gated community and good government job. Meanwhile Luther, a tall, dark Jamaican with a big dick and sex game Damon found irresistible, was so deep in the closet you couldn’t find him with a flashlight.

Damon lives in Maryland and Luther in northern New Jersey so they only got to see each other weekends. No matter how much Luther enjoyed Damon’s company, he always insisted on leaving by Saturday evening.

“It was strange,” said Damon, who met Luther online while visiting his sister in New York City. “I never met his friends. He never introduced me to his family. He never invited me up to his home. He always came down to mine.”

Two months went by. Spring  slipped away. Then four months. And six months and then eight. And it was the dead of winter and snowing and Luther still made the weekend trips to lay in the bed with Damon on a Friday night and Saturday morning.

“Why do you always have to leave on Saturday afternoons?,” Damon said as he spooned Luther one morning. “Can’t you stay on Sunday and come to brunch with me?”

Luther got quiet a moment but finally spoke.

“Well, I have to admit something. I’m a Catholic priest and I have to be back to perform Mass on Sunday mornings.”

Damon listened and tried to be understanding. He knew that considering Luther’s Jamaican culture it would be difficult to have a real relationship with him. But he had always held out hope.

But now this priest thing complicated matters. Weren’t priests supposed to be straight and celibate?

So he decided to back off. But a month went by and then two months and Luther didn’t call or text so Damon decided to reach out again. The dick really was that good. So he texted Luther’s phone number.

A day later a text came back. The texter explained that she was Luther’s sister. Luther was very sick and hospitalized and she had taken his phone and was texting and calling back people who contacted her brother to let them know.

“Who are you?” she inquired.

“Oh, just a business associate of his in Washington, D.C.,” said Damon, who was reluctant to inadvertently push Luther out of the closet to his family.

Weeks went by and no word so Damon texted Luther’s number again.

“How is Luther doing?”

The message from the sister was short and blunt. “He is dead.”

Damon was upset but not devastated. The relationship had cooled by the time Luther disappeared and Damon had started to date others.

But he  thought it odd the sister didn’t text more about the cause of death or the funeral arrangements. She just went silent again. Maybe she was too distraught to relive those sad events, Damon reasoned.

A few months went by and it was summer again.

And Damon was looking at his LinkedIn page on his laptop and a suggested contact came up. A man whose picture looked like Luther, down to the shaved head and neatly trimmed goatee. “No, this can’t be. He is dead. Unless he has a twin,” Damon thought.

Damon read the man’s profile. Instead of “Luther Davies” his name was “Lawrence Davies.” And although not a Catholic priest the man had attended a Protestant divinity school and had started at a new position as a minister at an African Methodist Episcopalian Church at roughly the time Luther had “died.”

Damon’s tale reminds me of this 1991 film starring Goldie Hawn as a woman who marries a psychopath who faked his own death for financial gain.

His curiosity got the best of him. Damon called the church in New Jersey and left a message with the secretary asking Rev. Davies to call him. A  day later Damon’s phone rang. It was Rev. Davies.

“Sorry to bother you but your photo came up on my LinkedIn page and you look remarkably like a friend of mine named Luther Davies who  died,” Damon said. “Could you be him or related to him.”

Rev. Davies mumbled something about his not knowing a Luther Davies. He then gave Damon his sympathies, some rushed, generic advice about handling grief and quickly got off the phone.

Damon was shocked. The reverend sounded just like his Luther. It had to be Luther. But why deny it?

Damon picked up the phone the next morning and called back. Surprisingly Rev. Davies accepted the call. This time Damon cut right to the chase.

“I know you are Luther,” he said. “Why the fuck would you lie about some shit like that? That was sick and cruel. Do you know how it felt for me to think you had died. We weren’t dating then but it was still a loss.”

Luther “Rev. Lawrence” Davies sounded a bit contrite but didn’t really apologize or explain why he did what he did.

Damon later theorized that his paramour had finally gotten his dream job as a minister at a large congregation andwanted to start fresh without the suspicion of his being  gay hanging over him.

So like a surgeon excising a tumor he cut all contacts with the secret gay side of his life. Including Damon.

He probably didn’t even have a sister. It was likely him sending the texts all along.

Damn.

“Damon, that sounds like some crazy movie plot,” I said. “I just watched this old movie where Goldie Hawn plays this woman whose husband is a psychopath who fakes his own death. But this is better than that movie.”

“Yeah, who would believe this shit,” Damon answered.

“Yep, It’s crazy what some down-low men will do to stay in the closet,” I said.

My neighbor “Ray,” the thug up the block, likes to roll with dudes who are masculine and street.

Last weekend he told me about one of his newest conquests, a member of a notorious street gang in Baltimore. I won’t name the gang because frankly I don’t want them Googling my blog and coming to find me.

This gang member, who I will call “Curtis,” loves to fuck women. But he also likes to be fucked by dudes.

Ray said he has the tightest ass and is a total bottom in bed. However, in the streets he will kick your ass if you look at him sideways.

Curtis sent Ray a provocative video of himself. Ray shared it with me. Curtis is in the bathroom, douching his ass to get ready for sex. He plays with his asshole, bending over and puckering it.

“My ass is nice and tight,” Curtis says in the video. “Thug nigger. I’m a thug.”

Unfortunately a buddy of Curtis recently found out he likes to do guys. He told some of the gang members and even Curtis’s girlfriend.

Curtis tracked the guy down Saturday night and soundly beat his ass. Then he called up Ray, dropped by, smoked some weed, and let Ray fuck him all night.

A screenshot from Curtis’ video.

Black steelworkers. Photo courtesy of ITVS.org.

Baltimore’s economy today is fueled by universities, state government, hospitals and Under Armour sportswear.

But not too long ago this Rust Belt City was heavily industrial, filled with factories and hulking smokestacks.

An acquaintance, “Kenny,” told me about how he hooked up with a long term sex partner back in the 70s when Baltimore was still a city of industry.

Kenny was married with kids and worked at a Bethlehem Steel plant in Sparrows Point. The job was hot and gritty and dirty so workers showered in the locker room before changing back into street clothes and going home.

Kenny befriended another married man on his shift named “Omar.” For some reason, although Omar worked on a different team, he always made excuses to shower the same time as Kenny.

They would banter and joke back and forth, talking about sports or whether Lola Falana was hotter than Jayne Kennedy or “Sanford and Son” was a funnier TV show than “That’s My Mama!” Omar would never rush to put on his clothes and would stand naked talking to Kenny, acting  as natural as can be.

For years Kenny knew he was attracted to woman and men. So he didn’t mind getting a chance to look at Omar’s tall, dark, lean body and his long dick, all glistening and wet from the shower.

Soon they started sharing rides with each back in the city. Omar would brag about his past sexual conquests with women, rubbing and grabbing his crotch to make his point. Kenny would be so turned on he could barely look at Omar — his palms would sweat as he tightly held the steering wheel.

Then one day it happened.

“You want to play with this dick, don’t you?” Omar asked.

“You know, yeah I do,” Kenny answered.

And he pulled over the car on a dark side street in West Baltimore, leaned over, pulled Omar’s dick out of his pants and sucked it.

Soon Omar and Kenny were hooking up every week or every other week.

“We were fucking like rabbits — I loved taking that big dick,” Kenny said.

Since they worked at the steel plant at night it was easy to hook up. Their wives worked during the day and the kids were at school so they had either house to themselves.

“It was like a relationship,” Kenny said. “Since we both worked at the same plant it was easy because we could socialize together with our families. He knew my wife and I knew his wife.”

This went on for years. They only had one close call when Omar’s wife came home from work unexpectedly during the day and almost caught them fucking.

Today the men are in their sixties. They are just friends now — they haven’t had sex in several years. Omar is still with his wife while Kenny divorced his wife and is out.

“There was a whole lot of gay sex going on back in the day,” Kenny said. “You just kept things more quiet.”

Film poster

The black gay coming-of-age film “Moonlight” from writer/director Barry Jenkins is hitting the theaters this weekend.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find a screening in Baltimore or Washington, D.C. so I’m going to have to wait.

It’s getting rave reviews. See this one in the New Yorker. And the trailer is so powerful I can’t help looking at it over and over.

If anyone gets to see the film Friday please leave a comment and let me know how you liked it.

The book cover

Seven years ago when this blog was new, I interviewed an aspiring young man who was trying to start a gay basketball league in the Washington, D.C. area.

The entry was called “Gay Men Can Jump!”

Recently this same man came up on my Facebook page as a suggested friend. I wondered how he was doing and clicked on his profile.

Wow, how seven years can change things.

Now, he says he has been delivered by God and is no longer a homosexual. He even wrote a book about it.

The book blurb reads:

God wanted Kevin to stop running from the voice of the Lord and to stop giving in to the sin of flesh. God desires for Kevin to tell the good news of what the Lord says in His Word, not only for Kevin but for all of God’s people. God wants Kevin to break barriers and the deceit that the enemy tries to portray to God’s people. He is a trailblazer and trendsetter that is destined to successfully deliver a message of hope and deliverance to all.

I don’t know this brother’s journey. I have not read the book. I haven’t talked to him in years. So I shouldn’t judge.

But I’m saddened by this development. Just seven years ago he was so pro-gay and committed to using basketball as a vehicle to help people who are same-gender loving. What happened?

I can guess.

I go to an affirming church but I know many LGBTQ people who for whatever reason don’t have the luxury of practicing their faith in a place that nurtures them.

So they go to churches that preach hate against LGBTQ people and foster self-loathing.

At least one of these churches in my area I heard still supports gay reparative therapy, which mental health organizations have long proven is a form of abuse what harms the well-being of LGBTQ people. Plus, trying to change people from gay to straight just doesn’t work.

My partner “Van” and I know at least two gay men in the Washington, D.C. area who attend Baptist churches where the minister has been known to preach against people who are LGBTQ, even though many of these same people are very active in the congregations and make donations every week.

Yet another gay man I know of Caribbean descent attends  a Baptist Church here after growing up in the Pentecostal Faith.

Although he is in his mid 40s, financially successful and attends events such as Sizzle and black gay ski trips, this person still feels guilty about his sexuality. He hasn’t even told his parents who are almost 70.

That is because he was brought up in a church that pounded into his psyche that being homosexual was a sin. And his Caribbean culture and his parents just reinforced that.

“Hey I’m still a church boy at heart,” he said. “And homosexuality is wrong.”

I’m sorry. I believe God loves us all and didn’t make a mistake when he made us.

Jesus never condemned LGBTQ people but he did condemn people who were hypocrites and urged people to love their neighbor as they loved themselves. Jesus went out of his way to minister to people who were the outcasts of first century Jewish society, including lepers, tax collectors and the poor.

I just wish more black gay men would get this message.

Pool party at Blatino Oasis.

One of the items on my bucket list is to attend Blatino Oasis in Palm Springs, CA, one of the largest gatherings of gay and bisexual men of color in the nation.

Since my partner Van has a place in Florida and we go there often we decided it’s time to explore another locale.

So Blatino Oasis it is!

Blatino Oasis will be held next April 27-30.

The event is so popular rooms at the main venue are already booked up. However we were able to get a room at a partner, clothing-optional resort nearby.

We also paid for our event passes and now just have to book travel.

We have plenty of Southwest Airlines point so will probably fly into Los Angeles and drive or catch a short flight to Palm Springs.

I’m excited but nervous as heck. So anybody who has been to Oasis please share your reviews and tips!

Kevin (Andre Holland) and Chiron (Trevante Rhodes) Photo courtesy of IMDb.

I finally got to see “Moonlight” from director Barry Jenkins yesterday.

It was worth the wait. This is probably one of the best depictions we will see on the big screen of contemporary gay black men.

The film packs emotions — some sweet, some bitter. And the cinematography is so crisp and colorful it’s like you are right there with main characters Chiron and Kevin in Miami’s tough Liberty City and on the balmy subtropical beaches of South Florida.

Most reviewers have cast this film as a coming-of-age story of a gay black boy Chiron who is bullied unmercifully at school and neglected by his drug addicted mother Paula, played powerfully by Brit actress Naomie Harris.

Chiron’s only respite is the care he gets from drug dealer Juan (actor Mahershala Ali) and his girlfriend Teresa (Janelle Monae), who accept Chiron and answer the child’s question about what is a faggot with grace and sensitivity.

But to me — a gay man — this three-part film that follows friends Chiron and Kevin as children, teens and young adults is really a love story.

Soon after the film opens you see Chiron (actor Alex Hibbert), who is called “Little” because he is smaller than most of the other children, in a field playing soccer with others with a makeshift ball of newspaper. He leaves the playing and Kevin (Jaden Piner) follows him.

Although the other children call Chiron soft and a faggot,  Kevin says he doesn’t think Chiron is as passive as they make him out to be and challenges him to fight. And they do, wrestling each other to the ground.

So even as children Kevin already has cast himself as the mostly silent and brooding Chiron’s protector and supporter. And their physical grappling, although not sexual, foreshadows a connection that will come when they get older.

Photo courtesy of IMDb.

Later as teenagers Kevin (actor Jharrel Jerome) brags to Chiron (Ashton Sanders) about the girl he fucked in the school stairwell and how big his dick is. He says he tells Chiron these personal things because he knows Chiron “can keep a secret.”

This exchange would go over many straight folks’ heads as male locker room talk.

But gay men get it. “Straight men” or down-low men often try to seduce us by bragging about all the sex they get with girls or their dick size. Or they try to mollify their insecurity about really being gay by overcompensating their heterosexuality.

We know Kevin is crushing on Chiron, but he doesn’t know how to express it. At least not yet. And we know Chiron is attracted to Kevin because he fantasizes about him in his dreams. But he doesn’t know how to express it. Not yet.

Then one evening they bump into each other on a moonlit beach and consummate their attraction. It’s an exquisite, sensitively portrayed scene. I won’t spoil it for you — you really have to watch it.

Photo courtesy of IMDb.

However, Kevin betrays Chiron in a violent act and the two are separated for 10 years. But one day Kevin (now portrayed by Andre Holland), who has become a cook and a waiter after being released from prison, hears a song a customer plays on the jukebox that reminds him of his teen love.

And he gets Chiron’s telephone number from Teresa and calls him and says he wants to reconnect. And Chiron, who is now portrayed by a stunningly handsome Trevante Rhodes, hops in his hoopty and drives the 9 hours from Atlanta and surprises Kevin at his restaurant.

Photo courtesy of IMDb.

When Kevin recognizes Chiron you can see the attraction that first drew them together hasn’t died. It’s in that yearning look in both their eyes.

But will they break through all the bullshit — all the ways black men are taught to hide their emotions, be tough and masculine and live up to the expectations of others — and just be themselves?

You need to go see “Moonlight” to find out.

Photo courtesy of MadameNoire.com.

Mr. Party

This is the fun friend. The one you hang out when your spirits are down and you need a lift. He can drink you under the table and his loud is always the best. He knows where all the parties are — even the sex parties. And when things get crazy he has your back — Negro can fight! But don’t go to him expecting to unload about all your relationship and work woes. “Fuck that shit man,” he will say. “Let’s go out and get fucked up and get some ass!”

Photo courtesy of Getty Images.

Mr. Wise

He is world weary. He’s been around. And he knows all the angles. All the tricks gay men play. And he cuts through that bullshit.This is the friend you can go visit, watch a football game, have a good meal, and get advice and a prescription on whatever is ailing you. He’s the supportive type — more like a close brother or favorite uncle.

Photo courtesy of blackmencock.com

Mr. Fuckbuddy

When you need some good dick or ass he is there. No questions asked. As long as you both have the time and opportunity to meet it’s on. No strings. No commitments. Shit, you don’t even really have to talk much. He respects your obligations and relationships and you respect his. He doesn’t like you for your mind. He doesn’t like your bank account. He likes your body and your sexual skills. He’s the perfect ego booster.

Photo courtesy of musedmagonline.com.

Mr. Frenemy

He is good for a good time — the theater, restaurants, shopping and sporting events. But on the low he envies you so you have to watch your back. He will try to fuck with dudes you fuck — or even get your boyfriend behind your back or after you break up. He will try to drive a car as expensive as ours. Or decorate his place as well as yours. Yet, there is something about the friendship you like so you still hang out. Perhaps he has done you a great favor. Or he has connections that would benefit your network. Or he’s just a funny guy. Or be honest a part of you likes the drama. As long as you go into this friendship with clear eyes, don’t have high expectations and know when to keep keep this person at arms length you will be fine.

Photo courtesy of Nairaland.

Mr. Thick and Thin

He’s seen you through thick and thin. When you were flying high and when you were broke and unemployed and he gave you that $350 to catch up on your car payment no questions asked. You have probably been friends since you were children or teens or just out of college. Or perhaps you were lovers who didn’t work out and now it’s platonic. You connect at a deep level. You can talk on the phone for hours. Or not see each other for months or even years but get back together and pick up just where you left off. They have seen the ugliest side of you– when you have been selfish, ratchet and just plain wrong — but know deep down inside you are a good dude who will come around. “Hey man, we all fuck up. You’ll always be down with me.” Trust me, at most you will only get two or three friends like this in your life. So hold them tight.

Cuz it was that damned good!

Moonlight is playing at the Charles Theater in Baltimore.

Trump protest on 5th Avenue in New York City. Photo courtesy of Voice of America.

Yeah, Trump’s victory depressed me for a day or two.

But I’m over that shit now. Life goes on and I’m going to live it. We are gonna be alright.

Besides, this is just history repeating itself.

Whenever Blacks and other oppressed groups make progress there is a backlash from white people who feel threatened.

The same thing happened after the Civil War and Reconstruction. Blacks were making progress too quickly so white folks had to introduce segregation to put us back in our place.

After the Civil Rights victories of the 1960s whites again had to put us back in our “place.” So for years blacks have been oppressed by the prison-industrial complex, the War on Drugs and on and on.

Then the nation elected a mixed race president with a Black wife and children not once but twice. And was about to bring a woman into power. And had given gay people more rights than they ever had before.

There was no way insecure white males were going to have that. Even their women sided with them.

So America’s history has always been two steps forward and one and half steps back. And two steps forward, and one and half steps back. Like a sick kind of waltz.

So now we have Trump. A man who has filed bankruptcy again and again. Who refuses to show his tax returns. Who has been married three times (why was the moral majority silent on this?). Who ran a campaign based on hate and was endorsed by the KKK. Who has never held elective office before. Who has a homophobic vice president who despite all scientific evidence to the contrary believes you can use psychological therapy to make gay folks straight.

Do you think such an unqualified Black, or Hispanic or female would have gotten elected. This is white male privilege writ large.

But don’t worry. We will get through this.

When he comes for our health care coverage, a woman’s right to control her body and health, your same-sex marriage rights, brings back stop and frisk to harass African Americans, and on and on you are going to see people rise up.

There are already protests popping up around the nation.

Too bad folks didn’t rise up, swallow their dislike or indifference for Hillary Clinton, and go to the polls and vote for the best candidate. It might have avoided all the mess that is to come.

But better late than never.

There was no way I was going to get into the middle of the messy relationship with Clive and his boyfriend.

I dated “Clive” briefly when I first moved to Baltimore three years ago. Nice enough fellow but I had to drop him with a quickness.

Here is why. We weren’t dating a month and he was already talking about marriage and picking out spots for the reception.

“Man, pump your brakes. We don’t even really know each other,” I said. “Besides you have already been married three times — twice to women and once to a man. I don’t want to be another link on your chain.”

You see Clive is one of those gay men who is into being in a relationship. They don’t give a fuck who it is as long as they can brag to others “I got a man.” It gives their fragile egos a boost, I suppose.

So I moved on and Clive soon started dating this tall, husky, handsome dark-skinned man from South Carolina. Within weeks they had moved in together and eventually got a stylish, newly renovated apartment in a rowhouse in Baltimore’s up-and-coming Bolton Hill neighborhood.

Yeah, Clive moves fast when he wants to have a boyfriend.

But the relationship wasn’t six months old before Clive was hitting me up for sex.

“I miss that big black dick — this nigger ain’t hitting this ass right like you did.”

“You should see his dick Immanuel — it’s no bigger than my pinky finger when it’s hard. I ain’t feeling shit.”

“He works weekends and as soon as he leaves I got this big dick trade boy that lives up the block come over and set me up right.”

What Clive says makes me sick. His guy is really nice although a bit passive and clueless. I know because my partner “Van” and I have socialized with them.

“Clive, you knew his dick was small when you dated him. So why did you get into a relationship with a person you know wasn’t going to satisfy you?”

Clive didn’t respond. But I already knew the answer.

Clive has a big, pretty penis and claims he is a verse top. But he is really a bottom. His poor dude probably thought he was going to get that dick all the time and Clive flipped the script on him.

So now they were two bottoms “bumping pussies.”

Why aren’t men honest about what they want sexually? Why do they rush into relationships that end up failing because they weren’t open and up front at the start?

Well, guess what? Friday morning I was on Jack’d and got hit up on by a profile I had never seen before.

“Hey, can I come through. I need some good dick,” the man texted.

“Open your private so I can see you,” I texted back.

I looked at the photo. It was a dark-skinned, handsome, corn-fed looking brother. Ummm, he looks familiar. What? Well I’ll be damned. It was Clive’s partner. He was trying to get dick outside the relationship too!

I could have been messy. Clive and I are still friendly and I could have informed him what his partner is up too. Or I could have told Clive’s clueless partner, “Hey, your boy is trying to get my dick too!”

One buddy even suggested I invite them both over to fuck at the same time and sit back and watch the surprise and the fireworks.

Instead I did the right thing. Or at least what I think is the right thing.

“Hey man,” I texted Clive’s boyfriend. “I know your boyfriend and I think it would be awkward for me to mess with you so let’s act like this didn’t happen.”

“Oh, okay,” he responded.

And that was that.

The Man who liked to get fisted showed up at one of the very first sex parties my partner “Van” and I held.

He was a snack food marketing professional from Chicago who was in Washington, D.C. on business. The Man had a hectic week and wanted to blow off steam by romping around my house naked with 40-odd other men.

He knocked on the door and I answered. Ummm. Handsome. And well muscled because he worked out almost every day.

And a freak.

He soon hooked up with “Rodney,” a 29-year-old , tall chocolate brother with a beautiful gap-toothed smile. Van and I call “Rodney” our gay nephew because he likes to come over and just hang out with us and talk about life.

The Man bent over and asked Rodney to lube up his big right hand and push it up his ass. Rodney just grinned and did what he was asked. And The Man was soon jacking off and cumming with Rodney’s hand far up his lower intestines.

Photo courtesy of lucasentertainment.com.

The experience was so good that The Man got Rodney’s number and they communicated regularly.

“You should come out to Chicago, Rodney,” he said. “Sometimes I get six or seven guys to run a train on me and fuck this muscled ass all night.”

“I can buy your airfare and put you up in a hotel and come over and you can fuck me all weekend.”

Well one day Rodney texted The Man an innocent “Good Morning” and got a surprise when The Man’s wife texted him back. He didn’t even know The Man was married.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Before he knew it she had called him and they were deep in conversation. She just rambled on and on like she had to get shit off her chest.

“My husband is getting all these calls and texts from men. What the hell is going on? They keep texting him, ‘Do you want to get up?'”

“What does that mean? Does it mean they want to hang out or is my husband gay?”

“And one time he was taking a shower and bent over to dry his feet and I noticed his asshole was all puckered out and swollen — it was disgusting. I asked him what had happened but he said he got a hernia from weightlifting at the gym.”

Photo courtesy of fistingcentral.com.

Rodney has a baby face and although he is pushing 30 still looks like a teenager. But he can lie like an old pro.

“Oh, I don’t know anything about your husband being gay. I just graduated from Morgan State with a degree in marketing and he was my mentor. I call him from time to time to get career advice.”

She seemed to be satisfied with that answer and after awhile said goodbye.

But the next day The Man called Rodney mad as a hornet.

“How the fuck dare you out me to my wife? You faggots can’t keep your mouths shut.”

He went on and on, not letting Rodney get in a word. But finally Rodney managed to do so.

“Look man, you can just shut the fuck up with that bullshit. I didn’t tell your wife shit. I think she figured it out. She said she noticed all these calls and texts coming in.”

And Rodney quickly off the phone. But a few weeks later he remembered how good that muscle ass was and texted The Man back.

The cellphone number was disconnected.

1. You are too picky. I’m sure you don’t look like a super model. So why do you insist your mate be perfect?

2. You are hanging with the wrong crowd. Break away from the pack – they could be cock blocking.

3. Stop hanging out in the same bars and clubs. The same folks tend to hang in the same places.

4. You aren’t being honest with yourself. Come on. You know you really like bottoming. So why you advertising as a top? You will just frustrate yourself and your potential partner.

5. You aren’t as cute as you think. Perhaps a better diet and a modest exercise routine or better fitting clothes would help.

6. You aren’t as fabulous as you think. Being trendy works in certain circles but looking too edgy can be a turnoff. 

7. You are too negative. You complain about the food in restaurants.The music at the club is too loud. Or the people at the bar in your opinion are ugly. You say insulting things about people or gossip. Or you throw a forest of shade in public. Avoid this…people are listening and you are turning off potential lovers without even knowing it.

8. You don’t have a plan. Being aimless and not having a passion for something is not sexy. 

9. You are not as successful as you think. Stop bragging about what you own and how much you earn. Who gives a fuck? And kindness and respect and love are free.

10. Good hygiene and dental care go a long way. And be sure public spaces in your home are neat. Nobody likes a nasty brother.

11. You depend too much on drugs or alcohol to be social. Nobody likes a druggie or alcoholic. Well, let me rephrase that. They will fuck you and use you but not keep you.

12. You are crazy. Don’t let unresolved trauma or internalized homophobia hold you back. Seek help from a therapist, social worker or trusted clergyman.

One of my favorite bloggers, “Trapped with Her…Driven to Him,” is back!

We share many similarities. Men who were formerly married to women and had kids who slipped to the other side of the rainbow.

Except this Blogger is on the bisexual end of the spectrum, which is a whole different world.

His writing is always honest, insightful, superb and sometimes just plain funny.

Read his past entries and follow his new adventures!

Happy Thanksgiving blog readers!

I sat down and thought, “Wow I have so much to be thankful for. Here is a short list:

1. A God who loves me no matter what despite my many imperfections.
2. A restored relationship with my children.
3. A good man.
4. Good health and good doctors to keep it that way.
5. A good job.
6. A roof over my head.
7. A boatload of folks who for some reason still think I’m sexy.
8. Supportive family and friends, especially Mom.
9. A crew of blog readers who take time to read about my life and comment with good advice and funny words that make smile.

So this black guy hits me up online saying he wants to get fucked. But with a twist.

“I want you to fuck me with my girlfriend there.”

“Oh you want me to fuck her too?”

“No she just wants to watch and play with her pussy.”

It takes all types to make the world go round.

I call him. He sounds very masculine and professional. 

He then texts me a pic  of them. He is a dark-skinned chocolate brother obviously older than her, a slender brunette  who looks Italian.

He then shows me a pic of his ass. Not bad.

I have to admit I’m tempted.

“Barry” and “Chris” discovered a conservative church was the perfect cover for their relationship.

I was hanging out at Club  Buns in Baltimore last Friday night and went outside to cool off from dancing and struck up a conversation with this younger guy in his 30s And this is the story he told me:

“Barry” grew up in the Church of God in Christ (COGIC), a conservative, Pentecostal faith that can trace its roots back to Mississippi in the late 19th century.

Barry was gay but that was something that didn’t go over well with COGIC, at least not openly. So he suppressed it, attended services several times a week at his church in North Carolina, and got his Praise Break on when the spirit hit him.

He even got a girlfriend. Like a good, young COGIC couple they decided not have sex before marriage. Barry was secretly relieved — he didn’t have to perform sexually with a woman when he really preferred men.

But that didn’t mean Barry didn’t get his freak on. He was in his early 20s in the first decade of the 21st century so he knew how to go online to find sex.

And this dude hit him up online and they agreed to email each other. And then they exchanged numbers. And surprise, surprise the man’s telephone number was already in his cellphone. It seems another member of his COGIC congregation was in the same predicament as Barry.

Shoot, they were even in the same young adult Bible Study group.

After getting over the initial embarrassment and surprise of learning they were both gay,  Barry and “Chris” decided to use to their advantage the fact they were COGIC members attending the same congregation.

They both had girlfriends so double-dated. After they double dated the two would go home together an and fuck each other silly. And they could be together at church and not raise eyebrows because they were supposedly just brothers in faith.

“I didn’t give my girl a key to my apartment but I gave Chris one,” Barry said. “I would come home from work and he would be laying on the couch watching TV, ready to fuck.”

“Since we were both members of the same COGIC congregation and dating girls who were friends we had an excuse to see each other all the time and if folks saw us together outside of service they just assumed we were friends hanging out. It was a good cover.”

“You mean your girl never suspected you were gay,” I asked.

“Nah man. She never did.”

Photo courtesy of Build A Bear

In fact, Barry said he and Chris once went on a date together to Build a Bear and made bears for each other.

“We lied and told the staff we were making bears for our girlfriends,” said Barry, a handsome, dark-skinned man with a slight stature. “That worked because the staff was so helpful. They even helped us pick out clothes for our bears that they thought our ‘girlfriends’ would like.”

Eventually Barry decided to move to Baltimore for better career opportunities and he broke up with his girlfriend, who married another man a few years later. But he also broke up with Chris, too.

“You know we are still friends and when I go down to North Carolina to see family I visit him,” Barry said. “He still has the bear I made him on his bed.”

Photo courtesy of onsizzle.com.

He is about five years older than me but works out in the gym three or four days a week so the body is tight.

His dick is so thick and big I swear it hangs down halfway to his knee. But he doesn’t visit me to take care of his dick. It’s his ass that needs attention.

You see,  I’m the Side Chick (Dude) to a man who has been in a relationship with another man for 20 years.

He is the top in that relationship and there is no way his man is going to change from being a bottom after taking that humongous, pretty dick for two decades. And after being together for so long there is no way they are going to break up. They really do care for each other.

So he comes to me to get that sex itch scratched.

He says he loves taking my dick and my tall dark body. How I take control and pound him into the mattress.

He may visit me for an hour every few weeks. But during that time he plays out all the fantasies he cannot do at home. And like a good Side Chick (Dude) I play along.

For instance, he likes for me to leave the door unlocked. He will enter and take off his clothes, stripping down to sexy mesh briefs. And then we will play a game of hide-and-seek, trying to find out where I am in my rowhouse. When he finds me the prize is a good fucking.

Or he bring over a bottle of champagne and sips it with me as we take breaks from fucking. I guess he is a romantic and wants that dating experience.

I’m not much of a drinker and would never buy a bottle of champagne. And the hide-and-seek fantasy games are kinda corny and the skimpy underwear don’t do too much for me — but his ass is tight as hell and that body is sexy so it’s all good. I play along like a good Side Chick (Dude).

I have threesomed with him and my partner “Van” but outside of that he wants to keep our arrangement private. Plus his dude is very jealous and might flick off if he found out.

The man I’m the side dude for has a great body, big dick and a tight ass.

Last summer I was at the Bachelor’s Mill Club in Washington, D.C. and ran into him and his partner. I pretended that I didn’t know him — you know, like a good Side Chick (Dude).

As I sat talking with my friends who were playing Spades I noticed him looking over at me from the bar. Every so often we would lock eyes and stare. His partner was oblivious, busy chatting with folks he knew.

My phone buzzed. It was text message from him.

“God, you look so sexy outside of the bedroom. I really like the way you walk and interact with your friends.”

“Thanks handsome,” I text back.

Why do I do this? If I was single I don’t think I would date this person — conversations with him are pretty dull. But that hour or so with me every few weeks seems to give him so much pleasure. I’m a hoe with a heart of gold and like to see people happy.

And frankly I get an ego boost from being desired so much.

So I stay the good Side Chick (Dude).

Photo courtesy of Alternet

I was out running errands today and ran across Jordan when I stopped at a light near the Horseshoe Casino in Baltimore.

Jordan, a slight, young black man with a pecan complexion, was pacing back and forth at the intersection of Russell Street as if he was waiting for a cab or Uber.

Several times he made eye contact with me. Then he crossed the street in front of me and I thought he moved on. But then I heard a knock on my passenger side window. It was him.

I rolled down the glass. Cold air rushed in.

“Are we near the Inner Harbor,” he asked.

“Yes, it’s about a mile away — that way,” I said, pointing to the north.

“Look I need a ride. Can I pay you $10 to take me over there.”

It was the opposite way I had to go to drop my car off at the shop for a repair. But he seemed like a nice kid and he was so small I could easily whip his ass if he got frisky.

“Okay, I’ll give you a ride but don’t come in here and try any shit. And I don’t need your $10.”

“Aww, cool,” he said, laughing.

During the ride he explained his situation. He was 25 years old and from Minneapolis and had been living in Baltimore only a year but loved it. He had been gambling at the casino and lost some money and was ready to go home.

But for some reason he didn’t have a ride (I never got a clear answer) and his girl was mad at him because she found out he was still fucking his ex-girlfriend. In fact, the ex-girlfriend had sent his current girl some compromising photos showing she had screwed him at their place.

“Jordan, man you are going to have to pick which one you want,” I said. “You can’t play two women like that.”

“Or maybe if you are open and honest with them they may be willing to share you — you know some women are doing that now,” I said jokingly.

“Well, they both mean so much to me,” he said, a frown darkening his handsome face. “I would hate to give up either one.”

He was silent awhile.

“Well you know I’m bisexual too.”

I had gotten a gay vibe from him from the way he looked me in the eye. And from the corner of my eye I think I saw him rubbing his crotch and side eyeing me.

So I didn’t miss a beat. “Well, I’m gay but I was married to a woman and I understand.”

“Oh, okay, thanks,” he said.

“How long you been doing dudes,” I ventured.

“About a year,” he said. “I just find them so much easier than dealing with women, especially them two I got.”

I didn’t say anything. I knew that wasn’t necessarily true.

“Hey can I have your number,” Jordan asked.

I wrote my number down on a piece of paper  as I dropped him off at the corner of Pratt and Light Street.

“I’m going to text you right away so I can keep up with you,” he said.

The thought of my partner “Van” and I turning out this handsome, tender  young chicken was appealing. My dick was already getting hard.

However, deep down inside I knew he wasn’t going to text — there are prostitutes and hustlers hanging around the casino and he probably thought I was an easy mark that didn’t pan out.

And he didn’t.