Reader Question: Can You Find Love in the Age of Online Hookups?

In the 1970s science fiction movie “Logan’s Run,” the citizens of the futurist society who desired a sex partner could use a holographic machine to find an ideal mate for that night. That person would the teleport directly to their home and the fun would start.

That schlocky movie was prophetic. We 21st century Americans routinely use technology to find sexual partners. Are you into chubby Asians, Indian women with big boobs, white guys who are barely legal, or black men with six-inch dicks? You can go online and with a few clicks of your mouse and a little patience find one to spend the night with you.

And even though we don’t have transporter beams most sexual hookups, at least in my area, can get to you within an hour by car or subway.

Has all this sexual freedom and ease in hooking up dulled gay men to the possibility of forming a deep, meaningful relationship? A true love connection?

I have a buddy from Oklahoma named “Shawn” who recently deleted his account on because he was fed up with the bullshit, the string of casual, sexual encounters that led not to romantic love but freaky dead ends.

Shawn has a lot to offer. He is a handsome, big, beefy guy with chocolate skin and a dazzling smile. He lives in a well-decorated yet comfortable home, has interesting hobbies, and a small menagerie of pets. He is consummate professional with a decent job. But finding a relationship online stumped him.

Shawn called me earlier this week and asked me to ask blog readers these questions:

Have you ended up getting finding a love match with a guy you met online? If you did, how did you do it?

"T" Stands for Terrible Tops

Okay, yesterday I wrote about bad bottoms. That post quickly generated a few comments and caught the attention of fellow blogger “Raw Daddy” in Atlanta, who reposted my entry on his Web site.

Raw Daddy and I texted about the issue yesterday and we agreed there are some bad tops around too. So fair being fair, I have to write something about that issue. Want to read it? Here we go.

Just like bottoms who are fixated on getting something long and hard up their asses, there are tops who are obsessed with encasing their dicks in a warm, tight ass as quickly as possible. But often these tops neglect the finer art of lovemaking. It’s all about bang-bang-bang, pop that nutt, and get up and go.

I’ve already written about my married acquaintance “Brandon,” the ultra down-low brother who is paranoid he will be peeped out. He is one of the worst tops I know. He is so wrapped up in maintaining a masculine, dominant vibe he will not kiss, much less caress, his partner.

He treats bottoms as if they are a mere receptacle, a hot hole in which to plant his small, curved dick. When he fucks it looks so mechanical and monotonous. Fast, short quick thrusts that never vary in intensity or length. Just bang-bang-bang. He doesn’t even look at his partner. Yawn….

Not surprisingly, he does not get asked back often. “Hey Immanuel, you can come back any time,” a hot Puerto Rican bottom whispered to me after we did a threesome with Brandon. “But please don’t ask back your friend. Plus he looks like a little troll.”

Ouch, bottoms can say some nasty stuff when the sex ain’t right.

So fellow tops, here are some tips to please a bottom and get invited back for more:

  • You got to learn how to eat ass. I‘ll repeat and speak louder so you get it. YOU HAVE TO LEARN TO EAT THAT BOOTY! And when you eat ass lick and lap and nibble the whole area — the balls and the ridge between the testicles and asshole. If you don’t like the taste of ass there are flavored lubes. Or whipped cream. Or jelly. Or peanut butter. Whatever turns you on! At this moment I would also like to thank my mentor “Andre,“ who taught me the fine art of ass eating. Andre is a master. If you want lessons let me know and I’ll put you in touch with him.
  • Focus on other erogenous zones before you attack that ass with da dick. I look to nibble the front and inside of a guys thighs, lick the back of their thighs, and even suck and kiss toes, provided their feet are not jacked up. Other sexy zones that spur arousal are a guy’s neck and shoulders and nipples. Shit, just about any place on a man can be sexy! Ask your partner what turns him on and get to work.
  • Massage is good and you don’t have to be professional to do it well. Just pull out a bottle of thick lotion (I love cocoa butter lotions) and start off gently at the neck and shoulders and work your way down. Be sure to ask your partner how they prefer their back rubs– hard or soft. Follow their lead!

Okay bottoms out there. Do you have any love-making suggestions for tops?




































"B" Stands for Boring Bottoms

I’m going to catch some heat for writing this blog entry. But hey, I don’t care. I have to get this off my chest.

Gay men divide themselves into myriad categories — tops, bottoms, versatile, versatile tops, versatile bottoms. Often the lines blur — you will find a guy who is mostly a top who will flip and take dick from certain guys. It all depends on the mood, the unexplainable chemistry that occurs between two men when they get down.


In my journey from the straight to gay world I’ve run across all types. And the type that I’m beginning to detest are so called “power bottoms”- or guys who are exclusively into taking dick for as long as they can. To me it seems that bottoms like this believe the world revolves around their puckered assholes.

“I want to sit on that dick,” they would text me when I visited gay hookup Web sites. “I want that big black dick.”

“My azz is tite papi, come loosen it up.”


“Come fuck me. Call 917-555-2989,” another would write.


No flirting. No foreplay. No conversation. It’s all about getting my big dick hard and into their asses at warp speed.

There is a bottom guy I have fucked who is handsome as hell — tall, muscled, and very dark skinned with a shadow beard. “Sebastian” looks like a gay man’s dream. But he is a typical selfish bottom. It’s all about his pleasure, He gives little play or passion. It’s all about getting a dick in his ass so he can experience that fine line of pain and pleasure that is anal sex.


Less than five minutes after  you walk in the door Sebastian will turn his ass up in the air and assume the position. I guess he thinks his big, muscle ass is so appealing it will get any gay dick hard in seconds.The rest of the session is about fucking him. When you get tired of fucking him he will urge you to stick one finger, two finger, and eventually half your hand up his ass.
His ass’ capacity astounds me. Where does it all go? 


“Next time Immanuel bring more of your friends with big dicks so y’all can take turns fucking me,” he said.


Ummm,” I think to myself. “I don’t think so. I don’t want to inflict this boredom on anybody else.”


What a lot of bottoms like Sebastian don’t realize is that good sex is not about just getting a dick hard and fucking it. It’s so much more. It’s flirting, foreplay, caressing, kissing, massage. To me, fucking someone has become optional or the icing on top of the cake of an intense session.


Another problem is population of bottoms is so large they are a cheap commodity. You can get ass just walking down the street. Oh, you didn’t know that? Just read some of my blog entries.So in order to set themselves apart bottoms really have to have some skills. My advice to “power” bottoms:
  • Keep your body in shape. With so many bottoms on the market being fit is an asset. There is nothing sadder than an older, fat bottom with a stretched ass and a size 44 waist.
  •  Get off your back and close your legs for a minute. Learn how to pleasure your man in ways besides straight fucking. Try massage. Nipple play etc. Don’t insist on fucking at the top of a session, let it build up to that.
  • Invest in a good dildo and learn how to use it. Because with the shortage of good tops you are going to need a toy when the real thing is not in reach.

School Boy Crush

A face from my past caught up with me on Facebook this morning.

A high school classmate sent me a Facebook friend suggestion, “Demetrius Woods.”

Damn. Demetrius and I had gone to junior high, high school and college together but I had not seen him in more than 20 years. He looked pretty much the same in his profile photo except his face was fuller and he had a little belly.

I thought a few minutes. Should I or shouldn’t I? Then I clicked on the button to send Demetrius a friend request. You see, we might have a lot to talk about.

Demetrius, who was a tall, lanky, light-skinned dude with curly hair in school, had a hankering for me decades before I got into dudes. But I didn’t realize it then. At first I thought he was just an asshole. However, he ended up arousing something in me.

When we were around others, sitting at the lunch table or practicing in band class, he would tease me and jone on me. If I was trying to talk to a girl, he would try to talk to the same girl. Sometimes he would get the girl because he was a wide receiver on the football team and had pretty boy looks while I was dark-skinned (which wasn’t in style then) and known more for my smarts.

“Why are you always fucking around with Immanuel,” my best buddy “Maddox” would say to him. “He never bothers you. Shit, you act like you got a crush on him.”

Maddox was right. When I was walking down the hall sometimes Demetrius would walk by me and brush up against me. When I would look up to see who it was he would look me deeply in the eyes. When we sat in Mr. Aboud’s physics class I would sometimes look up from my calculations and notice him staring at me from across the room.

There was something else about him.  I noticed he would hang around one dude all the time, a tall, quiet, nice-looking cat named “Tyler.” They were inseparable. When I saw them I would get an odd feeling that I couldn’t express. They looked almost like a….couple? But back then everybody had a best buddy that they hung out with, slept over with etc. So it wasn’t a big deal.

There was even a slang term for it. “Oh, there’s your butt-boy Marcus,” someone would say. That meant the guy was around you so much it was like he was up your butt.

Flash forward a year. It is 1983. Demetrius and I ended up going to the same college and pledging the same fraternity. For some reason we kept getting thrown together when the frat members needed pledgees to do some task.

One day the pledgees were taking showers in some dorm. The brothers had been hazing us hard and it was the first break we had had in hours. It was one of those big, open shower rooms with a dozen shower heads on the wall.  I looked up and there was Demetrius again, staring at me. Except this time we were both butt naked.

My dick started to rise. And I know Demetrius saw it because he kept looking at me, almost like he was worshipping me with his eyes.  I wrapped a towel quickly around my middle and rushed off to get dressed.

“What is wrong with me?” I thought. “Why did my dick get hard? I like girls. I can’t let the other pledges see me get hard around a bunch of guys. They will think I’m a faggot.”

I didn’t understand myself yet. I’m smiling as I write this thinking about my past self. I was so suppressed.

One night about a week after the shower Demetrius and I were walking alone together, side by side, when he reached over and pulled me to him, hugged me tight and kissed me on the cheek. It wasn’t a brotherly hug. It was like a hug you give your sweetheart.

It scared the shit out of me. Because it felt so wrong and so right at the same time.

I dropped line from the frat soon after. I told my friends and family other reasons for dropping line — I didn’t like the violence and hazing, the brothers were asking us to buy them drugs, and my grades were plummeting. What I didn’t tell them is that I had to get away from Demetrius. I was convinced he was turning me gay.

Flash forward. It is 1987. I had graduated college, was young and a poorly paid new professional, and enjoyed myself clubbing three or four nights a week. Demetrius became a DJ and was spinning the turntables at a club I frequented.  He was off duty one night I was there and had a pretty, petite, light-skinned girl on his arm.

 They walked through my group of friends and Demetrius brushed up against me and looked back at me.
“Damn, he is rude,” one of buddies commented. “What’s up with him?”
I didn’t say anything. They didn’t know Demetrius and I had been playing this game since high school.

Flash forward. It is May 21, 2010. Now Demetrius and I might end up being Facebook friends. Life is funny, isn’t it?

(Update: Demetrius accepted my friend request a few hours after I posted this blog entry.)

The Day She Told Me She Found Out

The day my wife told me she found out I was freaking dudes was a raw, cold day in the dead of winter. January I think. Four years ago.

It was morning. The light was bright. Too bright and sharp.

I haven’t been able to write about this day until now. I don’t want to remember the pain on her face. The tears. The despondency. But you have to face yourself or you will never grow. Will God forgive me? Will I ever forgive myself?

“I put a trace on your computer,” she said. “I know the Web sites you visited. I’ve read your emails.”

“I even hired a private investigator to follow you but he didn’t find out anything about you that day he trailed you. He said you were just out shopping — going to Walmart and Target.”

This may sound crazy today but all I could think then was: “Damn, she put out a $1,000 to follow me around. She could have just asked me and I would have confessed. We could have gone on vacation with that money or paid off a bill!”

I asked her to go for a walk with me so we could talk out of earshot of the kids. We took the family dog and walked on a trail near our home. The dog was just happy to be out on crisp, cold, sunny morning. I let him off the leash and let him run.

I remember looking at my dog and thinking how blessed he was to be oblivious to the painful conversation taking place while he lifted his leg and pissed and shit.

“So, is there another man — are you leaving me for another man?,” she asked, a mixture of curiosity and bitterness in her voice. “What kind of man do you like?”

“I like any man who can suck my dick well,” I said laughing, trying to make a joke.

Despite herself, my wife almost laughed. Despite my faults, I always had a sense of humor.

“I want you to stop or I will take the kids and leave — move into my parent’s vacation home,” she said.

“No, don’t move away,” I answered. “I’m the one who did wrong. If anyone has to move out it will be me.”

When I was a little kid my brother and I used to fight and tussle with each other all the time. We were born just a year apart so were always competing for the same resources — be it a toy, a book or a bicycle.

One day we knocked over my mother’s glass lamp. We turned the lamp around so the broken side didn’t show. I don’t think my mother found out about it for years.

After that day my marriage got like that lamp. It looked good on the outside but if you examined it closely — turned it around and looked at it from the back — it was cracked.

In one sense I was glad — relieved— the issue was out in the open. Our stale marriage would either heal or it would dissolve. I would either explore this new sexuality or go back to the old one.

But despite the problems with our marriage — our lack of deep intimacy and communication and the unevenness in our psyches — I regretted hurting her.

She went out and got a battery of sexual disease tests and demanded I do the same. We both came back clean, which was really fortunate considering I let some guys suck my dick without a condom and was susceptible to clap and syphilis.

Then she turned into a freak between the sheets, giving me head (something she rarely did before and did badly) and a good fuck every morning. Then she tried to get pregnant and have another baby to keep me at home. She went to concerts with me to see artists she didn’t even like to keep me happy. But the damage was done.
“Being around you sometimes is like a scab being ripped open again,” she said one day.

I had to go. She would never heal and grow unless I was no longer there. And I had tasted the forbidden fruit and I would never be the innocent, stalwart husband and daddy I had been before. I was turning into a gay man, whatever that meant.

Immanuel in the Flesh

To celebrate my upcoming birthday I had considered doing an erotic photo shoot. I am entering my late 40s — I may never look as good as I do now.
Today I got an early birthday present.
It was a sunny crisp Sunday afternoon and my buddy “Leo” dropped by to visit and take me out for a drink. He does professional photography but wants to do erotic shots. Before we left my place we started talking about photography and an idea popped in my mind.
“Could you take my photo,” I asked.

“Sure, come on,” he said.
So he made me put on a white shirt and tie and take a few shots in front of a sunny window. Then he asked me to move to the shower and urged me to get wet. He was happy with the results and emailed them to me.

So blog readers here are some shots of the real Immanuel (sorry, but I’m not ready to show my face!) And if you want to use “Leo’s” services contact!

Pictorial: Immanuel tops "Sexy Geek"

Well, the sex with “Dreads” was so bad that I was still horny today. I had to attend a business meeting in a nearby city where I have a regular hook-up I call my “Sexy Geek.”

Sexy Geek, a slender, brown-skinned versatile dude with a banana dick and dick-sucking skills to put Deep Throat to shame, is a property manager so his schedule is pretty flexible.

“My meeting is over at noon. Are you free?”

“Sure,” he answered. “Come on over.”

We had a great time that more than made up for the bust hook-up with Dreads. I don’t even have to write about it. Let my cellphone camera pics do the talking: