“San Francisco is gayer than I thought it would be.”

That is my brother being his usual spot-on self (he also noted that our hometown of Charleston SC was ‘a drinking city with a historic problem’, which is also just so nail on).

And points to him for letting his demonic older brother dress his straight ass up in leather for Dore Alley this year.

Pix are here, queers!

Hundreds of thousands of homos recently marched, rode, or waddled through San Francisco celebrating gay pride.

Not that I have gone all post gay on you or anything, but it has been years since I’ve felt uplifted by the actual Pride parade. Crowds, long waits between floats only to discover it is entery #4,987, Gay Dental Hygenists of Walnut Creek, well.. .meh.

The closest I’ve come lately to feeling my own demented definition of gay pride happened just two days ago. Even though I’m largely out of the gay, Rough Trade World o’ Warcraft loop, I still keep in touch with loads o’gayming homos through my secret network of spies and informants.

One which recently shared this Xtube video (so VERY Not Safe For Work) of an AWOL Tainter named Jebb. As I watched Jebb work his impressive cam magic, I felt, much like the Grinch when he sells out at the end of his story, my heart grow three times as big.

Or something. It is just beautiful and impressive and I’m hecka happy to have someone that talented in my extended circle o’ pals.

I love this guy’s blog (tho I initially thought it was something to do with hating olives). He can’t go a paragraph without reminding us he is NOT, fucko fudgepacker, a homo. Please make a note of it.

He writes:
A great way to relaxation is some prostate stimulation. And that is the holy truth. Now, I am not a fag. But of course there will be 20 for every one closet fags who will point finger and call me a fag in hopes that I admit it and they can have sex with me. Sorry, no fudge packing for you fucko. I went out to a sex shop, got a nice dildo and stuck it up my butt. My ass is hairy and it takes a great deal of effort to sort the ass hair out, while keeping the hole lubricated. Enfact it takes a couple of minutes to insert the dildo up my ass. But once its in – its magic. The dildo excited my prostate gland and my dick just gets rock hard. After 5 minutes of stimulation to my prostate gland, my dick starts to ooze clear liquid and I really want to pee. This is when I jerk off and then orgasm like never before. The amount of semer just about doubles and I feel like Peter North, just without a hot bitch to receive the payload. Sometimes I think thats Peter North’s secret; he stimulates his prostate gland and then fucks a bitch and then glazes her up like a donut. America runs on my semen! Don’t worry I do not work in DD. Prostate stimulation gets old even faster than masturbation for one simple reason. After having anything up your ass; you get reminded of it for the rest of your day everytime you sit down. Unlike jerking off, where you spray it and forget it.

I have on my little Google calendar that what I affectionately call the ‘Hippy House’ at 455 14th Street is having another fete this Saturday night.  They don’t do a great job, at least on the web, of promoting the event.  Anyone know if the gig is still on?

If so, see you there.

Boy and I have been meaning to hit, no pun intended, a local monthly spanking party for ages now. This event, please note, “is a safe environment for beginners looking to explore their Spanking Fantasies. This is not an S&M Leather Group. More into the Traditional Old Fashion Spanking over Daddy’s Knee or Fraternity Pledge Initiation Paddling.”

I love anything traditional. And what better day to celebrate traditions than on Easter Sunday?

Sadly, we missed ‘the rush’ by going late (we had, per my own Easter tradition, to witness the merely amusing Hunky Jesus contest in Dolores Park) so arrived at the play space too late to catch the crowd.

And what a space it was. I’m sure the set up, spanning at least 8 rooms and one side hall we refrained from exploring labeled ‘Asshole Alley’, would have erectionated any true devotee of spanking and BDSM, or any colonial-era magistrate looking to question a few suspected witches.

Boy and I were alternately amused and faintly horrified. It looked, as Boy noted, like the backdrop and beginning for a very mediocre slasher flick. Black walls, neon ‘designs’ splattered on the wall, a full sized astronaut and Frankenstein monster, bunk beds, and too much netting greeted us at every turn.

Boy and I had just finished test driving some stockade spanking fun when our host, Spank Master Bill, ambled over, spoke some words of which I recall none, then picked the still bare-assed Boy and slung him over his shoulder like a sack o’ taters, and walked us to ‘the white room’.

The white room had, according to our host, the best spanking bench in the place, and the added benefit of also having a large, pristinely white, suspiciously spotless round bed in the middle of the room.

There were maybe four other people there. The sound of my hand smacking boy’s ass echoed in a weird way through the emptiness. We took a break to watch the Spank Master in action on a nubile gaysian boy (“you know why I spanked you so hard?” i heard Spank Master Bill ask his victim after their session, “Because you never called me!” ouch!).

I have a lot to learn about spanking, and I’d like to start by preventing my palm from stinging just as hard, if not harder, than the boy’s awesome and resiliant butt. Master is a pain pussy! But I’ll gladly suffer for tradition.

A correction. I don’t enjoy all traditions. As I had Boy bent over and was stuffing his face with my dick, the Spank Master (I can’t type that enough, really) stopped back by and suggested I butt fuck the Boy. Well, why not?

Except, as the Spank Master massaged lube onto my cock in a hand motion eerily reminiscent of a cowgirl over-milking a big udder, he pushed a condom at me and informed me safe sex was a requirement.

I like a fetish or two, but some kink I simply can’t do. With that, I regretfully folded my damp dick back into my pants, and the Boy and I left the building.