Shouldn't be "like that" to anybody. Of course YMMV, but the near consensus on Mr. Ryan (who for years was an excellent provider for me) is that he has been checked-out for awhile now. I wish him well, but I won't return for mre.
I spotted a hot guy at Whole Foods last week and quickly realized I recognized him from the massage ads. It was Hisham. So I finally booked a massage with him. He greeted me with a big, warm, shirtless hug. After I took off my shirt, he embraced me from behind and began a very promising, sensual massage in only his briefs.
I always take it slowly, letting the masseur lead before I make any moves to extend beyond traditional massage. I was enjoying the massage - despite the poor sound quality of music coming out of his iPad (why doesn’t every masseur invest in a bluetooth speaker?!). As he caressed my whole body, never failing to graze my crack or brush by my balls, I reached out to touch him. He placed my hand back where it was as if to say that is not ok. I tried again later, explaining that if I’m being touched it feels only natural to touch, but I was rebuffed with a “relax and enjoy being touched.” When I turned over, half-hard from his caresses, he placed a towel over my eyes. When it fell partly off, he joked that I was cheating. I took it all the way off and said I liked watching him.
He continued to graze my cock but all of a sudden he asked how I had liked the massage. It was over and had been a tease with no fulfillment.
The massage was good so I said so. I got up and hugged him goodbye. And then I went on Grindr and found a dude to fuck.
But I won’t be back because I don’t understand a sensual massage with so many suggestive touches that ultimately leads nowhere. I mean, if you’re gonna touch my cock, you better help me shoot.
One of my first erotic massages in NYC before he moved to LA and became a porn actor, a good 2 decades ago..
Fantastic massage, fantastic sex afterwards
I enjoyed many sessions with him, 4-5 years ago. But I agree, the more recent experiences feel like he is now just phoning it in. Think's he's just burned out.
I was recently visiting the Tempe, AZ, area when Ryan also came to the ASU campus. The building he’s staying in has a Whole Foods on the ground floor, so he advised me to park in their parking garage. This got everything off on the wrong foot, as a security guard who was patrolling the parking area came over and made sure that I went down to the store. Meanwhile, Ryan was trying to find out where I was and how/where to find me. Consequently, I was late for my appointment.
Anyway, I agree with others who found his massage somewhat mechanical. There were no “sensual” touches, no interaction that I was expecting from the “mutual touch OK” line in his ad. There was no massaging after I turned over onto my back; just an awkward attempt at a happy ending which really wasn’t very happy. Then: get off the table, get dressed, get out. I didn’t mind that his face and physique are larger and thicker than in his photos (‘roids?), but overall I was disappointed with the experience and definitely wouldn’t repeat.
Jarrod.
You do nothing but complain about your business.
Lots of people have read your long posts and tried to offer suggestions to your many gripes.
I am just one of them. But it seems you don't want answers. You just need to vent and keep repeating the same problems and never adjusting your approach. I'm sure plenty of other members agree.
The "comprehending" and "listening" are advice you may (or may not) take for yourself. People are trying to help you but you don't hear anything because you always get defensive instead of listening and learning.
No one is attacking you, so you should lower your armor for a minute and think about the things people are saying more carefully.
Best of luck.
OPINION
How Gay Men Saved Us From Mpox
April 16, 2023
The New York Times
By Ina Park and Dan Savage
Dr. Park is a professor of family and community medicine at the University of California, San Francisco. Mr. Savage is an author.
For weeks, the same awkward scene played out again and again in sexually transmitted infection clinics across the United States. Half-naked gay men stood with their pants around their ankles while clinicians crouched between their legs, swabs at the ready. The clinicians were covered head-to-toe in hazmat chic: gowns, gloves, face shields and N95 respirators. The men were covered in something much worse: painful lesions, on their genitals, their anuses and sometimes even their faces and limbs.
It was July of 2022, just last summer, and an outbreak of mpox — formerly known as monkeypox — was in full swing. From a handful of cases in a few cities in early May, the outbreak surged to more than 16,000 cases in 75 countries and territories just two months later. It was terrifying.
The sudden appearance of so many mpox cases everywhere and all at once was shocking. Aside from an occasional case among travelers from countries in West or Central Africa, where the virus is endemic, mpox was extremely rare in Europe or North America. The United States had seen only one outbreak, back in 2003, among Midwesterners with pet prairie dogs that had been housed with infected African rodents. There were 47 cases then and no documented cases of human-to-human transmission.
This time was different. In early May of 2022, mpox found its way to gay raves in Spain and Belgium, huge annual parties that draw men from all over the world. Clothing was scant, grinding was plentiful and when the parties were over everyone flew home. Within weeks, mpox cases — resulting from human-to-human transmission — began cropping up in cities worldwide.
While the outbreak caught the public unaware, public health officials had been warned. Five years earlier, Dr. Dimie Ogoina had observed unusual cases in Nigeria, first in an 11-year-old boy and then among young men who’d reported multiple sex partners or encounters with sex workers. He soon realized that this was not “the regular monkeypox we know” and tried to alert the scientific community about the possibility of sexual transmission.
And just as we were grappling with proof that Dr. Ogoina was right about everything — right that something had changed, right that mpox was transmitted sexually and right to raise the alarm — testing revealed that the mpox virus could survive on linens or clothing for more than two weeks. While we were both primarily concerned for those already suffering from mpox and those at highest risk of contracting the virus, we feared what might happen if mpox made its way into hotel rooms and onto cruise ships and college campuses. (Think of all those frat house couches that are rarely cleaned.) This outbreak could become an epidemic, perhaps even a pandemic.
Luckily, we were wrong.
While mpox could live on surfaces, it turned out it didn’t spread that way. The virus required close, sustained contact to spread, which is why it was fanning out overwhelmingly through sex. So this outbreak that started in gay and bisexual communities mostly stayed in those communities, but not for long. On Jan. 31, 2023, the federal government declared an end to the mpox emergency, as average case counts fell from a peak of over 450 per day in early August to fewer than five during the last week of January. While the outbreak in the United States lasted just under nine months, it caused plenty of damage, resulting in more than 30,000 cases and 42 deaths.
While the outbreak ended faster than many believed it would, it was far worse than it needed to be, representing both a public health triumph and a public health failure. Both health officials and the media failed to expeditiously warn and engage the gay community in the outbreak’s crucial first weeks.
When the first cases were reported among gay and bisexual men in the West, health authorities and the media couldn’t bring themselves to say the word “gay.” To avoid stigmatizing gay and bisexual men, early reports buried the lead. The Associated Press didn’t mention that this outbreak was being seen almost exclusively in gay men until 15 paragraphs into one report; other reports didn’t mention gay and bisexual men at all. A gay man scanning headlines in May of last year might have learned of an outbreak — but unless he had traveled to West Africa recently, or had contact with infected rodents or primates, he could have easily concluded that he wasn’t at risk.
While this desire to avoid stigmatizing gay and bisexual men was understandable, it wasn’t helpful. We know gay sex has been unfairly blamed for everything from natural disasters to the fall of Rome. But in their efforts to avoid stigmatizing the community, health authorities and the media failed to effectively warn gay and bisexual men. Ignorant of the threat as the virus spread, gay and bisexual men couldn’t take steps to protect themselves and their partners.
Unfortunately, stigma and discrimination found the community anyway. Gay men with mpox were turned away from urgent care clinics and emergency rooms. Phlebotomists refused to draw their blood. Like its predecessors Covid-19 and H.I.V./AIDS, mpox had all the makings of a public health disaster. It took nearly two months into the outbreak for testing to become widely available. A dearth of vaccines created “Hunger Games”-like scenarios in cities throughout the country, with vaccine clinics opening and then shutting their doors for lack of supply. Cases began to appear in a small handful of transgender people and cisgender women and children, raising alarm about wider spread.
Even after it was evident that this painful, potentially disfiguring or even fatal infection was spreading through gay men’s sexual networks, public health officials and the media were hesitant to give the same advice they had given freely at the beginning of the Covid pandemic: Limit your number of sex partners and express your sexuality in socially distanced ways.
But while health officials and journalists hesitated, gay and bisexual men sprang into action. Young men with lesions covering their faces took to social and mainstream media, telling the public that they were dealing with “the worst pain I’ve experienced in my life” and, perhaps the most telling, “I’d rather have Covid.” Benjamin Ryan, a gay journalist, and Carlton Thomas, a gay doctor, risked cancellation — e.g., being yelled at on Twitter — to dish out what Dr. Thomas referred to as “tough love” advice for their community: Slam the brakes on sex outside of committed relationships; seek immediate medical care for symptoms; and get vaccinated as soon as possible.
And the gay community listened.
Gay party promoters canceled long-planned events and individual gay men temporarily deleted hookup apps from their phones and reduced their sexual contacts. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention verified these shifts in behavior, reporting that half of gay men surveyed reduced their number of sex partners, one-time sexual encounters and use of dating apps during the outbreak. And gay and bisexual men got vaccinated in droves; two-thirds of those surveyed by the Pew Research Center in September 2022 reported that they had already received an mpox vaccine or were planning to do so. Gay and bisexual men endured frustrating attempts to secure appointments for the crucial first dose of the two-dose series and hourslong waits at pop-up vaccination sites. Of the over one million doses of the Jynneos vaccine (protective against smallpox and mpox) administered in the United States since June 2022, more than 90 percent were given to men (presumably gay and bisexual men).
Communications teams at the C.D.C. made great strides during this time. They acknowledged the realities of gay sexuality and its breadth of expression, using the actual language gay men use when discussing sex with each other. The words “fetish gear” appeared on a C.D.C. website for the first time; the clinical term “anus” became the more user-friendly “butthole,” and instead of “public sex environments,” the C.D.C. spoke frankly about “back rooms” and “sex parties” and the risk of contracting mpox in those spaces.
While those warning gay men to cut back on sex until they were vaccinated against mpox experienced accusations of fomenting stigma — echoing pushback experienced by gay men who urged others to avoid bathhouses and start using condoms at the start of the AIDS crisis in the early 1980s — efforts to shoot the messenger were less aggressive than in years past. One key difference between H.I.V./AIDS and mpox: Many of the messengers were gay and bisexual men themselves, including gay journalists, doctors and average citizens with access to social media, plus a generation of gay men who had been inspired to pursue public health careers in the wake of AIDS.
The C.D.C.’s chosen spokesman to lead national conversations on mpox and gay men’s sexual health wasn’t a straight doctor in a lab coat who squirmed at the mention of gay sex. Instead, it was Dr. Demetre Daskalakis, an out gay man who not only attends raves but posts shirtless selfies on social media to prove it. This was a messenger the community would listen to.
Gay and bisexual men had already written the playbook on activism and advocacy throughout the H.I.V./AIDS epidemic, resulting in more than $7 billion in federal funding for H.I.V. research, prevention, treatment and social services. Furious over the federal government’s initial response to mpox, they mobilized and organized, protesting at local Department of Health and Human Services offices and filing a complaint with the Massachusetts state attorney general over denial of mpox testing and treatment.
So while an early and frankly honest public health response could have blunted the outbreak, resulting in far fewer cases and far less suffering, the swift collective action of gay and bisexual men prevented catastrophe. If the broader American public had responded to the threat of Covid-19 the way gay and bisexual men responded to the threat of mpox, we might have seen fewer cases (there have been 100 million to date) and a lower death toll (1.1 million and counting). When the next infectious outbreak strikes (and surely it will), the public would be wise to channel gay and bisexual men: communicate openly without stigmatization, organize and insist on access to effective prevention, diagnosis and treatment.
There’s another important lesson about the gay community that health officials and journalists need to remember going forward: When it comes to emerging health threats — even ones that can spread sexually — gay men can handle the truth. You can give it to them straight.
Ina Park (@InaParkMD) is a professor of family and community medicine at the University of California, San Francisco, and the author of “Strange Bedfellows: Adventures in the Science, History and Surprising Secrets of S.T.D.s.” Dan Savage has been writing “Savage Love,” one of the most widely read sex advice columns in the country, for more than 30 years and is also the host of “Savage Lovecast.”
This is absolutely spot on.
Fire Island is now where young gay Manhattan goes to all try to keep one-upping each other.
It's exhausting as fuck to be around.
Unless you own the house or know someone who does, I'd say go to P town instead.
My most fond memories of being on Fire Island are when I was sequestered in a house, away from the mounds of social bullshit in town.
A few years ago, I showed up for an appointment to find the provider waiting for me on the front lawn of his apartment building, getting some sun in just his gym shorts. He was a very muscular European (I think German) guy, who asked me to follow him up to his place. The massage table was set up and as soon as we walked in, HE jumped up on the table face down. It rapidly became much more than a massage! 😄 Very memorable!
A few years ago, I showed up for an appointment to find the provider waiting for me on the front lawn of his apartment building, getting some sun in just his gym shorts. He was a very muscular European (I think German) guy, who asked me to follow him up to his place. The massage table was set up and as soon as we walked in, HE jumped up on the table face down. It rapidly became much more than a massage! 😄 Very memorable!
A few years ago, I showed up for an appointment to find the provider waiting for me on the front lawn of his apartment building, getting some sun in just his gym shorts. He was a very muscular European (I think German) guy, who asked me to follow him up to his place. The massage table was set up and as soon as we walked in, HE jumped up on the table face down. It rapidly became much more than a massage! 😄 Very memorable!
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