Whippoorwill

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.

ah yes, the "standing ovation inflation" at every opera, concert, play, and dance performance...and provider reviews! Just another reason Company of Men is so valuable. From Google: "Standing ovation inflation" refers to the phenomenon where standing ovations, once reserved for truly outstanding performances, are now given more frequently, even for performances that are not particularly remarkable. This has led to the feeling that standing ovations are no longer meaningful and have become a ritualistic response rather than a genuine expression of appreciation. Reasons for the phenomenon: Peer pressure: Once a few people stand, others are pressured to follow, even if they don't feel strongly about the performance. Cultural shift: Some argue it's part of a wider trend of overpraising and a decline in critical discernment. Media attention: The length of standing ovations, particularly in film festivals, is often highlighted by media, which may incentivize longer ovations. Social norms: In some communities, like Broadway, it's become almost the expected norm to receive a standing ovation, regardless of the quality of the performance. Egotism: Some suggest that standing ovations can be a way for audience members to express their own appreciation and elevate themselves in the eyes of others. Consequences: Diminished meaning: When standing ovations are ubiquitous, they lose their power to signify exceptional appreciation. Reduced critical engagement: The expectation of a standing ovation may discourage audiences from engaging with performances on a deeper level. Negative impact on artists: Artists may feel pressured to perform to a higher standard to avoid the risk of not receiving a standing ovation, which can stifle creativity. Examples: Broadway: Many Broadway shows consistently receive standing ovations, even if the performance is not considered exceptional. Film festivals: The length of standing ovations at film festivals, particularly at Venice and Cannes, has been a topic of discussion, with some suggesting that the lengths have become excessive. Classical music: Some critics have also noted that standing ovations are increasingly common in classical music concerts, even for performances that are not particularly memorable. In essence, the "ovation inflation" phenomenon raises questions about the meaning and purpose of standing ovations, and whether they are still a meaningful expression of appreciation in a culture where they are so readily given.

Fantasy: Discovering Porn I attended a private high school in the southern suburbs of a midwest rustbelt city, although our family lived in the northern suburbs, as did my buddy, Frank. Frank wasn't conventionally good-looking...he had a large hook nose, for which he was sometimes mocked as cruel teenagers do. But we got along great. He also had a nicely developing muscley body, unlike me who still had my baby fat. And this was in the era when guys walked around the locker room naked, which had gang showers. I can still see his 18-year old's developing pecs. I so wanted to feel them. Frank was also hung...he had a cock that came straight horizontally out of his pubis, and then maybe three inches out, turned down 90 degrees, as if it were too heavy to continue to stand out. I really liked to look at his cock, a lot. And today I still get turned on by guys with big hook noses...ever since Frank, I associate a big hook nose with a big cock. Some people judge by a big adam's apple; others by big hands or big feet. Me, it's the nose. To make this daily school treck took a two bus rides, transferring in downtown (this was the early 1960s before the era when high school students had cars and drove to school). There was a large magazine emporium near the bus transfer point where we often would hang out in the afternoon between busses. In the spring of our senior year we each turned 18, which meant we could finally go into the "adults only" section of the magazine store. Being horny teenagers in need of some sex education, we went exploring the adults section in detail. Soon Frank came to me with a different kind of stroke book, one of those early magazines with exotically oiled up body builders in posing straps, perhaps Phyisque Pictorial or some other of the ilk. All quite tame by today's standards, with no overt sexual acts but screaming sexuality to a gay boy in training like me. "Look what I found. Do you suppose these are made for girls, or for queers?" he said. As I eagerly devoured the pictures with him I noticed Frank had a huge boner, as we called them. I will never forget the sight...he was wearing really ugly very baggy brown tweed wool pants (private school was a suit and tie affair) that showed off his monster cock beautifully. "I don't know" I said, "but it sure gave you a boner." Frank looked down at his manhood, and looked back up at me and smiled. We cobbled the money together for the magazine, and got the bus home. We sat in the rear bench seat of the bus, hidden from others by the seats ahead. We took the mag out of the paper bag, and raced from photo to photo looking at guys in exotic poses wearing only posing straps; tight jeans; a lace bikini; two guys in posing straps straps horsing around with interlocking bodies; and a sailor boy in various states of uniform or not. We were't five minutes down the road (it was a 45 minute bus ride) when Frank unzipped his pants, reached into the fly of his jockey shorts, and pulled out his monster. I thought I was going to cum in my dress pants in a second, so I followed suit, and pulled out my best friend. Frank spit in his hand, and started stroking. I had the presence of mind to pull my handkerchief out of my pants pocket. I came first, with a gusher in the handkerchief. I handed it to Frank, who added his load. Then unbelievably he took the handkerchief to his nose and took a good whiff. I still do that today...the smell of cum is an intoxicating drug for me. Frank took the magazine home the first night; fair enough, I had the handkerchief. We traded off the magazine every other night until it was dog-earned and pages sticking together with cum. But it would be a while before we hit the bed together...a story for a future time. The reality: Frank indeed came to me with the stroke book and said "Look what I found. Do you suppose these are made for girls, or for queers?" he said. I only dared to glance at a couple of photos. I also noticed Frank had a huge boner, as we called them. I will never forget the sight...he was wearing really ugly very baggy brown tweed wool pants (private school was a suit and tie affair) that showed off his monster cock beautifully. But I pretended not to notice, and said "I don't know, probably for girls." He wandered off and eventually we went to our bus, and talked about the day's schoolwork on our way home. The upshot: I've beat off scores of times remembering this and other times with Frank and fondly thinking of what might have been. We never overtly pursued anything with each other. Decades later, I did read in the matrimonial column of the local newspaper (remember matrimonial columns? remember newspapers?) that Frank married a woman in his mid-40s...a little late in life, perhaps? An internet search shows them living in a dreary prefab suburb in the Florida swamplands. No mention of children. But I still lust after guys with big noses.

I think twice in the past five years I have had a provider ask to reschedule...I assume it is because they got a better offer. I was fine to accommodate them ...it worked with my schedule, and I want them to make as much money as they can so they stay in the business. And it works both ways...I have asked to reschedule once or twice and they accommodated me.

Given the state of what's going on, it is leading me to hire more often, not less, for my mental health.

Fantasy: Benji Alejandro. Any city I travel to I want to see it from above, to understand its structure and overall image. Before GoogleEarth, one had to do this, by, literally, going to a high place and looking down. One city where there are many opportunities to do this is Florencia, Florence, that wonderful medieval/early renaissance City of Flowers located in Tuscany. Wonderful at least if you are not there in the height of summer when it is overrun with American tourists from Kansas on package bus tours. The obvious place to view Florence from is the Piazzale Michangelo, built for just this purpose. The problem with that is, it is built with tour bus parking, and you probably want to avoid it like the plague (which last hit Florence in the mid-14th c.). Better viewpoints are can be had from Santa Maria del Fiore. the cathedral of St Mary of the Flowers. There are two routes "up" here...one is to the top of the dome, that great structure, still the largest masonry vault in the world, that ushered in the Renaissance. And I certainly recommend ascent to the top, for any of us still able to, as the essentially 35 stories take you through the bowels of the construction of the dome, with views both into the church below and the city beyond. But I digress. This fantasy revolves about what happened when I last climbed to the top of the Campanile, the bell tower, of the cathedral. Not for the faint of heart, at some 25 stories tall, the stairs have risers higher than the width of the treads, as only the Europeans do. But when you reach the top, such magnificence. You look down on the medieval city of red clay tile roofs, and beyond to the agricultural countryside, unspoiled by 20th c. high rises. And happily, the tour bus crowd never makes it up here. I arrived on a beautiful May day, with blue cloudless sky forever, but early enough in the year to be an enjoyable 70 degrees. While several dozen people can fit on the narrow balcony that encircles the tower, there were perhaps only a dozen tourists rotating through at any one time. As I was intently studying the city from this viewpoint, I remained here for some amount of time, photographing and reflecting. I soon noticed a comely young man who also remained as others came and went. I don't know who made the first advance, but we soon were talking. I learned he was from Columbia, product of an American father who ran a large American factory there, and a Columbian mother. His name was Benjamin Alejandro ___________. long before Madonna made Alejandro a hot name to have. He went by Benji as a nod to his father, but he secretly preferred Alejandro and his hispanic side. He had just finished his freshman year in college, and his parents sent him on a European summer vacation. We talked about life in Columbia, life in California, his schooling (he was a Business major), his hopes and dreams, and so on. At some point, I asked if I could take his picture. This was in the days of big heavy 35mm through-the-lens reflex cameras, with no possibility of texting him the photo. (so why did he possibly think I wanted to take his picture?). He said "Yes, but let me take my shirt off". Holy shit. I had hit the jackpot. He removed his shirt, and I took a series of photos of him, his face, his torso, his profile. At some point, I said, "would you like to come back to my hotel?" In my fantasy, he immediately said yes. Our hard-ons were apparent as we climbed down the 500 stairs, and headed off to my hotel in a former Renaissance palace. We barely got to my room before we tore each others clothes off, and spent the rest of the day fucking our eyeballs out. The reality: Benji indeed did take his shirt off and pose seductively. But when I asked him to come back to my hotel, he said no. But why ever did he offer to take his shirt off? He surely knew my game and was cock-teasing me. He probably was on the verge of coming out...we've all been there...but wasn't quite ready to pull the trigger. We parted ways. I went back to my 3-star tourist hotel and jerked off until I was totally spent. The upshot: Every once in a while I summon up memories of Benji for a jerk off. I had kept his photos until a few years ago when I cleaned house in a Covid clearing out jag. But my hope for him is that he found himself and is now bedding down every night with the man of his dreams, and fucking each other silly.

I am sure we all have missed opportunities...or at least missed fantasies. I have scores, some of which I still beat off about. Let's hear yours. I will start off with the fantasy of what should have happened, and follow up with what really happened: Fantasy: Tony. When I was a sophomore in college, I was in a dorm with sophomores and freshman. In these ancient times, I was just starting to deal with the reality I was into guys not girls. Just starting to deal, I say, because I was jerking off to the fantasy of girls, but starting to have wet dreams about guys. In those days, I was also a Catholic, having been brought up as such, but not really having thought about it much. I was smart enough to "graduate" from a catholic high school to a secular college, but was still going to Sunday Mass on campus. Somehow, I got myself into the role of waking up the other Catholics on the floor for Sunday morning mass. So come spring, sophomore year, when we are all horny with morning wood ever day, I made my early morning Sunday rounds with the Catholic boys. Prime among these was Tony, a Long Island Italian boy, with an 18-year old's hairy Italian body to beat the band. His roommate was Joe, and equally hot anglo boy, with a reddish hairy body. I softly knocked on their door, and went in to wake up Tony for mass. I was wearing my boxer shorts (gleep). Tony was asleep in bed, totally naked, with a massive hard on, that I could fully see as he was only covered in a sheet. I woke him up, and told him it was time to go to mass. All the while, I was of course fixating on his gorgeous hard-on...big, curved, raring to go. In my fantasy, we talked about how horny we each were; how we needed to cum; how Tony invited me to get up on his bed and suck him off; and now while we were doing this, Joe woke up, got behind me, and started fucking me while I was sucking off Tony. Over the decades, I have beat off countless times thinking of me sucking off Tony whey Joe fucked me silly. It should have happened. It probably could have happened, The reality: I told Tony it was time to get up for Mass. We talked for a minute or so. He went back to sleep. Joe never work up. I left and went to mass. Boring. The upshot: I have been jerking off for decades since then, thinking about what could have been. What are your slutty missed opportunities?

A few years ago my bf and I were traveling around Spain...a country of gorgeous hot men and an efficient, well-run railway system. The rail plan is a hub and spoke system, which means you end up going though Madrid more often than you might like. Or, when traveling in Andalusia as we were, all trains go though Cordoba. This back-tracking wastes some time, but if you're a T-room fan like I am, hanging around in train stations can be fun. I have a great many memories of T-room encounters in train stations around the world. On this occasion, we were going from Sevilla to Granada, with a change in Cordoba. Like much of the Spanish RR system, Sevilla Santa Justa station is a beautiful new station, with a comfortable concourse and, you guessed it, a fine, clean men's room. I left my partner reading in the concourse, while I went to "look around." The T-room was very busy, with the row of urinals constantly being occupied and reoccupied. When I got to the urinal and whipped it out, a comely young Spaniard slipped into the urinal next to me at the same instant. We took one look at each other, and got the game right away. In a move that would make a ballet dancer proud, he turned around and slipped into a stall with me in his wake, no one the wiser in this very busy place. I almost couldn't believe it as we were sucking and jerking each other off, with probably twenty or thirty guys just beyond the partition. The deed being done, he silently indicated he would like a tip. I shook my head no, left, and went back to the bf. We had another quarter-hour before our train departed, and I had some concern my fleeting encounter would follow me and demand payment. He didn't...I guessed right that he was an amateur enjoying himself, and that a few Euros would just be icing on the cake. Anyway, I am sure I was not his first or last blow job of the day in the T-room of the martyred Saint Justa.

My lips were always chapped and I was continually using chap stick, to not much avail. Then last year I asked my MD to freeze off the dark "sun burn spots" on my face. Because I had so many, she recommended putting a lotion all over my face, and it would dry up the dark spots, they would turn black, and fall off. She prescribed two topical solutions to mix 50/50 and put on my face 2x/day for 10 days. They were Calcipotrience Topical Solution and Fluorouracil Cream WSP, 5%. Lo and behold, I let it accidentally drip on my lips and it turns out the ongoing lip dryness had actually been the result of old sunburns. My lips turned completely black, and then peeled They took weeks to heal (a little painful and very unsightly) but now they are smooth as a baby's butt. It wasn't chapping at all, but the result of old-sunburned lips, something I never knew existed.

Two stories here. First, my experience in 2007 when I was 64. Then, what it's like today with the great advances in medicine. I had had knee bone-on-bone pain for many years...which periodic injections of a synthetic steroid sometimes helped for awhile (sometimes for two years, but sometimes for two weeks). What convinced me to get the TKR was an article in Consumer Reports...yes Consumer Reports. They did what the medical profession never does...they asked a couple of thousand people how it went. And their advice, based on that, was twofold: (1) get the operation when the pain affects what you can do an not do, and (2) the results are better if you get the operation sooner rather than later. The longer you live with pain, the more you favor that knee, which then throws your whole body out of kilter. Just the opposite of the medical profession's "watchful waiting". My knees were equally bad so they both had to be replaced. I opted to do both at once, because (1) I had seen too many people who needed both done have the first done, and then never go back for the second because the extreme pain in recovery (and really throwing their body off kilter) and (2) I was still working and wanted to get the recovery all over at once. There were two surgical teams, one on each knee. I spent three nights in the hospital (this was ancient history) and a week in a rehab center, and then home with PT coming in twice or three times a week for a few weeks, then months of PT at the hospital. I called my Physical Therapist my Physical Terrorist. I thought I was better after two or three months, but every month I got even better up to about a year, when everything was perfect. I can do everything, including hours on my knees giving blow jobs, and pain free...titanium doesn't have nerve endings. Best thing I ever did. But oh, the pain was terrible at first. And incidentally, when I saw the X-Rays after surgery, they put a different part in each knee. I asked if they ran out of parts. The surgeon said no, they found a different condition in each knee. He said that sometimes they have the Rep from the titanium parts company in the surgery to help pick out the right part. A few years later I had a friend with equally bad knees, and I advised her to get both done at once because so many people never go back and get the second one done because of the pain. She told this to her surgeon who said "I have never had a patient not come back for the second one,." Indeed, he was pioneering a new method. My scars are about 4" long. This means they cut the muscles holding the knee together, and the pain is muscle pain. The new method is the scar is about 8" because instead of cutting the muscle, they just move it to the side during surgery. No muscle pain. This is now standard practice, at least here in a major metropolitan area, with A+ med schools. I have had several friends who have had this done and they are walking on their own power without so much as a walker in three days, with very mild pain and a quick recovery. And it's essentially an out-patient surgery. The only person I know of who did not get full range of motion afterwards was someone who refused to do his PT. I did regular gym exercise up until the 2020 shutdown, but since then have never gone back to the gym. BTW, my mother had a hip replacement at age 92. I said to the surgeon, "You're not really going to do a person of her age are you?" He replied, "Oh I've done many people lots older than this." It was much easier for her than the knee replacement she had decades before. She is one of the people who never went back to get the second one done, which ultimately led to her not being able to walk unassisted, her body was so crooked. Regarding doctor selection, my choice is usually to go for younger ones. My theory is if they have recently gotten out of Med school, they have been taught the latest techniques. Totally unscientific opinion, of course.

22 comments in this thread...and it would appear no one has actually connected with him. Caveat emptor.

In yee olden days before texting, guys in the Castro would random dial a phone number in the neighborhood's exchange, for a little phone jack off. There was probably a 50/50 chance of getting another gay guy. I got such a call once, and was only too happy to oblige.

All you guys who say you've never eaten your own cum...what happened when you were 14 and learning to jerk off? To me, tasting my own cum was the most natural thing in the world. Yumm. Plus, it didn't leave an embarrassing mess for Mom to deal with.

Is the Poppers Party Over? A potential crackdown on a readily available party drug seems to be afoot. But don’t panic just yet. Often marketed as nail polish remover or DVD cleaner, poppers are a popular party accessory.Credit...Tonje Thilesen for The New York Times By Jacob Bernstein New York Times Published March 27, 2025Updated March 29, 2025 Were it not for the fact that it was 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning and were it not for the blaring house music, one might have seen what was going on at HK Hall, an event space in Midtown, and at first glance said, “Is this a jock strap convention?” There were men in jock straps by Nike, there were men in jock straps by the fetishwear brand Nasty Pig, and there were men in jock straps by Bike, which was the kind Garrett Magee wore along with a fanny-pack-like contraption that went around his thigh and gave a butch garter belt effect. He was attending the Black Party, a yearly bacchanal that has been a mainstay of the gay social scene for more than four decades. As it happened, Mr. Magee — an influencer whose profile derives from his ability to pair shirtlessness with landscape work — was not under the influence of any mind benders, although he did have a little brown bottle of poppers in his fanny pack, the use for which he made clear was to seize the moment should he encounter a person of interest. Advertisement SKIP ADVERTISEMENT Popular since at least the early 1970s, poppers were thought to enhance pleasure in the bedroom and while boogieing on disco dance floors to anthems by the likes of Donna Summer and Loleatta Holloway. For the last several years, bottles of the substance could readily be purchased at most sex shops as well as at scores of bodegas in New York, where they tend to sit behind glass cases next to energy-shot drinks at prices that range from $10 to $30. Sometimes they were described as being nail polish remover on the bottle. (A reporter who tried them out for this purpose discovered they worked perfectly well.) Other times, they were described as being DVD cleaners, though prevailing evidence suggests their main selling point is their ability to temporarily relax the sphincter muscle. The writer Paul Rudnick recalled the ease with which people bought a bottle as being comparable to buying Tic Tacs. “It was right there, it wasn’t very expensive and it wasn’t technically illegal,” he said. “It was off brand, like Ozempic.” So enthusiasts took it mostly for granted that they’d be able to scoop them up when, on March 13, a company called Double Scorpio, a purveyor of poppers, announced it was suspending operations after a search and seizure from the Food and Drug Administration. Advertisement SKIP ADVERTISEMENT The exact reason for the raid is not entirely clear. A spokeswoman for the F.D.A. said in an email that the agency would not comment on a potential investigation. Emails to Double Scorpio received no response. Efforts to crack down on the use of poppers, citing possible health risks, precede President Trump’s return to office in January. But Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who oversees the Food and Drug Administration as the secretary of health and human services, has made it pretty clear that he is no fan of these products. Regulators in the United States and Britain have often banned the specific formulations contained in poppers, but the brands that make them have largely remained one step ahead, tweaking the formula to keep the product in a legal gray area and on store shelves. Or, as a tour of Manhattan’s most distinguished sex shops would indicate, in glass cases by the cash register. Rush is essentially the Coca-Cola of poppers. The label on the 3-inch-tall bottle at the Blue Store in Times Square is bright yellow. A bright red logo sits in the center of the bottle between a pair of bright red lightning bolts. In small letters at the bottom, the product is called a cleaning solution. Editors’ Picks How Healthy Is Your Social Biome? Take Our Quiz. Traveling to the U.K.? You Might Need to Apply and Pay a Fee First. Help! I Booked the Wrong Hotel Dates. Why Can’t I Get My Money Back? SKIP ADVERTISEMENT Image Rush is essentially the Coca-Cola of poppers. The label on the 3-inch bottle at the Blue Store in Times Square is bright yellow. In small letters at the bottom, the product is called a cleaning solution.Credit...Martyn Vickery/Alamy Other bottles with names such as Jungle Juice, Everest Premium and Double Scorpio are also commonly sold alongside Rush. This may be an inflection point for the Jungle Juices and the Double Scorpios of this world; so it’s worth understanding how the market evolved to where it is now. Advertisement SKIP ADVERTISEMENT According to “Deep Sniff,” an exhaustive biography of poppers by Adam Zmith, their origin dates to 1844, when a French chemist named Antoine Jerome Balard passed nitrogen fumes through amyl alcohol. The result was a substance with a pungent smell — an odorizer that wiped out an offending odor by creating one that was arguably even worse (think: chlorine, but several times stronger). As far as Mr. Balard knew, inhaling the compound did nothing more than produce a bit of a rush, but other doctors began to study it. One was Thomas Lauder Brunton, a physician who, in the 1860s, discovered amyl nitrate’s ability to lower blood pressure upon inhalation, and began prescribing it to angina patients as a pain reliever. By the mid-20th century, the substance was sold over the counter in a number of pharmacies in Britain and the United States, according to Mr. Zmith. Word spread that, in addition to being a remedy for heart pain, amyl nitrate produced a nice high that lasted generally more than 30 seconds, and generally less than a few minutes. After the Stonewall revolt, poppers proliferated in newly opened gay clubs around the United States. They were largely made by the Pacific West Distributing Corporation, which was owned by a gay man named W. Jay Freezer, according to “Deep Sniff.” (The colloquialism “poppers” owes to the fact that they were initially sold in ampules, a single use glass capsule or bottle, that when broken or cracked open, made a popping noise.) Advertisement SKIP ADVERTISEMENT Jim Morrison, the frontman for the Doors, was described in the book “Break on Through: The Life and Death of Jim Morrison” as popping “amyl nitrates right onstage” and then collapsing on the piano. Patti Smith, in the book “Just Kids,” describes visiting the piers on the West Side Highway in the 1970s with the photographer Robert Mapplethorpe and “the smell of patchouli oil, poppers and ammonia” in the air. Image For the last several years, poppers could readily be purchased at sex shops as well as at bodegas in New York, where they tend to sit behind glass cases next to energy shot drinks at prices that range from $10 to $30.Credit...Tonje Thilesen for The New York Times The onslaught of AIDS in the 1980s created a stigma around poppers. This was partly because, during the first years of the epidemic, the precise cause of the disease was unknown, said the AIDS activist Peter Staley. But, given the patient base, it stood to reason that sex was somehow involved in its transmission. The theory that poppers could be a cause gained some popularity, despite the fact that there turned out to be no scientific basis for it, said Dr. Jerome Groopman, a veteran oncologist and a professor at Harvard Medical School who spent much of the 1980s and ’90s caring for patients with H.I.V. And during the next two decades, they remained easily available, though Mr. Zmith believes their popularity waned, at least somewhat. (“There aren’t a lot of studies,” he said in a phone interview.) A cultural resurgence in the 2010s coincided with the advent of Prep, an H.I.V.-prevention protocol for people who are H.I.V.-negative but in high-risk groups. As Prep was widely adopted in cities like New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles, sex parties began to abound again. Poppers did, too. Advertisement SKIP ADVERTISEMENT In 2017, the clothing line Nasty Pig made swimsuits emblazoned with bottles of poppers. In 2021, Mr. Zmith completed “Deep Sniff,” his book about amyl nitrate’s place in the history of gay culture. By then, the Covid-19 pandemic was in full swing. Mr. Kennedy published “The Real Anthony Fauci,” a book full of baseless claims about Anthony Fauci, an immunologist who became the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases in 1984 and whose life and identity had been shaped by his research into H.I.V. Image Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who oversees the Food and Drug Administration as the secretary of health and human services, has been publicly critical of poppers.Credit...Kenny Holston/The New York Times The book contained 45 references to poppers, slyly connecting them to AIDS without outright blaming them for it. Last summer, Louisiana instituted a statewide ban on poppers and whippets. In February, David Lauterstein, the co-designer and co-founder of Nasty Pig, received an email from a vendor named Clint Taylor. Mr. Taylor owns a gay bar in New Orleans called the Phoenix, which operates a store that previously sold poppers, along with fetish gear and various sex toys. Stores like Mr. Taylor’s have suffered over the past few decades, a result of the declining DVD business and consumers’ ability to buy lube and sex toys over Amazon. That made poppers one of their last remaining points of distinction. Advertisement SKIP ADVERTISEMENT In a phone interview, Mr. Taylor recounted what he said to Mr. Lauterstein: After the statewide ban on poppers, foot traffic at the Phoenix dropped by more than 60 percent. But in an age when Viagra and anabolic steroids can be purchased online in minutes without a prescription, Kevin Aviance, the well-known drag performer, said at the Black Party that he thought there was little possibility poppers would really be going away, raids or no raids. Gay people, he said, using a more colorful term, “are resourceful.” Mr. Aviance was standing by the bar in a nude-and-black bustier that he had paired with thigh-high boots that looked a lot like the Balenciaga pair that sells for $8,700 but that really came from China and cost what he said was about $8,600 less. He said he did not want to get overly worked up about the possibility that the Trump administration was “coming at us about the little things,” not when it was also doing things far more serious to trample the rights of trans people. Still, it grated at him that Mr. Kennedy had such a high-profile platform, especially when he had made false claims about the link between poppers and AIDS. “Girl, are you serious with that?” he said. “Come on.”

A little more on this story... "A San Francisco sex worker has been convicted of gunning down a customer who asked for a refund after finding out she was transgender." New York Post

When I was in my 20s, and relaying to my shrink my tales of woe with bad tricks, she said, “I know what your problem is, you just don’t like to sleep alone. Get a teddy bear.” So I did. And to this day, if there’s not a man in my bed, teddy is.

I haven't but I had a friend, who vascillated between straight and gay and bi for years, and hired a gay sex surrogate who tought him to be a fabulous forever gay man. His straight therapist recommended the "treatment" and the surrogate. Yea. While he now lives in Southwest Florida, this was years ago, on the other coast of N America.