Gay Bloggies

One of the extraordinary benefits and terrible dangers of coming out at 40--which was the case for me--is that you find yourself living out your adolescence without parental or societal controls. And, unlike a hormonally-blinded and persistently confused teenager, a 40 year-old-man truly savors and appreciates every moment of the experience and unlike your average teenager, the 40-year-old man is not limited by an "allowance" but rather free to roam and experience based on his rather substantial income. It's a gay libido that would send shivers of Evangelical horror through even the most liberal of heterosexuals. And, to be clear, I was a 40-year-old gay virgin so I wasn't just coming out, I was experiencing real (for me) sex for the first time. I finally understood what love songs were all about and at long last I experienced the joys of jealousy, passion, lust and water sports.

Which brings me to the matter at hand: confessions. I've always been rather forthright on my blog, having confessed much, but this challenge demands something new, some secret never before revealed to my tens of adoring fans. Sure, I could confess something childhoodishly silly like leaving little mountains of sugar on sidewalk cracks at night so that they would be covered by ants in the bright sun of morning. Five-year-old Ricky would whip out his trusty magnifying glass, focus the sunlight and caramelize an entire colony. But no, you're an audience of gay men and want something that plays to your gonads. So, imagine if you will 30 plus years of repressed sexual fantasies, enough to fill the Encyclopedia Erotica, enough to challenge the most esoteric chapters of the Kama Sutra. I gave new meaning to the notion of a practicing homosexual, having more things imagined and inventoried that needed practicing than likely any of you have ever even considered.

Yes, I did that. And I did that. And I even did that and that and that. Now, as many of you have likely learned, reality can ruin fantasy and a fantasy realized is very often ridiculous, sometimes just disgusting and occasionally terribly painful in a not pleasurable way. But try it all I would, and try it all I did. Most importantly the perfection and detail of fantasies evolved and refined over 30 years by a very intelligent and creative queer would mostly be impossible to play out in real life; but it took me several years to come to that sad conclusion. I also learned that the disappointing execution of a great fantasy would render it useless for masturbation. That imagined moment that would always put you over the edge, especially in a situation where you might get caught if you weren't fast and efficient enough--gone forever because you just had to do it. Foolish.

Some of these fantasies led to very unfortunate consequences. As hard as I tried I could not stop laughing hysterically when a dear friend and "F" buddy came crawling into the room naked except for a linen diaper with big yellow ducky safety pins; he pooped his nappies and then expected to be spanked. The visual of a world famous conductor playing out his own fantasy of infantilism was more than I could handle. Spanked! Rather I pissed my own pants as I doubled over in hysterical laughter and lost a friend and great source of house seats for anything and everything at Lincoln Center.

I put myself in a most compromising situation with a television sitcom star who was a suspected date rapist. He was and it took me a month to recover.

And there are German sex toys that should be criminalized. Never is a good word to learn in German if you ever visit Hamburg, Berlin or Frankfurt...or even a particular S&M dungeon at a lovely Wiesbaden gay brothel.
The most extravagant fantasy that turned into a total disaster involved melting $3,000 of the finest Parisian chocolate in a huge vintage bathtub in a suite at the Hotel Meurice. My boyfriend and I had chocolate coming out of every orifice imaginable and thanks to the mother of all sugar rushes, we didn't sleep for two days. Yes, we left the maids a huge tip and compensated the hotel for a new set of $2,000 bed linens. I wasn't able to stand the smell of chocolate for almost five years.

I did learn many useful things about myself. I cannot bear confined spaces. I panic if I'm not allowed the option of breathing through both my nose and my mouth. Cute boys in extreme bondage are awfully pretty but like flowers in a vase just stand there. And certain things that seem hot in theory, smell just god awful and are best left to the imagination--at least in my case. And I don't mean post-marathon natural armpits, those are yummy.

OK one last confession that only a handful of lovers and one night stands have discovered, never before revealed on my blog or any blog: the very skilled and clever among you can bring me to orgasm without either one of us touching Little Ricky if and only if you play my nipples just right. Just right. This was a little thing we learned in a harness in a rather seedy section of London. My friend was rather disappointed since his goal was to keep me begging for hours. Infinite pleasure, indefinitely prolonged ended after 20 minutes. I'm still working on that one.