His Girlfriend’s Panties


The panties Bishop left at my house.

The panties Bishop left at my house.

“Bishop” is a down-low man who came to the very first sex party “Van and I had a year ago.

He walked in the door all muscular and dark-skinned and handsome.

“This is my first sex party,” he said.

But Bishop got over his nervousness and got his life. He freaked on all three floors. I heard he busted a nutt like five times.

“That’s the best time I have had sexually in my life,” he texted me later. “Thanks so much for letting me drop by.”

Bishop has at least one teenage son and lives with his girlfriend.

He has a thick accent and sounds like he is from an African nation but denies it.

“I grew up in New York City around a lot of Caribbean and African people so I picked up the way they speak,” he explains.

I know he is lying but hey if he wants to be that down-low I will let him be that down-low.

Over the past year he has texted me and say all the things he likes to to do sexually.

He is really into women who are transgender and presses me to set up a threesome with them. He also masturbates a lot, often at his night job.

Well last Saturday morning he came over after work and played with Van and me.

He still had a handsome face but had noticeably gained weight since we last saw him — so much so that Van could barely recognize him.

And I guess he is starting to take that thing about transgender women to heart. He pulled down his pants and had on a pair of his girlfriend’s red lace underwear. He had gained so much weight they were hard to pull off his big booty.

“I want to get fucked,” he said. “A friend of mine told me to relax so I can take your dicks. Do you have any weed? Can I have a drink?”

“Bishop, I don’t smoke weed or drink at 9 in the morning,” I said. “It’s Pride weekend and Van and I have a busy day and I don’t want to be hung over out in the sun.”

So I made him a rum and juice and gave him a joint and sent him down in the basement to get high. About 20 minutes later he came back upstairs ready to go.

The sex was not good. When Van and I tried to fuck him he yelled so loudly we had to tell him to quiet down or wake the neighbors in the next rowhouse. We finally just pushed his head down in the pillows to shut him up.

Then he kept moving his hips around so much it was hard to push up in him. It got so boring I turned over and napped awhile. Van must have gotten frustrated because eventually he went downstairs and puttered around, leaving us in bed.

Finally I rubbed my dick between Bishop’s legs from behind, stuck my finger in his ass and he jacked off and busted. He had to shower and leave quickly because he had to take his son to football practice.

But he forgot the red lace underwear, leaving them crumpled by the bed. I hope his girlfriend doesn’t miss them.

“That was a real turn off,” Van said after I picked the panties off the floor and held them up for him to see. “Don’t you ever put on anything like that.”

 

Muscle Madness


This guy resembles Malcolm. Photo courtesy of Pinterest.

This guy resembles Malcolm. Photo courtesy of Pinterest.

A couple of Friday nights ago “Van” and I were dancing in Ziascoz, a tiny gay bar near Little Italy in Baltimore that has great house music on Friday nights into the wee hours on Saturday.

And we glanced over and saw a friend of ours, “Jamal,” dancing with this handsome, older man with bulging biceps and thighs so bulky they strained against his jeans.

Watching them dance was comical and I will tell you why. The muscle guy kept looking at himself in the mirror on the dance floor instead of looking at Jamal.

It was like he was dancing with himself.

Then he took off his shirt to show off his caramel-colored pecs and kept looking at himself in the mirror.

After awhile I got Jamal off to himself and spoke in his ear so he could hear me above the thumping music.

“Are you dating him? Because he is really into himself.”

“Nah, we are just friends,” Jamal said.

“Whew, I’m glad,” I answered, laughing.

But on Friday Jamal visited us — we sat around and talked and ate tuna fish sandwiches I made and some take-out Liberian food — and Van and I got the full story.

Muscle man, who I will call “Malcolm,” had dated Jamal in the past and recently reconnected with him. He is 49 years old and Jay is 35 so there is an age difference.

They are hanging around with each other a lot and Jamal, who is of slight, average build, said the sex is off the chain because it’s hot to have a man who can pick you up and literally fuck you all over a room.

Plus you can tell he really likes Malcolm and hopes something longer term will develop.

But they are not official lovers because Malcolm gave Jamal an ultimatum.

Malcolm said he is really into big, muscle men like himself and is dating Jamal despite himself. He said he is giving Jamal two years to get bulked up so they can make things permanent.

My mouth dropped open. Jamal is a good catch. Why should he have to change?

Van and I warned him that Malcolm may be a control freak and asking him to alter his appearance to please him is a big, neon red flag.

Jamal is active in local gay life, has a sparkling personality and was one of the first people to befriend me in Baltimore. Of mixed African American and Puerto Rican heritage descent he is cute, with dark brown skin and striking, tawny eyes.

Van and I warned him that Malcolm may be a control freak and asking him to alter his appearance to please him is a big, neon red flag. It could lead to future mental abuse, I warned.

And what if Jamal worked out and lost enough weight to please himself, but still didn’t satisfy Malcolm’s ideal, Van asked.

Plus there were other troubling signs in this fuck buddy relationship. Malcolm at first said he was a total top and if he committed to Jamal he wanted Jamal’s ass to himself.

But when Jamal visited Malcolm’s home he found a shower head enema hanging over the bathtub. After asking Malcolm about it Malcolm admitted he wasn’t a true top but did give up the ass sometimes.

Probably to guys who are bigger and more muscular than himself, I thought to myself. And if Malcolm lied to Jamal about his sexual preference what else would he lie about?

There are so many game players in the gay world, even among middle age men such as Malcolm. I didn’t want Jamal to get hurt by one.

Jamal listened politely to what Van and I said to him but he assured us he can handle Malcolm.

Sometimes folks have to find out for themselves. And maybe things will turn out alright. I hope so.

I have not had great sexual encounters with muscular men. Read my past entries “Bad Sex. Good Sex” and “The Ecstasy and the Agony” to find out why.

Coming out to the Cousins


Photo courtesy of accessatlanta.com.

Photo courtesy of http://www.accessatlanta.com.

My favorite cousin “Carmella” texted me last week.

“Hey my sister and I are coming up to Pier Six in Baltimore to catch the Jill Scott concert. We want to see you before the show.”

Carmella has been my ace boon coon since we were out of college — she is like the sister I never had. We can talk for hours about anything and have taken quick trips to New York City to catch the “Maury” show or night club.

I am not out to her but it was time to be honest. My partner “Van” spends a lot of time at my house and is planning to move in soon.

It is rude and unloving to ask him to leave my house or not come over when friends and family visit who do not know I am gay. Like their feelings matter more than his.

I have introduced him to some friends and of course my mother and daughter have met and like him. But I haven’t introduced him to everybody because frankly, my relationships are not everybody in my family’s business.

But I felt I had to own up to Carmella. Because she matters.

“Hey I have to be honest,” I texted back. “I’m into men now and I have a partner named Van. I want you to meet him.”

It took about five minutes for her to text back.

“Oh. I understand. No problem. I want to meet him. But I think it would be better if I came up and hung out with you guys alone without my sister.”

“Carmela your sister needs to grow up,” I texted back, surprising myself with how bold and open I am getting. “I don’t have a problem if she knows.”

“Okay,” she texted back.

Carmella’s sister “Denise” is the gossip queen of the family. I knew if she met “Van” my entire family — I have dozens of cousins — would get the 411 in 24 hours.

She has a mouth like that.

But for some reason that particular day I just didn’t care. Let them gossip — believe me I knew dirt on a lot of folks in the family too.

Plus Denise has a reason to be hostile to gays. She is twice divorced but her first marriage was annulled in two months because her husband was gay and on the down-low.

You would have never suspected. He was a big brown-skinned guy with a football player build — in fact I think he did play in high school or college.

Whenever he came to family functions he would bring over this slight, bespectacled man with him who he introduced as his “cousin.”

To be honest  I cannot remember having a decent conversation with Denise’s fiance because he was always up under his “cousin” at Thanksgiving, Easter and New Year’s gatherings, sitting next to him on the couch and practically ignoring everyone else.

After Denise married him this cousin — who was best man in the wedding — moved in with them because he supposedly fell on hard luck and needed a place to stay.

But within a few months Denise’s new husband woke her up one morning and confessed he was gay and the cousin was really his lover.

I guess he thought getting married would turn him straight. He just kept his lover around for moral support.

Well, did Carmella and Denise drop by my house before Jilly from Philly sang?

Nope. Carmella texted and said they were running late and didn’t have time.

I don’t know if this was true, an excuse to keep her possibly bitter, chatty sister out of my business, or if my coming out was just too much for Carmella to handle.

I’m sure the truth will come out one day but in the meantime I’m enjoying my life.

The Day I Feared Came Yesterday and all I Could Do Was Smile


Photo courtesy of blackyouthproject.com.

Photo courtesy of blackyouthproject.com.

I have several gay cousins in this area who don’t know I’m gay. It’s been pretty easy to avoid them.

They are all in their 20’s so we don’t circulate in the same crowd or the same clubs. In fact, one time I was at The Mill a few years ago and one of my gay cousins walked right past me and didn’t even notice me.

You see, I was just another ancient dude in the crowd, so I probably wasn’t sexually attractive to his 20-something self, and I was out of context.

What I mean by out of context is that he was used to seeing me at family funerals, weddings, cookouts and Thanksgiving dinners and not gay clubs so I probably didn’t even register as Cousin Immanuel in his mind.

The same thing sometimes happens when I see white co-workers on the street or at the Target on weekends. I can walk right past them and they don’t notice me until I say something because I am out of the context — I’m just a black man on the street and not Immanuel from the office.

Well yesterday my family anonymity ended…kinda sorta. I knew the day was coming.

One of my cousins hit me up on Adam4Adam. Thank God I have a private face pic that wasn’t open. But he put his face pic out there so I knew it was “Kip.”

“Wassup,” he texted.

I just ignored it. In fact, I deleted the message, turned off my laptop and pushed it under the bed.

And I called my partner “Van.”

“Look Van if you get hit up on by a guy with the profile ChocolateDrop555 don’t answer — it’s my cousin,” I said, laughing.

“Oh, I think he has hit me up before,” Van said. “Let me check the profile.”

Van was quiet for a few moments while he checked his web browser.

“Yep Immanuel, I have seen him before.”

“Look Van, what if we have a sex party and he shows up?”

Van was calm.

“Look, if he hits us up I will just ignore him so don’t worry.”

Kip is my second cousin once removed. He grew up in a middling size town near Cleveland but decided to move to Washington, D.C. where his grandparents live.

He is big, tall, dark-skinned and very gay. I mean flamboyant. You just can’t miss it. Kip couldn’t be down-low if they paid him a million dollars and 25 cents.

His grandmother once called me and asked whether my son, who is a few years younger than Kip, was “normal” because they suspected Kip is gay. I guess she wanted to know whether that shit was genetic and ran in the family.

Little did ” Cousin Irma” know I was already living the gay life.

“Well, Irma my son is okay as far as I know.”

“Well, is he masculine Immanuel,” she asked. “Because we are worried about Kip.”

“Yeah, as far as I know,” I answered, almost choking in my effort to stay calm.

I’m friends with Kip on Facebook and last night I almost messaged him “Stop hitting on me on Adam4Adam.” I need to reach out to him in some way and give him some support because I know he gets grief for being gay from certain family members.

I’ll let you know how that goes.

The Phone Booth


A New York City phone booth back in the day. You just don't see them too much anymore.

A New York City phone booth back in the day. You just don’t see them too much anymore.

When I was a teenager in the late 70s and early 80s and my mother dropped us off at the bowling alley or a concert or the movies she always told us to make sure we had two dimes or a quarter to call her from a pay phone booth so she could pick us up.

But I haven’t seen a public phone booth or phone stall in years. With so many people, even pre-teens, owning cellphones I guess they are obsolete.

However a friend of mine of named “Damone” said phone booths used to play a big role in Baltimore’s gay cruising scene. In fact that is how he got to have sex with a man for the first time.

Damone got teased as a child for being gay because he liked playing with the girls and their dolls. As he got older and more street-wise he toughened up, deepened his voice, dated girls and even sold drugs on the streets, although lesbians ran the enterprise.

“Sometimes these lesbians would take me to gay bars and I got curious about having sex with men,” said Damone, a smooth, slight brown-skinned black man man with straight, shiny black hair.

“I would sneak back to the gay bars without them but I was really shy about hooking up with anyone.”

However, Damone found out that gay men then would get the numbers of certain phone booths in Baltimore and call them. So if you heard a phone booth ringing and nobody was around most likely it was somebody trying to get sex.

He discovered there was one such phone booth in front of a liquor store in his Park Heights neighborhood. So Damone hung near the phone booth one night and sure enough it rang. So he picked it up the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Hey man, you looking?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Damone said.

“Look, I just want to suck some good dick. I will pay,” the caller said. “You got a big dick?”

Damone's dick.

Damone’s dick.

“Yeah. It’s pretty big for my size. That’s cool. I need some cash. What’s your address.”

So Damone took the bus to an apartment a few miles away and met the caller, a nice looking man about 25 years old.

“That was like being an old man to me then,” Damone said.

Damone claims the man paid him $50 to let him suck his dick. $50 to suck a dick in 1990, I thought? That was a lot of money then.

Damone explained though the man wanted him to keep coming back. And that is what he did. And that is the story of how Damone started fucking with men.

Blind Man’s Bluff


My partner “Van” and I are off work – it’s the July 4th weekend. And a friend of ours, ” Ralphie,” texted us and asked what we are doing. Ralphie is a fine ass chocolate dude with a hairy body and beard. He wanted to freak this morning before going to work in downtown Baltimore. Ralphie is a freak with a heart of gold. A really nice soft spoken man. But in the bedroom that changes. Today he put on a blindfold and let Van and I have our way with him. Here are the pics. image image

Me from another angle.

Me from another angle.

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When the Pressure Builds


Every few months I will get a text from “Armin,” a tall, handsome, married man of American Indian, Black and Latino descent.

“What are you and ‘Van’ doing,” he will ask. ” I can get away and I need to relieve some stress. We can all meet at the Crew Club.”

When Armin comes out to play it’s no holds barred. He is pent up.

And from what I can gather he does have a lot on his plate.  Three kids. Wifey. An aging mother who is ill. And a pressure cooker job in law enforcement.

I guess being on the down-low gives him a chance to escape.

I met Armin when I was still married myself. He is an inch taller than I at six feet three and has a dick close to 10 inches.

We would tag team bottoms together, pounding them till they said uncle. And then lay around awhile and kiss each other and just talk.

The thing I like about him is despite his tough man job he always has a smile on his face and a chuckle that is infectious.

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Armin's body. Told you he is hot.

Last week he was free again and hooked up with us at Van’s place. I invited an African friend to add some spice to the stew.

I have always seen Armin top but he surprised me, saying he wanted some dick. He lay back and let Van fuck him while I and my African buddy watched.

His face showed pain when Van slid his long dick in. But by the moans I could tell there was pleasure too.

Then I fucked him, his hole opening slowly as I pushed in deeper. It was tight but he gave way.

I have to admit it was hot to explore this new side of Armin.

Then while Armin fucked Van I crept up behind him and fucked him while he did Van.

“Wow, that’s some hot shit,” said my African friend.

And then we all busted a nutt, and Armin dressed and returned to his pressure cooker life in the burbs.

“Had a great time last night, thanks,” he texted the next morning.

But then a few days later I got this text.

“Might be free at the end of next week. I will text you.”

So the pressure must be building back up.