Who’s Your Daddy?

Tomorrow is my 29th birthday.

Despite the fact that I’m terrified of death, I’ve never really been concerned about getting older. Sure, as a kid, becoming another year older was the hottest gig one could think of. But when I reached adulthood and continued to still look more or less like a kid, I had a hard time complaining about aging. I’m quite proud to say that I look remarkably well preserved for entering the final year of my 20s. My perception of other people’s age is vastly distorted, because I look in the mirror every day and see that 28 looks a lot more like …24?

At least, it did.

When did I become "daddy" material?
When did I become “daddy” material?

No, I’m not noticing any wrinkles. I don’t have any gray hairs (I might have had one once a few years ago. My ex-boyfriend said he found one. I told him he caused it. All I know is I haven’t had any since.) To tell you the truth, I don’t notice any change at all. But something is…different. For starters, people are actually starting to guess my age correctly, which is really fucking weird for me.

Even more fucking weird for me: Younger guys are suddenly really into me. I’ve avoided them, for the most part, for quite some time now, just because I tend to relate to older guys much more, but since my return to New York I’ve noticed that the younger fellows (18-22) were suddenly looking really good, and many of them seem to think I look real good too. And yes, some of the boys I’ve talked to online have even gone so far as to call me “daddy”. And to be completely honest with you…I liked it. And I don’t exactly feel good about this. While it’s all legal as hell, I still feel…predatorial. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve slept with guys almost twice my age and not batted an eyelash, but being on the other side of things feels a bit…dirty. Which also kinda makes it even more fun. And then the taboo elements and the guilt trip collide and spiral out of control and I’m sitting here like “Ummmm what now?”.

The timing is impeccable, too, because I seem to be going through a dominant phase. Yes, I’ve always been the “VGL 5’4″ Top”, but I typically prefer to be more passive in the bedroom, and submissive for kinkier activities. But lately I just feel like telling a cute boy what to do, and I’m finding a lot of fellows who want an “older” guy (yes, that label has been pinned on me as well) to do just that. Who am I to complain?

But enough about the boys. Back to me and my age-related insecurities.

In the midst of all of this, I keep asking myself: Did my tour exhaust me that much? Or maybe…did I acquire that much wisdom while I was on the road? (Probably not, because when I wasn’t onstage I mostly just drank a lot. Hmmm… that might be the problem right there.) I still see the same guy when I look in the mirror, and it’s a little disconcerting to feel like others are seeing someone else. But I’m feeling confident for the first time in a while, and I plan to continue to rock it as long as I can.

Happy birthday to me.

Summertime Madness: Toronto Fringe

Toronto greets me in the morning with a massive erection.

Well, friends…the main leg of my Crazy Cross-Continental “Cootie Catcher” Tour has come to an end. Yes, already. I mean…I don’t know about you, but it felt incredibly quick to me. Like, wasn’t I just in Orlando last week? I could have sworn I slept in Montreal a couple nights ago…

I was really glad that I my final stop for this trip was Toronto. Because I really, really like Toronto. I had forgotten how much I liked it.

I rolled in on an overnight Megabus from Baltimore on Tuesday, June 30. It was not the most desirable form of transportation, but it saved me several hundred dollars, so it was most definitely worth it. I arrived at my billet, and immediately felt warm welcome wash over me. The house was adorable, with a gorgeous garden in the back, and my hosts were two lovely gentlemen who made me feel right at home. I grabbed a lengthy nap (lengthier than I planned) and got myself fully recharged because that night I was to perform once again with Boylesque TO in their naked declaration of Canadian pride, “Oh MANada!” It was the best possible first night in town, being surrounded by beautiful, familiar faces (and bodies) and putting on an epic burlesque show.

James and the Giant Pasty fulfills my filthiest airport security fantasies.
James and the Giant Pasty fulfills my filthiest airport security fantasies.

The next day was Canada Day. Everything was closed. Except the Fringe. The Fringe actually opened that day. Because theatre is what true patriotism is all about, if you ask me. I may be biased.

Although crowds weren’t as massive as I’d like (are they ever?), Toronto was very refreshing after Montreal. The audiences enjoyed the show with prominent enthusiasm, and the press was positive.  Mooney on Theatre listed me as one of their top recommended shows for the Fringe, and NOW Magazine named me one of their best bets. Canadian comedian Gavin Crawford (whom I was sadly not familiar with beforehand but I’ve been informed he’s a very big deal (read: “Canada-famous”), and is an absolutely delightful fellow) proudly endorsed my show to his followers, which I daresay impressed many of my peers.

I managed to squeeze in a few other burlesque gigs while in town. I also took a few moment to talk about the show with Jon Pressick on “Sex City Radio”, which you should totally take a listen to. Oh, and I finally made it out Hanlan’s Point, the clothing optional beach I’d heard so much about. Yes, of course I got naked. I can’t believe so many people are even asking me.

How can you not love these streets?
How can you not love these streets?

Two weeks in Toronto was not long enough. I could have done another week, easily. Not necessarily of Fringe, because partying at the beer tent every night for 10 days straight takes it’s toll on you. But I wanted more time to see more of the city…and to meet more of it’s super cute boys. I can’t go a whole two years without going back.

But now…I rest. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to say this, but I actually missed New York a lot. We needed some time apart, but for now we’ve reconciled. For the next two weeks, I’ll be collecting myself…decompressing…reassembling my life to the best of my ability in the short time that I have. On August 10th, I’ll be off to Edmonton for my final Fringe of 2015. I’m excited for it, but I’m also excited to live like a normal person again. At least…as normal as I get.


I think I found pup-space...

Summertime Madness: Dark Odyssey – Fusion

You know my life is hectic when it takes me 11 days to post about my most recent adventures with Dark Odyssey

In the beginning, I wasn’t even sure I was going to make it to Fusion this year. I already had so much on my plate for this summer. And I was going to be in Canada before that. And going back to Canada after that. And UGH crossing the Canadian border. But the timing was just too perfect to ignore…smack dab between my closing date in Montreal and my opening in Toronto. And a lot of people who wanted to fuck me kept asking me if I was going, and I couldn’t let them down, could I?

In the end, I went. And it may or may not end up being the best decision I made all summer.

At the very least, I thought it might be a fine opportunity to recuperate from the insanity that preceded it…seeing some friendly faces, getting some cuddles, sleeping in an actual bed (not a thing one usually looks forward to while camping, I know)…but it turned out to be the best event I’ve had to date. By a long shot.

I’ve done more than my fair share of whining about the lack of men available to men at these events. And yes, this is still something that needs development, not just at Dark Odyssey, but all across the Kinkdom. But this time, something clicked. This time, I wasn’t left wandering for hours, wishing I was doing something else. This time, people didn’t wait until the very last minute to ask me to play. I ended up with more prospective playdates than I was able to fulfill. No, I wasn’t fucking constantly or anything like that, but let’s just say, my free time was minimal.

Bambi live-tweets my tryst.
Bambi live-tweets my tryst.

And my dance card was very well-rounded, too. I fucked. I cuddled. I got beaten. I got tied up. I got wrestled to the ground, pummeled, and pissed on by a super hot (mostly) straight guy (that I’ve been dying to play with since Winter Fire). I performed live guy-on-guy porn for half of my cabin in the middle of a flash flood (with a guy I’ve been wanting to bang since Catalyst Con last year.) I had a spontaneous three-way with a lady friend and her male partner in the middle of the camp café (Yup. You read that right. I may not get pants feelings from women in general, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun with them when the time is right. *sticks tongue out*)

Which brings me to an interesting interaction I had with another playmate I had during this event. Within the last couple of events, I’ve become more open to non-sexual play with female-identified folks, and I’ve tried to advertise this to the best of my ability. Since I started attending DO, I’ve heard whispers that a lot of women were interested in me. But of course, since I identified as gay, none of them said anything to me. This playmate, a woman, said to one of her cabin mates that she wanted to play with me. Her cabin mate responded, “Yeah? Get in line.” She accepted this challenge, walked right up to me, and asked if she could tie me up. And I said yes. And it was an awesome time.

I think I found pup-space...
I think I found pup-space…

The awesomest time, though, may not have been something that happened between the sheets. You may recall from a couple years ago a little thing called the Dirty Pig contest? Where I was a judge? And it was pretty much the best thing that ever happened to me? Well, the quick and dirty version: it’s a mock leather pageant of sorts in which contestants are encouraged to bribe the judges and have to commit a slew of impromptu debaucherous acts on stage. And Bambi Galore and I entered as a duo, under the title of “The Center of Attention”. For our “Surprise Fantasy” category, in which we were given a song out of a bucket, a bag of props, and 15 minutes to pull our shit together…well…I actually don’t feel comfortable telling you exactly what happened on here. Because my mom or my boss could find it very easily. But think of the filthiest thing you could possibly do with “Let It Go” from Frozen and…yeah, you might be on the right track. We did not win, sadly. We were the runners-up. By 2 points. But I can confidently say we killed it. And my only regret is that I don’t get to create perverted fucked up art shit like this more regularly.

I wish I could give you a play-by-play of the entire week, but that might be a lot more fun for me to write than it would be for you to read. But so much more happened during this camp and I don’t want to forget any of it. Remind me to bring a journal next time I go. And remind me to use it.

Summertime Madness: Montreal Fringe

God DAMN, you guys. So many things have happened since we last met. So many things, in fact, that it will take me (at least) two posts to catch you up. I truly did not mean to neglect you at all, but I had a technical difficulty that prevented me from posting on here. #lame

In the time that has past since my last update, I have completed my run of “Cootie Catcher” in the Montreal Fringe Festival. And it was…hard. Really hard. I’ve traveled to several new cities on my own at this point and I have yet to feel so lonely for so long. And I’m still not entirely certain why. The language barrier was definitely a contributor. In the months leading up to the trip, friends who had done the Fringe or visited the city told me “Everyone speaks English. You’ll be fine.” And they weren’t wrong. But what they neglected to tell me was that everything is written in French. Literally. That’s enough to make a guy feel more than a little lost. And it’s a little embarrassing for me specifically, because when I was in high school I rocked French class. But when language classes stopped being a requirement, I abandoned them in pursuit of my artistic interests.

Naturally, the Gay Village is decorated with plenty of balls.
Naturally, the Gay Village is decorated with plenty of balls.

Many veterans of this festival told me in advance: “You won’t make any money there. You will have a motherfucking blast. But you won’t make any money.” I definitely took this to heart, but I didn’t realize how serious they were. I had a really hard time filling seats. And since I was performing in the biggest theatre I’d ever played solo, it was discouraging, to say the least. Although every single audience member seemed to enjoy themselves, and I got one really swell review, this contributed to my insecurities a great deal.

I spent a lot of time alone when I was there. More than I would like to, and that’s a lot. Usually I find myself to be very good company and don’t need much outside attention to feel good about myself. But there is such a thing as too much alone time, and I got it in plentitude.

Don’t worry, though: I wasn’t miserable the entire time. By the second week, I was beyond glad to be there. My independent wanderings brought me to many terrific performances. I made enough friends that I could hang out at the festival’s many happenings without feeling like a total loser.

Vendetta has looked better... #dollarstoredragqueen
Vendetta has looked better… #dollarstoredragqueen

I was invited to participate in an event that I had heard about for years before even attending the Montreal Fringe: The Drag Races. Now, these Drag Races have been going on for 15 years, preceding those of RuPaul. They involve two teams…one made up of professional drag queens, the other of fringe artists that may or may not have any experience in drag… competing in a series of obstacles, such as giving an audience member a ‘makeover’, creating their own cocktail, and of course, lipsyncing for their lives. Although I (mostly) retired from drag long ago, I was happy to drag (no pun intended) Vendetta out from hiding for the occasion (although she has looked better.) I did not win the races, unfortunately, but the crowd was more than wowed by my performance of “Crazy in Love,” which is all I could have asked for, really.

I also participated in an opening number for the Frankie Awards, which celebrate the best of the fest on the very last night. It was really fun and refreshing to work with a group of other artists for the first time in god-knows-how-long. And it also made me realize how much I missed choreographed dance. When I was in high school, I was known as that gay kid who knew all the choreography from all the music videos, but like…in a way that people respected. I haven’t connected with that side of myself in quite some time. But when I watched this video and saw myself tackling (a modified version 0f) Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation” moves, I thought “Ya know what? I still got it.”

The opening number for the Frankie Awards
The opening number for the Frankie Awards

While there are many ways in which I could have improved my fringe experience, I feel confident that I could return one day and make a much better adventure for myself, and that is what I intend to do. I left Montreal with bearing a pleasant glow, grateful for my experiences, and eagerly anticipating what would come next.

To be continued…


The Mystery of the Recovered Underwear

The Mystery of the Recovered Underwear

You guys remember these briefs, right?



If you’ve been reading this blog for over a year, I sure hope you do. Because it was once the first thing you saw upon arriving on my home page.

Well, a few months ago, I realized I hadn’t worn them in a while. Hell, I hadn’t even seen them in a while. I did a quick shuffle through my underwear drawer and realized they were nowhere to be found. This made me sad, because they were some of my favorites, but I assumed they must have torn or something and I had forgotten I’d thrown them away, so I moved on with my life.

Then, a funny thing happened…

When I was in Orlando a couple weeks ago, I was doing laundry at my hosts’ house. The same place I had stayed the previous year. I dump my fresh load (Of DRY LAUNDRY! Perverts…) on my bed and begin to fold them. I grab a pair of underwear, and realize it’s the exact pair shown above. I stood there for approximately five minutes, staring at the underwear, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. I supposed that I must have just left them there the previous year…but then how had they gotten into my load of laundry, and why now, after I had already been staying there for almost two weeks.

I asked one of my hosts if he had found it, held on to it for the year to return it to me, and thrown it in with my load, but he had no recollection of seeing them recently.

With no explanation for the reappearance of my precious briefs, I’m almost afraid to wear them again. Are they undead? Are they a glitch in the matrix? I may never know.

The only thing I do know is…they still make my ass look fantastic.