ApexNomad

What this exchange reveals to me is a deeper hunger for connection that isn’t contingent on desirability—and for transactional spaces that still recognize human dignity. And that’s a tough balance to strike. But it’s not an unreasonable thing to want. There’s a subtle but important difference between having the right to set boundaries and pretending those boundaries don’t have emotional consequences for others. Yes, providers are absolutely entitled to set their terms. That includes asking for pictures, declining clients, or filtering based on whatever criteria they choose. But for many clients, the appeal of transactional intimacy is its promise of neutrality—a space where judgment is suspended, where you don’t have to qualify beyond payment and consent. So when a provider sets criteria that echo the standards of dating apps or high school lunch tables, it can hit a nerve for many. Not because the client feels entitled to your body. But because the transaction was supposed to be a refuge from the brutal economy of desirability—and instead, it became a mirror of it. Everyone has the right to protect their time and energy. That includes both clients and providers. But kindness, clarity, and humility cost nothing—and they go a long way in a business built on something as personal as human connection. We’re all more than what we look like. And we’re all just trying to feel worthy in a world that so often tells us we’re not. So if you’re a client who doesn’t want to be judged by your appearance, and a provider asks for a photo—don’t send it. Just walk away. Find someone whose boundaries align with your own. It’s that simple. No shame. No harm. No drama.

A regular, weekly client who pays offers predictability, which is rare and valuable. That’s not a drawback — that’s a win! If the agreed-upon rate covers the service and the client shows up consistently, without drama or disrespect, then the arrangement is working as intended. Vocalizing dissatisfaction with that publicly — especially on a platform where prospective clients are watching — can come off as entitled, or worse, emotionally transactional. That kind of messaging undermines the professional boundaries both parties work hard to establish and maintain. The second client, the one trying to spiritualize the arrangement with don’t we transcend cash?— that’s clearly a red flag. But the first one? He sounds like a dream. There’s no real drawback there. If someone pays you what you agreed to, shows up every week, and behaves respectfully — what more do you want?

I saw Evita twice while in London—and I’d go again tomorrow if I could. Rachel Zegler was astounding in the role. A truly mesmerizing performance—vulnerable, commanding, and vocally electrifying. Jamie Lloyd’s signature aesthetic and direction was bold! Stark, stripped-down, and hyper-stylized—he really created a piece that pulses. He also has an uncanny knack for showcasing men in black boxers in his recent productions (a signature touch I fully support). The ensemble was razor-sharp, the choreography felt like controlled chaos in the best way, and the staging made it feel less like a musical and more like a political fever dream. This was Evita like I’ve never seen it—reimagined, reawakened, unforgettable.

I was specifically reacting to the setup described: a client chatting with a provider on Grindr and bringing up hookups with other providers. That’s not “hybridized,” that’s just socially tone-deaf. Regardless of the relationship, it’s a weird flex to me.

I was really impressed with Lambert—thought he was fantastic. Redmayne didn’t quite land for me. As for Billy Porter, I’m not sure how he’s going to approach the role. Honestly, it feels a bit like stunt casting. Not a good one too.

That’s incredibly beautiful. The kind of presence you offered—steady, supportive, fatherly even when not biologically so—is rare and deeply meaningful. It sounds like you gave those young men not just skills, but a sense of belonging and guidance when they needed it most. “Uncle by choice” might be one of the most honorable titles a man can carry.

Tell us more. 😊

That closet had a revolving door and a spotlight.

That’s hot. 👏

Stephen Dorff, Innocent Lies Giles Marini, Sex and the City

Suddenly?

You’re entitled to your opinion. But labeling something “bullying” doesn’t make it so—especially when your only evidence is that it didn’t land gently. I didn’t cite the moderator to prove I’m right. I cited it to give context—something your response continues to ignore. There’s a difference between opinion and misrepresentation. And no, not all takes carry the same weight just because they’re loud. As for the Appeal to Authority—cute line, but misplaced. I never said I’m right because I’m a lawyer. I said I won’t apologize for speaking plainly. You’re the one who keeps turning that into a flaw. You’ve called me a bully. I’ve explained why that’s both inaccurate and intellectually lazy. We’re good here.

I try to be impartial. Do I always succeed? No. I bring my own lens sometimes. Am I perfect? Absolutely not. Am I wrong sometimes? Of course. But a bully? If that’s your takeaway, you need to get out more. In the second version of this thread—yes, second—a moderator even stepped in to warn us it was a similar repost. I read that one. And the one before it. And now this. I came to my conclusion: it was bullshit. Plenty of people offered support. It was ignored, dismissed, or ridiculed. One user even shared a thoughtful video—mocked by the same man you’re now defending, to the point he deleted it and bowed out too. I haven’t commented since. And I don’t plan to. But let’s not pretend the man at the center of this is some fragile outlier. He’s a man of great privilege. I have little patience for people who confuse access with oppression. You’re entitled to your opinion. But a bully? No. I just don’t mistake performative suffering for sincerity.

Happy Father’s Day.

Let’s stop pretending this is about answering a question. The original post asked if anyone had met Santos. You haven’t. What you did was take a thread about a specific human being—who lives in a vulnerable, targeted body—and turn it into a public stage for your disgust. That wasn’t sharing. It was a calculated display of contempt. Now you’re scapegoating—claiming you’re just responding to one sentence, like that excuses the graphic contempt you unloaded. It doesn’t. You used language designed to humiliate. You knew exactly what you were doing, and now you want to frame the reaction as “precious righteous indignation,” like the real problem is that people dared to care. The issue is bigger than you. It’s about how quickly some of us turn difference into a punchline, how eager some of us are to flatten trans bodies and non-normative bodies into something grotesque. And then call it honesty. Then call it brave. You’re not being silenced. You’re being seen.

This is the Deli. The poster asked if anyone had experience with Santos. Pubic didn’t. That should’ve been the end of it. If he wanted to unload his disgust toward trans men with small penises—or men with micro penises (because that’s what this is really about!)—then he could’ve created a thread in the Lounge and let the moderators decide how to handle that kind of contempt. You, of all people, should know that—considering how often you remind members where to post and how to use the search function.

You’re right—we do disagree. Not about opinions. About decency. Here’s a reminder of how this discussion forum actually works: COMMUNITY GUIDELINES (A/K/A “THE RULES”) 1. Civility: Conduct yourself in a way that respects this site and all who come here. Hate speech/hateful speech, name-calling/labelling, inciting or engaging in arguments, publicly shaming, and attacking other members, groups of members, or people who are the topic of discussion is prohibited. Remember: you may criticize a person’s opinion but don’t attack the person.

You asked whether I’m trans or have a micropenis, as if the only people allowed to call out dehumanizing language are the ones directly affected by it. I don’t need to share an identity to recognize cruelty. And I don’t need to stay silent just because the insult wasn’t aimed at me. But imagine if I were. Imagine being younger, already drowning in shame over something I never chose and could never change—then reading a thread like this. Watching grown men like you laugh at bodies like mine. Learning, early and quietly, that even in queer spaces, I still wasn’t safe. That my body was a punchline. That desire had limits—and I was on the wrong side of them. You weren’t asked for graphic disgust. You chose to share it. You weren’t offering advice. You were offering contempt. That’s not honesty—it’s performance. And if you genuinely can’t see how that reflects on you—not the people you’re mocking—then this was never about insight to begin with.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t just about preferences. This thread crossed a line when it moved from personal experience to publicly mocking trans people and anyone with a micropenis—cis or otherwise. That’s not a sexual boundary. That’s humiliation disguised as honesty. The original post—in the Deli section—was a simple question about whether anyone had met or had experience with Santos. You didn’t. You just used it as a platform to shame trans men and men with small penises. You’ve ridiculed anatomy, dismissed empathy as “nonsense,” and reduced people’s bodies to punchlines. And now, predictably, you’re hiding behind the idea that cruelty is protected by “just my opinion.” It’s not. Not when the opinion is, “this group of people’s bodies are gross.” That’s not insight. That’s a broadcasted insult. Our community already takes enough hits from the outside—getting that kind of cruelty from within is even worse. You don’t know what kind of shame or self-loathing someone might be living with. So the real question is: why feel the need to add to it? You’ve spent multiple paragraphs explaining, in clinical detail, why a group of people’s bodies don’t deserve dignity or desire. That’s not opinion. It’s obsession. And dressing it up in academic citations doesn’t make it less cruel. It just makes it pathetic. If your manhood depends on belittling someone else’s, it’s flimsier than whatever you’re mocking. And now, with your latest response, you’ve made your intentions crystal clear. This was never about “just sharing an opinion.” It’s about disgust masquerading as discourse. You’re not offering insight—you’re issuing insults. What you just said wasn’t provocative. It was vile. A calculated attempt to mock and dehumanize, under the coward’s banner of “just being honest.” You’re a smart man. By all accounts, a very successful one—personally and professionally. This is beneath you.

You’re free to have preferences, but when you start labeling parts of someone’s body as gross or saying they’d make you throw up, it stops being a preference—it becomes dehumanizing. Bodies come in all shapes, sizes, and configurations. If someone’s anatomy makes you uncomfortable, move along—but don’t use your discomfort as an excuse to shame others. We’re all just trying to feel seen and safe in our skin. Try not to make that harder.

Lea Michele is undeniably a talented singer, and she delivered a strong performance in Funny Girl. That said, I also appreciated Beanie Feldstein’s take—it was a very different, but valid, interpretation. Two distinct approaches to the same role. As for Lea, I’m not sure how much goodwill she has within the theater community. Time will tell.

As a bottom myself, I think it ultimately depends on the person, not just their sexual history. There’s merit in both perspectives. A top who’s bottomed might have a deeper sense of empathy—understanding what certain positions feel like, how to read body language, how to pace things from the inside out. That experience can translate into a more connected, intuitive kind of topping. But on the flip side, there are total tops who’ve never bottomed but bring an obsessive attention to detail—the kind who take real pride in giving. Some of the best tops I’ve had were guys who genuinely loved fucking. They were present, vocal, responsive—not because they’d bottomed before, but because they were turned on by the experience—my experience—not just the mechanics. BUT, that’s not to say that a bottom who tops (vers) can’t bring that either. Which leads me to this: I think the question of “who’s the better top” can trap us into thinking there’s one formula. There isn’t. Sometimes it’s technical, sometimes it’s emotional, sometimes it’s just raw chemistry. In my opinion, I think it is the idea that a “true top” has never bottomed plays into a deeply ingrained fantasy about masculinity—this old-school, dominant, impenetrable ideal. It’s not necessarily true, but it is erotic for some of us. That perception—of a man who only gives, never receives—can feel powerful, even primal. Especially for bottoms who are drawn to that kind of energy. But that fantasy has less to do with skill and more to do with the psychology of the dynamic. It’s about control, dominance, protection—or sometimes just the illusion of those things. And I think masculinity gets tangled up in it. Not because bottoming is inherently less masculine, but because we’ve been conditioned to associate penetration with power, and submission with the lack of it. So when we say the idea of a never-bottomed top is a turn-on, what we’re often reacting to I believe is the mythology of the masculine top—not necessarily the reality. Some of the best, most attentive tops I’ve ever had were men who’ve bottomed. But for some that doesn’t always scratch the same itch as the fantasy of the “pure top,” even if it feels better in practice.

Not as old a Mel, but some days I feel it. Thank you for your kind note, my friend. I hope you are well too.

Headley was amazing. Hudson in The Color Purple is a textbook example of a vanity role.