What’s Wrong with the Children?

We don’t live in the Dark Ages.

We understand how many diseases are transmitted. We can cure things our ancestors died from like flies.

And most Americans can read at a third grade level.

Then how come there are so many young folks having raw, risky sex and drugging who get mad at you when you say, “No thanks I’ll pass ”

This handsome 22-year-old hit me up a week ago. Slender and dark as a human Tootsie Roll.

“I want you to flood me with cum,'” he said.

“Sorry, I don’t do raw and I really prefer men closer to my age.”

He didn’t take no for an answer. He sent more pics to entice me. But they turned me off more.

His arms looked like they had track marks from intravenous drug use. Then he sent a photo of his spread ass cheeks.

What was up with his fingers? They had clearly infected, ulcerated sores.

What were those white patches up his ass? Globs of cum or some disease?

And why would you send a stranger such shots?

All I could think is these young men have so much life ahead. I’m 30 years older and still enjoy life.

Why are they destroying themselves?

Baltimore Pride Weekend: The Hustler

Young Hustlers, Selma Avenue, Hollywood, 1971.

Young Hustlers, Selma Avenue, Hollywood, 1971. Photo by Anthony Friedkin.Times have  not changed — there are streets in Baltimore where male hustlers still go.

Last night I took a break from the Baltimore Pride crowd at the Drinkery  bar to go outside and indulge one of my guilty pleasures — a single cigarette on Friday night.

And there I met him. The hustler.

He bummed a cigarette off a friend of mine and we started chit-chatting. And out of the blue he said, “I got a big dick. Do you want to play.”

He pulled his shorts down lower, showing off his neon green Papi underwear, and used his hands to stretch his khaki shorts so I could clearly see his dick print. Yep, his dick was a respectable size.

I was taken aback a moment when he blurted that out. And then it dawned on me. This tall, lean, brown skinned man in front of me was a hustler.

It was clear he was on drugs. He was so fidgety and probably needed money for a fix. But I had to get his story.

“Paul” said his life was ruined when his stepsister falsely accused him of raping her. He was put on a sex offender list when he was 17 and had difficulty finding work. He was already the father of a child.

So he dealt drugs, served some jail time, got out of prison and was even shot (he pulled off his shirt to show the long scar that ran down the middle of  his six-pack abs to prove it).

Now he was an electrician making $18 an hour but after the state took out child support he had very little to live on. So he hung out at gay bars to earn extra cash.

“That will be $40 if we play a little bit,” he said. “It is more if you want to do more.”

“Hey Paul, look I get sex free I’m really not interested in paying for it.”

“Okay man, that’s cool. That’s cool.”

Paul, who is now 28 years old and the father of two, admitted he has been selling his body for a decade, even while he was dating girls and fathering children.

So did that mean he really likes having sex with men? I noticed him staring at my dick bulge. So I had to ask.

“So is what you do fun? Do you enjoy it when you have sex with men?”

He got agitated, waving his arms about and pacing back and forth. And he almost shouted back.

“No it’s not fun! No it’s not fun! No it’s not!”

But I had to wonder. He was protesting too much.





The DL Meth Dealer

meth“Corbin” leads a double life that is even more complex than that led by most gay and bisexual men who are married to women.

Every few weeks he tells wifey he has to work out of town. Corbin is half telling the truth. He does have to work. But his work is dealing methamphetamine out of hotel rooms.

“You won’t believe how much money I make,” says Corbin, who is in his mid 40s and has three kids under the age of 10. “My children have everything they need — horseback riding, a nice house, music lessons and baseball leagues.”

I try not to judge men I meet in this lifestyle and I promised Corbin I wouldn’t judge him when I interviewed him for my blog. He was already extremely paranoid — he kept asking me whether I was a detective trying to turn him in.

But you can’t escape the fact that methamphetamine — or “tina” or “chrissy” or  “glass” or “crank” or whatever you want to call it — is destroying the lives of many gay or bisexual men. The drug, which can be a white, yellowish or reddish powder or a waxy or clear rock, creates feelings of intense sexual euphoria.

This leads users to go on marathon sexual binges where they fuck for hours or days, often doing risky sexual behavior and taking on dubious sexual partners they wouldn’t look at twice if sober. It is estimated one out of four gay and bisexual men have tried meth so the likelihood someone you know is addicted is very high.

The website tweaker.org offers nonjudgemental help to people living with a meth addiction. The website offers treatment resources but also advice for people who are addicted to meth to use it more responsibly.

Increasingly men hit up on my partner “Van” and I who want to PNP (party and play), or smoke and inject meth first and then get down to sex. Sometimes it feels like everybody I meet online is doing it.

The drug releases dopamines, or pleasure chemicals in the brain, and is supposed to make sex 12 times more intense. I love sex so that sounds tempting but the downside of this addiction has made me scared to ever try it.

Withdrawal symptoms include paranoia, depression, suicidal thoughts, a feeling that bugs are crawling on your skin, drowsiness or an inability to sleep.

Users  report they have difficulty enjoying sex without meth. And men even in my age group have said the addiction has cost them everything — cars, homes, jobs, family and friends.

Worst yet many medical experts say the drug is fueling higher HIV infection rates, especially among young men.


Corbin doesn’t think about all this. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t give a fuck because he can make tens of thousands in a week while most of us are slaving away just to make our rent or mortgage payment.

Corbin, a handsome, brown-skinned black man, acts as a supplier, transporting the drug from manufacturers to people who sell it on the street. He says this reduces the risk he will be arrested.

He said men from all walks of life use it — doctors, lawyers, teachers, politicians and Starbucks barristas to name a few.

“Some of the men we supply want me to fuck them too,” said Corbin, who used to play football in high school and still has a fairly athletic body and a thick, big dick. “But I tell them I’m not trade — we are selling them meth.”

And Corbin is probably hooked himself. He uses meth, although he says he has it under control and can balance his life as a family man and husband in the suburbs on one hand and a bisexual man who sells crank on the other.

While he is juggling several cellphones dealing  meth Corbin says he will smoke a little of his supply, call up his many contacts (he has plenty of guys in his cellphone who are ready to give up ass or dick for meth) and spends days in a downtown hotel room freaking.

As far as his wife knows he is just trying to get a project done.

I couldn’t do it. But who am I to judge?

One of the most beautiful men I’ve ever had sex with was a meth addict. It was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had in the bedroom. Read “The Ecstasy and the Agony.”

Prison Love


This middle aged gay black man I know in Baltimore has been a drug counselor for almost two decades. But when he was younger he sold and used drugs and ended up in prison. This is the story he told me about his “prison husband.”

“Martin” was standing outside his cell on the second tier, looking down at the new arrivals at prison. And that’s when he saw “Abdul,” a tall, dark, handsome man who was filing in with the new arrivals.

“We locked eyes and stared at each other and I thought to myself, ‘I’m going to have him,'” said Eric, who was serving time in Maryland State prison for multiple marijuana sale offenses.  “We just had chemistry.”

Before too long Abdul,  who was also in jail for drug sales, would briefly chat with Martin each time he walked by Martin’s cell. This happened several times a day.

One day Abdul asked for help.

“My peeps ain’t sending me no money and I don’t have any funds to buy soap and deodorant and other stuff from the commissary.”

“Don’t worry man. I will get you $20 worth of stuff to get you started. Just pay me back when your folks finally come through,” Martin answered.

Martin had been with women and even had a daughter. But by his late 20’s when he went to prison he had figured out he loved long black dicks and getting fucked way more than pussy.

Martin was a handsome, cocky brown-skinned brother who was built like a brick shit house because he regularly worked out. He had a high, light voice but was masculine so no one in prison suspected he was gay and loved to bottom.

One day he and Abdul showered at the same time.  Abdul eyed Martin’s plump bubble ass and broad chest and leaned closer and said, “You know I’m really attracted to you.”

Martin was a little surprised but so pleased his ass tingled and his long, thin penis grew hard.

Abdul claimed he was straight. Plus he was Muslim and knelt on a carpet and prayed  toward Mecca with the other brothers. He just didn’t seem like the type to stray down the rainbow path.

They got a chance to hook up during Ramadan. Abdul snuck away from the Muslim inmates who were segregated during fasting and made his way to Martin’s cell. Nobody was around..

“Hey Martin I’m so horny for you baby. Please suck my dick.”

Martin looked around to make sure no one was around and knelt at the entrance of his cell and pulled Abdul’s dick put of his prison-issued jeans. It was unusually long and thick and black.

Martin sucked Abdul’s dick with his wet mouth and massaged it with his hands. It was against prison rules for Abdul to be in Martin’s cell so he pretended to lean against the bars and talking to Martin.

Abdul quickly busted a thick load into Martin’s mouth. Martin got up off his knees and went to the toilet, spat the nutt in the bowl and flushed.

Later Abdul and Martin got merits for good behavior and were able to choose cellmates. Of course they picked each other. For the first time they were able to go all the way.

“Abdul cried the first time I gave him some ass he was so grateful,” Martin said.

They did everything together including running a small drug ring in prison. Since Martin worked the commissary he had more freedom to move about and pick up heroin and coke the guards smuggled in.

But Abdul would get high off the drugs instead of selling them and one time Martin had to have his mother send him $200 to pay back an inside supplier who threatened to shank them.

Their prison relationship lasted four years when Martin was released. Martin has been drug free and out of prison for 20 years but Abdul is still serving time.

They continue to correspond and Martin sends Abdul $20 here and there.

Abdul will be released soon and has asked whether he can stay with Martin till he gets on his feet.

But Martin says he is hesitant to reopen that chapter in his life by rekindling the relationship.

We will see if he gets weak for that big prison dick and relents.

Silly Young Faggot. Tricks are for Kids.

“Chocolate Drop” is a 30-year-old from the Caribbean who has been hitting me up for a week or so.

Sexy, tight, little dark body but a little on the feminine side.

I fucked him well and then he started talking. And the real him came out quickly.

It seems Chocolate Drop loved to get drunk and high on “molly” and fuck all night.

“I’m young. I’m supposed to have fun and get high. Right?”

He had been living with a roommate for three weeks but they were fighting badly and he needed to move…quickly.

In fact, the roommate had got his iPad and went through his email and spiked his soft drink with transmission fluid.

He had to call in the cops and filed a restraining order

I looked outside.  “Chocolate Drop” had pulled up in a late model burgundy BMW sports utility vehicle.

Don’t those joints cost $55,000? Why would he need a roommate?

“Immanuel you have a nice house,” he said, looking around. 

I knew what was coming.

“Immanuel are you looking for a roommate?  Can I move in.”

I sigh. Another fabulous young meth-head faggot looking to live off somebody.

I bet his latest sugar Daddy was his “roommate” who probably bought him the BMW. And was trying to get rid of his trifling ass, although that Boi pussy was good

Oh and for the record I never for a moment believed the poisoning story. That sounded too soap opery.

“Nah not looking for a roommate and the guest room is for when my daughter visits,” I answer.

Deep down I’m also thinking my boyfriend “Van” would kill me if I moved that fabulous freeloader in, although he might like him back for a threesome.

I get him out the door as quickly as possible and Chocolate Drop switched off into the sunset. But not before I got a few shots of him naked and riding my dick.

Here they go:







A father appears in court in Florida with a son charged with school bus beating. I can relate. My son is going to be in court a few times this year. Photo courtesy of FoxNew.com.

A father appears in court in Florida with a son charged with school bus beating. I can relate. My son is going to be in court a few times this year. Photo courtesy of FoxNew.com.

I’ve come a long way in the five years since I launched this blog.

From married and on the down-low to divorced and navigating a new life. I have  cool but hectic job, a little rowhouse with a front porch and garden in Baltimore, an active social life, and I thoroughly feel good about myself.

But my son’s life is not going so well. He keeps getting arrested for weed possession, and had a court date last week.  Last Labor Day weekend, when I dropped off my daughter after a weekend road trip, he came out and assaulted me.

Rather than whip his ass, which I could have done, I called the police and filed charges. I want to teach him you can’t put his hands on me or anyone. That trial is in April.

I have already told the state attorney prosecuting the case my family situation. We will use the assault trial to get my son into mandatory anger management and drug treatment classes.

My ex-wife blames my son’s issues — dropping out of college, heavy weed use, shiftessness — on my leaving the marriage and being gay. She has gained 20 pounds and friends tell me she blames her depression and weight gain on me, too.

Constant guilt trip from her. Shit when we were married I tried to get her into a gym routine with me but she was too lazy.

Fortunately I have good family and friends who constantly tell me I am a good father and my son is fucking up because he likes to get high and has a mother who will let him scapegoat me instead of working with her ex-husband to help her son.

My daughter is mad cool, is accepting of my new lifestyle, hangs out with me, and regularly makes a 3.5-grade point average. I know her life at home with her brother and mother is not good — my daughter has said when my son doesn’t get high he is a holy terror, punching holes in the wall and constantly bickering.

That my son controls my wife, who threatens to throw him out but always yields and lets him stay and keep fucking up.

So I have filed to get partial or full custody of  baby girl, because I have to get her out of that. The guy I date “Van”and my mother are very supportive of this move.

A friend of mine joked, “You won’t be able to get as much sex if your daughter lives with you.”

“Man, are you kidding,” I answered. “My children are worth a thousand times more than sex.”

Readers please send positive thoughts and prayers and advice my way as I work through this.

The Story of the Thug Up the Block

Image courtesy of the film "Say My Name."

Image courtesy of the film “Say My Name.”

Remember “Ray,” my down-low thug neighbor who lives up the block?

Well, one day I got a chance to talk with him privately and I asked Ray when he had his first dude. And Ray told me this story about the first man he kicked it with and how they fell in love. I changed names and some details to protect their identity:

Ray was 19 years old and living in the Bronx in the mid 1980s. And he befriended this neighborhood drug dealer called “Dax.”

Dax was the terror of the street. He made mad money selling weed, cocaine and the new drug of choice — crack. But nobody messed with Dax, a muscled, brown-skinned black man of Puerto Rican and African American descent. That is because people who fucked with Dax soon disappeared.

Dax was five years older than Ray and took a liking to him. “Hey man, come over to my place and hang sometimes and play this Ninja game with me on my Sega.”

“Yeah, I may do that sometime,” said a wary Ray, who was afraid Dax was trying to pull him into the drug game.

But one day Ray got into a bad fight with his girl Wanda, who kicked him out of her pad in the projects. So he had nowhere to go and ended up knocking on Ray’s brownstone door.

“Damn man, it’s late as fuck,” Dax grumbled. But he let Ray crash in his guest room in the big iron poster bed.

Ray was tired. He and Wanda’s relationship was winding down…he just wasn’t feeling her anymore. And he knew he had to find a place to stay and get back on his feet. So he just went to bed and was soon snoring softly.

That is until he felt something wet and warm tugging and pulling at his dick in the middle of the night. And he looked down and there was Dax, sucking his dick in the dark, his head bobbing up and down.

Ray froze and pretended he was asleep. He was scared out of his wits. “If I wake up and say something this nigga might shoot me. He has killed dudes before.”

Dax’s skillful sucking had Ray’s dick hard as rock but he still pretended to sleep. After awhile Dax got up and went back to his room.

The next morning nothing was said. Ray went to his department store job and Dax went about pushing drugs. But that night the same thing happened.

Ray had girlfriends but had always wondered what it was like to be with a guy. He would rent straight porn on VHS tapes. But instead of jacking off to the women he would jack off looking at the guys’ nipples and asses. He would not dare try gay sex because all the gay men in his neighborhood acted so feminine and femininity in men turned him off.

But Dax was different. He was masculine, toned and had a deep voice. He ran the drug trade. He had two babies’ mamas. Everybody was afraid of him. He had a collection of guns and knew how to use them. How could he be gay?

But after a week of nightly dick sucking Dax finally just put it on the table. “Nigga, what the fuck is up?”

“Huh, what do you mean,” Ray asked.

“Don’t play stupid, I know you ain’t sleeping. You like when I suck your dick. Shit, you shot nutt over my shoulder last night. So stop playing.”

Ray got quiet. Then he breathed deeply and said, “Yeah, I liked that shit man.”

And that was that. Ray moved in with Dax permanently and they became lovers but everybody thought they were just homeboys and roommates. But they were anything but.

When they got behind closed doors Ray would ride Dax’s tight, light-brown ass like a jockey on a racehorse. That dude loved Ray’s curved dick, which hit his prostate just right. No one suspected they were more than friends.

But Dax was jealous as a motherfucker. One time he caught Ray looking admiringly at a hottie walking down the block. Dax walked over. “You like that bitch,” he asked.

“Man, shit that’s my home girl Tracy…,” Ray started to say. Before he could finish Dax hauled off and knocked him down in the street. Ray had to keep up his street cred. He got up and the two got in a knock-down, drag-out fight in the middle of the street.

Photo courtesy of ESPN.

Photo courtesy of ESPN.

“Shit, why are Ray and Dax beefing,” Tracy asked her girlfriend while they stood on the sidelines watching the two bloody each other as a crowd gathered. “I thought they were like brothers.”

Nobody knew they were having a lovers’ spat.

Dax’s jealousy eventually drove Ray away. Plus he was nervous about associating with Dax or even driving with him. The drug wars were heating up and people were getting killed left and right over nothing.

So Ray moved to Baltimore to stay with an aunt who had raised him and get a fresh start. But Dax soon followed. He knocked on Ray’s aunt’s door and asked Ray to come out and talk to him. Ray’s aunt thought nothing of it — they had been friends for years.

When they got around the corner Dax pulled out a shiny steel pistol. “You are never going to leave me. I will kill you now and then I will take care of myself.”

Ray felt like his stomach had sunk to his ankles. He literally saw his life pass before his eyes. He knew Dax was serious.

But Ray could also think fast on his feet. He pretended to break down, boohooing and crying in the middle of the street loud enough so there would be witnesses. “Man, you know I love you but you drove me away with your jealousy. What was I supposed to do? You know you don’t want to kill me.”

Ray’s Oscar-winning performance worked. Dax tucked the gun back in his waistband under his baggy Cross Colours shirt.

“Okay, man. I have been kinda on edge. But you know I act like this because I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

But the weirdness continued — Dax kept doing underhanded things to bring Ray back to New York City. One day Ray came home to find his aunt distraught on the phone. She was very religious.

“Dax is on the phone. He just told me that you two are doing the ‘f-word.’ The nasty! That you are lovers. Now Ray you know that lifestyle is against God and you are going to hell and Dax right along with you. After your mother died I tried to raise you right. I didn’t raise you to live like this. Oh, Lord Jesus, what is my sister thinking in Heaven. I have failed.”

Ray was so angry he hopped on a bus to New York City that night. He wasn’t ready to come out to his family, especially his Auntie. How could Dax do that? He was supposed to love him?

Ray arrived at Dax’s door. He had a key but knocked instead. Dax opened the door. Before Dax could pull out a gun he always had on him Ray punched the shit out of him, square on the chin. Then he kept hitting and hitting him until Dax fell unconscious on the brownstone steps.

People gathered on the street. “Damn, I thought them two were friends but they forever fighting,” one neighbor said. “What the fuck is going on now?”

Nobody knew Ray and Dax were having their final lovers’ spat.

Ray went back to Baltimore early the next morning. Surprisingly the two kept in touch although the passion cooled down to a friendship that has lasted now almost 30 years. Dax got out of the drug game and is living a respectable life — he was one of the few dealers who actually saved his windfall.

Sometimes when Ray goes home to New York City he will call up Dax and they will got out and have drinks and laugh about how crazy their love life used to be back in the day. It’s funny how time can heal things.

Ray and Dax were obviously in an abusive relationship, both physically and psychologically. Domestic abuse exists in LGBT relationships just as in straight ones. Eleven percent of lesbians reported violence by their female partner and 15 percent of gay men who live with their partners reported being victimized by their male partner, according to the American Bar Association. I was so surprised by all the tales of domestic violence I heard from gay men I wrote this blog entry, “Scars,” back in 2009.