Juan


There was no way “Juan” could keep his secret anymore. He was 20 years old, still living at home, and had never had a girlfriend or gotten a girl pregnant.

In his little, dusty village in northern Mexico people were starting to whisper. And his parents wondered why Juan, the youngest of their nine children, was not raising a family like his siblings.

So instead of explaining to his family that he was gay and bringing shame upon them, Juan took what he thought was the easy route. He left home, traveled to the desert border, and made the dangerous trek into the United States past barbed wire fences and security checkpoints, becoming an illegal immigrant.

“That was 20 years ago,” said Juan, a muscular, built guy with a shaved head, goatee and the name “Perlita” tattooed on his big biceps. “I just ran across the border.”

“Why do you have Perlita on your arm,” I asked.

“That was the name of the only female I loved. And it is also my mother’s name,” he answered.

I met Juan when I was in Los Angeles at a gay bar near my hotel and struck up a conversation. The city is a mash of cultures — Chinese, Japanese, Samoan, African American, American Indian, European and of course Latino.

I cannot remember having a conversation with a Mexican immigrant before — in Washington I see them working in restaurants, building the roads, and doing the landscaping. But there always seems to be an uneasy gulf between blacks and Latinos that is hard to overcome.

I had to admit Juan appeared intimidating — he looked like your typical media image of a Mexican gang banger from the hood. In fact I told him he resembled a young Charles Bronson. He had the same wide face and high cheekbones.

“I’ve heard that before,” he said.

But I soon found Juan had a kind, and erotic soul under his stoic exterior.

“I knew I was gay even when I was a kid in Mexico,” he said. “I was always attracted to dark-skinned men. I guess that is why I got into black guys when I came to Los Angeles.”

Juan told me he used to work in a sports club when he was a teenager and a soccer team from Brazil visited. He would steal chances to clean the showers and the locker rooms so he could catch a glimpse of their dark, lean bodies. He would even take their sweaty underwear and jockstraps, go into a private corner, put the garments to his nose, and inhale deeply.

“I would jerk off smelling their underwear. That was so hot.”

He also had a crush on a childhood friend. This friend had African blood and was darker skinned than many of the people who lived in his town.

“One day when we were teenagers we got drunk one night and he fell asleep,” Juan said. “I leaned over and kissed him. I don’t think he ever knew I did that.”

After Juan moved to Los Angeles he had several lovers, including a black man for 11 years. He got his citizenship and now works for an organization that helps abused women and children.

His boss is encouraging him to become a counselor because he has a knack for helping people and getting them to open up about their problems.

“Hey Immanuel, nice talking to you but I got to go,” he said after we had talked for an hour. “I promised a friend from out of town I would walk her dogs while she was away. I better go before they piss all over the place.”

Thanks for telling me your story Juan.

The Picture Thief


I‘ve heard of this happening but it had never happened to me. Funny, it should occur when I’m 2,669 miles away from home in Los Angeles.

Somebody stole the photos from my Adam4Adam account and set up a new onen with a Los Angeles location. I just happened to be surfing the ads yesterday when…”Hey, that looks like….me? What the fuck?!”

What made the situation serious is that the culprit had taken a private shot with my face picture and made it the main shot. Hey, I’m coming out of the closet but I’m not ready to come out that much.

I sent an email to A4A and they said I had to confirm I was the right profile by sending a photo of myself and a piece of paper with my email address written on it. I did right away.

But before I did I noticed the person who had set up the fake account was online. A4A advises you to first politely ask them to remove the photos. Personally, I wanted to politely punch the asshole in the face with my fist.

“Take my photos down immediately,” I emailed.

“Ha, Ha, don’t you know who this is? It’s me,” they answered back.

Within hours A4A emailed to let me know the profile had been suspended. I have a theory who it was.

A guy in Los Angeles hit me up and said he wanted to get fucked. “Are you into bb?,” he asked.

“No, I don’t do bareback,” I answered.

“I meant burning blunts, not bareback.”

“Look, I may be from the East Coast but I’m not stupid. The term `bb’ means bareback, I don’t care where the fuck you are from.”

Friends advised me not to argue online in future. If you are not feeling a person just ignore them. Because there are some crazies out there and you don’t know what they will do.

I ended up blocking him but by then I had open my private pics. It is very easy to right-click on an image with your mouse and save it to your harddrive. I do it all the time. So they probably did that with mine.

Hollywood Swinging: Part II


“Randall” is an actor and dancer who has starred in some well-known musicals and plays from Broadway to Vegas. I met him through a mutual friend in Washington, D.C. and he promised to show me a good time if I ever came to Los Angeles.

Randall wasn’t lying. He definitely hooked a brother up my second night in “La La Land.”

“I got a buddy I want you to meet — a mature guy who is very nice,” he called to say before picking me up on Wednesday night. “Or we could hook up with this young, built guy I know.”

I thought a moment. “I think I will go with the mature one.”

And hour and a half later we were pulling up to “Tyson’s” ranch home on a street off Crenshaw. Tyson is a masculine guy, with bulging biceps and pecs. He stands about six feet 3 and weighs about 220 but it all falls in the right place. Brownskinned. Friendly but not overly talkative.

Randall is more than 50 years old but still dances so his body is still flexible. He looks half his age. He is also an insatiable bottom and I knew how things were going to go. Randall took off his shirt, sat on Tyson’s sofa and took out a blunt and started smoking. He passed it to me and I inhaled the musky, sweet smoke.

I was jetlagged and sleepy. But the weed made my head swim and I felt sexier.

I reached over and pulled Randall closer and started licking his nipple. Then I pulled out my dick and started stroking it until it grew long and rigid. Tyson sat on a sofa opposite us watching and stroking his dick through his nylon running shorts.

I stood up and Randall started sucking my dick, his hands moving up and down the shaft like an artist molding clay sculpture. The next thing I knew Tyson was undressed and standing next to me. Underneath his clothes he was even more muscular, his dick not as long as mine but thicker with a bigger head.

Randall took turns sucking us off and then put both of our dicks in his mouth at the same time. Tyson pulled me closer to him and I felt his big hands massaging my back.

“Let’s move this to the bedroom,” Tyson said.

Tyson and I lay back on his king-sized bed, playing with our big dicks, while Randall looked down on us. Soon he got in bed and started putting on a show, playing with his ass, sticking his fingers where our dicks would soon go.

“You are two beautiful black men,” Tyson said, his eyes slightly glazed from the weed and drink he had.

I started fucking him first, pounding into him missionary style while Tyson watched. Randall is flexible and can still do a split so I pushed his legs way up and just pounded away, faster and faster. He had inhaled some rush so his ass was loose. Thanks to the lube it was wet and hot, too.

“Beat that ass up, Immanuel,” Tyson said, encouraging me like a basketball coach egging on his star player. “This shit is hot.”

Tyson straddled Randall’s face while I fucked him and Tyson sucked his dick while my dick pistoned into his ass. Randall is a creole from Louisiana. His skin looked creamy against our dark bodies in the dim room.

Then Tyson slipped on a condom, lubed up, and started fucking Randall while I watched.

“Ahhh, oohh,” Randall moan. “Y’all are fucking this ass. Oh, this is gooood.”

I can’t remember who got Randall to cum, but he busted his nutt, jerking the cum onto his stomach. Then he got up and went back to the living room and left Tyson and me alone.

Tyson is one of the most masculine men I have met. I was surprised to discover a lot of guys in Los Angeles have swagger. We lay next to each other and started kissing and caressing. Despite looking so hardcore he was really a good smoocher.

“You are hot Immanuel. I’m digging you,” he said.

Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I like to take dick sometime. I want you to fuck me but not now.”

The next night, when darkness fell Tyson drove across town to my hotel in West Hollywood and I climbed up between his long, muscular legs and fucked him. His ass was tight and we didn’t fuck long, but he seemed to enjoy it.

“Fuck this ass Immanuel. Damn that dick is all up in me,” he said while I thrusted.

Today I texted him. I don’t think we will meet again — I am just an out-of-town hookup. Here today and gone tomorrow to the opposite coast of America. But I wanted to let him know I appreciated him hosting the hot threesome.

“I will probably never meet you again I want you to know I had fun and it was nice to meet you,” I said.

“Never say never, Immanuel,” he texted back.

EXTRA:

When Randall drove me back to my hotel from Tyson’s place I offered to put him up for the night so he wouldn’t have to drive 20 miles back home. We didn’t fuck but we played a bit and he let me take these shots:

Hollywood Swinging


I am on my way to Los Angeles for business. I’m going to be pretty busy but I hope I will get the opportunity to sample gay and down-low life on the West Coast during my time off.

I will be staying right in Beverly Hills.

More than 2,100 Californians have read my blog, including 250 from Los Angeles.

Could any of you tell me good places to hang out? The best gay clubs etc?

Just leave a comment below.

Drew’s Drama


I swear whenever “Drew” calls me he has some crisis.

Drew is a cat I met at an adult video store more than a year ago. A dark skinned, middle aged, handsome brother with a little pot belly, silky straight hair like an Indian, and dark, sultry eyes with long curly lashes. And oh, before I forget, Drew has a big, fat black dick about nine inches long.

It is that dick that gets Drew in trouble. Thank goodness he lives in a secure apartment building with a gated parking garage and an entrance you have to buzz to enter. Otherwise Drew might be a dead man.

A few months ago my phone chirped in the dead of the night. It was Drew with his drama.

“I hooked up with this dude on Adam4Adam and I went downstairs to let him in and he is walking around in the parking lot, ranting and raving and acting high, so I came back upstairs and didn’t let him in,” Drew said, his voice getting high with nervousness. ” Immanuel, he won’t leave! And he keeps blowing up my phone. What if the neighbors see him! What if he doesn’t leave?”

I was groggy but woke up fully.

“Drew, calm down dude. Just turn your phone off. He will go away and if not somebody will call the cops.”

“Man, some of these dudes on Adam4Adam are crazy!”

“Yeah, Drew you know this white principal got robbed and killed hooking up with some young black dudes lately.”

“I got to be more careful Immanuel.”

“You’re fine Drew. He can’t get in. Go to sleep and get some rest.”

This week Drew calls me again. Yeah. You guessed it. More drama.

It seems Drew has been fucking a married guy who likes to use his cellphone to take short, point-of-view video clips of Drew slamming that dick in his ass. Well, hubbie emailed the clips and photos to Drew and wifey apparently got a hold of her husband’s email, found the salacious shots, and all hell broke loose.

She sent Drew a nasty email saying stay the fuck away from her man and you nasty ass faggot and on and on.

“Immanuel, shit man, what am I going to do?,” Drew whined.

“Well she doesn’t have your address and even if she did she can’t just walk into the building. Take it from a man whose wife found out about him, Drew. That shit is between  her husband and her. That is their marriage. It will work out one way or the other.”

“Well, maybe he wrote that nasty email himself because he was tired of me and wanted a reason to drop me,” said Drew, sounding a little sad.

“That’s quite a drastic way to drop a dude you don’t want to roll with. He could have just stopoed answering your phone calls and texts. That’s what most dudes do.”

“Oh well, you may be right.”

“Look Drew, I’m out having drinks with a buddy of mine. Let’s talk later.”

I hung up and went about my business. I wonder what wild hookup Drew will call and tell me about next time.

QUESTIONS: Readers, what is the craziest hookup you have ever had? Mine was “The Ecstasy and Agony,” the man high on crystal meth. Also, what is your advice to stay safe when you are hooking up with guys you meet online?

What’s So Hot About Being a Bottom?


Tops, bottoms, verse, verse tops, top verses, verse verses — they are all labels.

If you are a true sexual connoisseur, a true explorer of your sensuality, you will try out everything. So I have been trying to take dick. I first tried two years ago and it was miserable. Lately the results have been…drumroll…what is the big deal? I really don’t crave it.

Me: “This shit still hurts! Take it out! What, that was just the head of your dick! Damn Negro! I thought it was all in! Shit, next time just knock me the fuck out so I can wake up and it’s over — just be sure to put on a condom!”

“You just haven’t met the right man,” friends tell me. “When you do you will flip for your man sometimes.”

“Immanuel, you are hot man. You got a nice black ass back there and a big dick up front. You would be deadly if you were truly versatile.”

But to be honest, I don’t enjoy it. I try to be a sport and attempt it, especially if I like the other person and they gave me good ass. I’ve tried with lots of lube. I’ve tried with poppers (which give me a headache). I just can’t relax enough to get to enjoy it. I can tolerate it for a few minutes but believe me not a lot goes in.

The pain sucks. The burning sensation as a penis enters you — it takes my breath away and my body tenses, becoming hard as a rock. It’s like a knife splitting you. Who gets pleasure from this pain? Who can tolerate a man on top of them like that.

The passive role makes me uncomfortable. Who gets fucked in prison movies and HBO’s “Oz”? The weak motherfuckers! Plus I don’t like the loss of control — letting someone invade your body. Fuck this!

Still, deep down I envy masculine dudes that can throw some dick and then turn around and take dick. To me they are sexual supermen. To be able to do that shows, at least to me, a supremely self confident person.

“Relax. Relax,” Miguel said to me the other night (Read more about Miguel and me in “I Had Sex With An (Illegal) Alien”). He may know only 50 words of English but Miguel is a very sensual and patient lover. “How it feel? You like papi?”

“Okay, that’s enough. Take that shit out.” Then I flipped him over and fucked him hard, paying him back for that pain he gave me with that thick dick of his a few minutes before. He must have liked it — he busted his nutt into my sheets in five minutes after I mounted him doggy style.

Maybe if I get a full-time boyfriend I will lay back and take it to please my partner. I have heard of tops who do that in order to battle boredom in the bedroom and keep the lover at home and off Adam4Adam.

Today a buddy gave me this nugget of advice.

“Immanuel, if you think about taking dick even when you are not having sex you really want to bottom.”

“Nah, I never do,” I honestly answer. So I guess that mean this may not be for me.

Q: Readers, I got a lot of questions about this. What is the attraction of bottoming? And to other (mostly) tops, have you tried out bottoming and would you do it for a regular lover? Lastly, is the whole top, bottom, verse labeling obsolete? I have fucked several guys who claim they were tops.

Coming Out to My Son


Today I am driving my son back to an out-of-town summer job. It is cool to take a road trip alone with him, just enjoying each other’s presence.

We don’t talk much — he is more quiet and reserved than I was at 16. He either sleeps or listens to his music on his Ipod. I have to pat his arm and make him pull out the earplug when I have something to say.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m a little hungry. Can we pull over?”

We are about an hour from our destination but I want to gas up. So we pull into one of those gas stations that has a mini-mart and a fast-food restaurant inside. We go back outside and I eat my Arby’s roast beef sandwich and he eats his chicken fingers on the car hood — him standing on the passenger side and me on the driver’s side.

I am over six feet and my son is already two inches taller than me. Lanky. Dressed in his usual khaki cargo shorts and tee-shirt.

I know he has overheard my wife saying I am gay. She has urged me to let the children know. I have talked to my family therapist and he says tell the kids when I am ready. Today I am ready. And I am nervous as hell.

“Son, I have something to tell you,” I begin.

“I am bisexual. That is part of the reason why I separated from your mother but also our marriage was not good. We grew apart. But your mother is a good woman.”

“You see son some men are totally into women and some are really into men,” I say, motioning my hands to try to represent the Kinsey scale.

I stop talking. I tell him he can ask me any question he wants and if he feels shy just email me the question or text me on my cellphone and I will answer. I think he just said “Okay.”

We keep eating. “Hey Dad, do you want some more horseradish to go on your sandwich?,” he asks, as if nothing had happened.

We jump back in the car. He can be a surly teenager sometimes but now I feel his attitude toward me has shifted. He seems more calm around me, more at ease. He shares some beef jerky with me and we talk about football and whether Lil Wayne, who is playing constantly on all the urban stations we find, is really a good rapper or not.

“Why did I wait so long to do this,” I wonder to myself. “He probably already knew but I guess he just wanted me to talk to him.”