Whippoorwill

Ah yes, "the love that dare not speak its name" is now shouting from every rooftop. Strange indeed. Plus it's just boring.

Lots of very certain opinions on this thread. A couple of things occur to me. Is it not possible that some percentage of day laborers are gay/bi, just as some percentage of the entire population is? A well-tuned gaydar should allow one to make an offer to the right person that is welcomed, not exploitive. Second, having lived in California most of my life, and as a frequent Puerto Vallarta visitor, my Latino buddies long ago explained to me a common characteristic of machismo…it’s not gay if you’re the top. I’ve experienced many a “straight” trick who’d more than happily accept a blow job, but would never touch another guy’s cock, much less suck it. As a Latino friend once told me, his father said to him “I don’t care if you are gay” (in Dad’s mind, fucking a guy in the ass), but if I ever hear of you being fucked, I will murder you.” In other words, use discretion, treat everyone with respect, and don’t project our cultural values on everyone.

Mother taught me never to discuss politics or religion with “acquaintances.” You don’t know where they are coming from; you will never change their mind anyway; it only causes upset all the way around. What’s the point ? Why would I want to know?

A cock ring keeps me hard without me (or others) touching my cock…especially useful at the tubs, sex parties, sex clubs…when you want to display the goods but not necessarily going at it at the moment. As mother said, always try to look your best.

Sorry if this topic has been covered before…I searched and didn’t find it, but that surprises me. I was circumcised as an infant, but the doc left a little more skin than necessary. This has never been a problem until now in my dottage when my ears, nose, and scrotum have all gotten longer from gravity, and my cock shorter (sigh). Unless I am hard, it essentially looks like I am uncut. No problem…except the smell of Smegma. I shower daily and wipe the head of my cock after pissing. But as soon as I pull out my cock to piss, I get a strong whiff of Smegma. A good quality body soap (that works on the pits, crotch, etc.) isn’t doing it. Any recommendations what products are out there that might work? I know, I know, some of us get off on it. But I worry about broadcasting the smell across the room. I once had an uncut Swiss roommate, and as soon as you opened the dorm room you got knocked out by the smell of Smegma. It was kind of hot as a horny 20 year old, but it’s not becoming for a gentleman of a certain age in public situations.

I’d hire you in a NY minute. I think if I were you I would advertise as a side. It’s a lot easier to go up the services ladder than down. As a bottomish client I would go expecting non penetrative sex, and then try and up the game as multiple sessions engender more comfort on both sides. And for that matter, your bf may get more comfortable with time also.

I too grew up in the era when not only did everyone let it all hang out in the locker room, but swimming was nude at the YMCA, etc. In those days bathing suits were wool, with cloth belts. They pilled and gummed up the filters, so bathing suits were forbidden. I remember at age around 10, my brother and I taking in the wonder of the occasional uncut cock…what was that extra skin for? By the time I was in high school, we wore bathing trunks, but nudity in the locker rooms and gang showers was the rule. Swimming at Boy Scout camp was still naked. By the ‘80s I was living in the Castro and the gym locker rooms, saunas and steam were 100% naked and cruisey. Boyfriends of the cruisers would complain to management that their bf’s were getting it there, and management would post signs such as “masturbation causes blindness and loss of your gym membership.” I had a nice collection of those stolen signs in my garage. By the 2000’s I was going to the Y and noted that all the young guys got undressed/dressed with a towel around their waist, just like the girls at the beach. Somehow our culture has regressed to the point where young men are ashamed to be au natural.

Penis erectus conscientium non habit.

And yet something else to consider…last year I had two boys in rotation. I got to know each of them pretty well over time, and talked to each of them about the other. Next thing I knew, one of them hired the other…which I found hot replaying in my mind (and hand). Later, one moved out of town and the other retired…and recommended a new provider to me…who is now my favorite regular. Hotter yet would be the four of us together!

In the 1970s I had two gay but married-to-women friends, who needed places to trick. i gave each of them keys to my place. Every once in a while I would come home and find two wine glasses in the sink. I was always happy to know one of them had gotten what he really needed. Eventually, I told them about each other, and my house became their secret trick pad. They eventually told their wives, got divorced, and were a couple until a couple of years ago when one of them died.

I tend to see providers on a repeating basis who tend to charge just on the high side per the local market, and expect and get what I consider top notch service. I do not tip because I feel that results in an expectation. Rather I give nice cash gifts on special occasions-birthdays, holidays, vacation trips, etc. I find this can help establish a get-give parity without tying it to a specific expectation.

I have had great conversations in DMs with other clients…resulting in some great provider encounters. I find that when I am happy to share helpful details, I get helpful reports in return. Is that not the purpose of DMs? Each to their own, but full disclosure works for me.

I very much enjoy getting to know young men, and learning about what their lives are today. It helps me try and stay relevant. Some young men also want to get “Dad advice “ from someone who’s been around the block. It can be fun and beneficial for both.

I grew up in the Cold War era, so Russian soldiers always held a kind of evil fascination…strong, powerful, butch…right in line with my S&M/leather fantasies. I saw my first Russian soldier when I was 20. I was driving into East Berlin through Checkpoint Charlie. We had to get out of my red Triumph sports car while a soldier went through the interior, the trunk, under the hood…even passing a mirror under the car to see if someone was hiding in the undercarriage. Why someone would be hiding to get into, not out of, East Berlin, of course made no sense at all. But then nothing about war makes sense, does it. While he was getting his jollies looking for spies, I saw his officer’s military hat just sitting on the counter in the Checkpoint. I could have easily grabbed it, and he’d never known until I was gone and in the Eastern Sector. What a fantasy…maybe I couldn’t actually trick with a Russian soldier, but my roommate and I could fuck wearing his hat, maybe even cum all over it. As an indication of what terrible judgement a 20-year old can have, for a moment I actually considered snatching it. Prisoner sex fantasies getting fucked by the guards are hot, but the probable reality of Soviet prison quickly disabused me from pinching the cap. So we drove off into the East, bare-headed. It would be another 20 years before I had an encounter with another Soviet soldier, when I spent a month on a project in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. This was the traditional land of the Uzbeks, a Turkic Central Asian Stan where the men were swarthy and their visages showed the signs that Marco Polo, Ghengis, and Tamerlane had all spilled their seed. But I digress…this is a Soviet soldier story. The Uzbek boy stories will wait until another day. This was during Perestroika, when Uzbekistan was a part of the Soviet Union, but as it turned out, not for long. It was also late spring, when it was already blisteringly hot. Most afternoons my coworkers and I would go to a large city park, with a fine tea house located within. I mean a real tea house, a beautiful tourquise domed structure where they served exotic pastries and excellent teas and coffees for just pennies. Nearby there was a rushing mountain stream, where a whole variety of people would recreate…Russian families, with grandfathers looking like they were pregnant with a cow…in their tiny “speedo-like bathing suits; high school youth, fresh from the Young Pioneers Camp, oozing sex out of every pore; and Soviet soldiers from the local garrison in their unsexy boxers…until they emerged from the water leaving little to the imagination. Sitting under a sycamore tree taking in the sights became a lovely afternoon hobby. But the real thing was close by…a smoking hot t-room. On my first visit to the park I discovered I wasn’t the only guy up for a blow and go, if not more. When you entered, the stalls were along the back wall, the sinks on the left wall, and the urinals on the right wall. No “splash guards” here…every cock in the row in full view and easy grabbing distance. And this t-room was always busy…not just a bunch of loitering queens too good to play. Eating cum out of uncut Uzbek and Russian cock became an obsession. And then one day, a door to the end stall opened, and there was a Soviet sergeant, in full uniform, rubbing his crotch. Khaki pants, shirt, and jacket; red and gold epaulets, emblazoned with the Soviet star; tall; and of course wearing the requisite hat I had once so lusted after. And as I went down on my knees, my eyes fixed on the red star on his brass belt buckle…I was about to get cock, not just any cock, but Soviet military cock. Boy would I have a story for the boys at the Eagle back home. Sarge played the part well…after a long slurping session, he turned me around, tore my pants down, and fucked me mercilessly. After I eventually caught my breath, I pulled up my pants, and staggered out if the stall, my gut happily filled with the seeds of another generation of Young Pioneers. I should have asked for his hat.

I always use my real given and family names, cell phone number, and email. I find most (but not all) providers soon give their real name, age, and other details. I had one long term provider who had his diplomas/certificates hanging on the wall. It establishes a two way level of trust that I really like. I am not ashamed, you have no reason to be, we are both exposing our bodies and the most intimate details of our sex lives to each other, we are engaged in a business relationship involving mutual trust. It definitely increases the level of intimacy for me.

Who hasn’t had a fabulous hairdresser who was fabulous…until he wasn’t? Same with providers. I am a two-boy guy. If I try a provider who is fabulous, I repeat in a couple of weeks, introducing him into the rotation. They generally keep getting more and more fabulous until they don’t. Then I can do something different to try to reintroduce the spark that was there at first, or move on to the next hottie I have been wanting to try. My experience has been good…several years of good times before it goes stale. But isn’t that one of the virtues of our hobby? If I wanted to have forever I could have sex with my husband…but we are both too bored with that.

Public_Assistance’s advice is probably good advice. Each of us has to decide what our risk tolerance is. IMO, in the US, your chance of getting busted by Lilli Law is one in tens of millions. Are you a prominent politician of any stripe? Is it election season? Would your name be found in the gossip columns of newspapers around the world? Does your wife have a dick following you? Etc etc. If not, in fact there is little to worry about. I could walk down the street carrying a sign “I pay to take it in the ass” and no one would care, police or old ladies. I have made out like a bandit leaning against a tree in front of the KGB headquarters in the (former) USSR. I’ve participated in orgies in more than one moslem city in the Middle East. Whatever you decide for yourself is correct. Just don’t overly obsess to the degree you spoil your sexual adventures. You only live once and an adventure now and then will extend the quality and extent of your life. My 2 cents.

Not NYC but SF with a compact business district, where everything is a quick walk or at most ten minute taxi (or today Uber) ride away. That's no different than the time you'd take between appointments anyway. I should have been clearer...I was thinking of an hour-plus drive to Silicon Valley.

I was a professional consultant for many years, in a different industry. I charged: X $/hr in my office X $/hr PLUS travel time to an outside location calculated on the time spent traveling x 50% regular hourly cost OR X $/hr PLUS a travel fee that I set based on $$/mile. Either of those formulae eliminate the need to differentiate based on number of hours spent working. They were intended to result in the same cost; some people preferred the $$/mile which is most standard; others, the 50% charge. It's a simple business proposition. If I were spending time on behalf of a client (either working or traveling) it had to be compensated. Why would I travel to an outside location and not get paid for that time when I could be in the office working with someone else and getting paid? The fees were published in advance. Hiring a male provider is a different business and arrangements are perhaps a little looser, but the same principle applies.

When in London, I try to take a day in the natural splendor of Kew Gardens, depending on the season and what's in bloom. It's an easy Tube ride from the City, and "a day in the country," the largest botanic garden in the world at some 350 acres. That's abut 40% the size of Central Park in NYC, but here every square inch is a carefully curated biome, either on the ground or in a series of glass houses, some dating back 250 years. And of course, such landscapes take a small army of gardeners to keep them pristine. On one visit some years ago, I saw a particularly hunky gardener, and he eyed me at about the same time. He had a handsome face, longish wavy dark hair under a wool flat cap, and a solid body, as one would expect from someone who does physical work all day. After he knew he had my eye, he slowly meandered off, trowel in hand, periodically checking to be sure that I was in tow. He made his way to one of the public cottages (T-rooms) in the gardens. I gave him a minute, to not seem too obvious, and followed after him. There he was, standing at the urinal, trowel in one hand and an enormous erection in the other. And happily no one else was there. I saddled up next to him at the urinal, and reached over for a feel. Soon I was down on my knees slurping up his gorgeous uncut member (another bonus of traveling in Britain). It didn't take long before I got to swallow his sweet load. He buttoned up, and walked out, still holding the trowel (he never put it down!) Not a word spoken. In subsequent visits to Kew, I have looked for him, but can't even find the cottage where we did the deed, so I live with my sweet memory.

I have hired Travis Thailand for massage, and he described himself as a pole dancer. He also does/did porn as Travis Yukarin…if you google that you will find a lot online…performing in clubs, at parties/festivals etc. He was a lot of fun in the massages, very friendly and easy to talk with. If he’s a type you like, easy to contact on RentMasseur.

The bf and I brought a cute trick home from the bar, and did all the usuals at home, coating all in various bodily substances, lube, and whatever. In the morning, we said, fee free to take a shower. The reply was "Oh no. I am not going to put dirty clothes on after a shower. That's disgusting," Strange. Funny. Or maybe his bf wanted to smell the sex when he got home.

I hire mostly for erotic massage and have a small group of regulars I patronize. I arrive on time, neither early nor late, and leave within 15 minutes of the end of my appointment. I not only assume there may be a client before and after me, I hope there is...I want my boys to be busy and financially successful because I value them and want them to stay in the business. It doesn't make me feel like a widget at all. When I'm paying by time, it's the same whether it is my GP, my CPA, or my masseur/escort, I'm paying for their time and it's of no concern of mine what they are doing outside of that time.

I had a young fellow I used to see in Puerto Vallarta, and all he ever wanted to eat was pizza and coke. That's one of the clues I got that I should be going out with slightly older guys.

There was one young man who gave the best massage service I ever had...until he didn't. He just found another undertaking that captured his fancy more. He continued to do massage, but it became number two not number one priority for him, and the quality suffered. In his case, it was just being young and flaky. To be expected but not celebrated.