ApexNomad

Stick around a few months… when he posts a fourth thread like this. He’s done everything except look inward. Same issue persists.

Quoting policy while leaving out the actual policy part—bold move. So… yeah. That’s not exactly “no more shots.” It’s targeted. It’s nuanced. It’s not what your original post implied.

When you say “more legitimate resistances,” do you mean the advice of your PCP? Because that’s what your original post was about—your doctor’s directive, not a general commentary. It actually read to me like: “My doctor told me to stop getting them, and I trust him so much I’ll risk illness or death. I hope I don’t regret it.” (I have no idea how old you are or what, if any, underlying conditions you may have—and that’s none of my business.) I was just trying to be a little funny, that’s all.

I wasn’t trying to be unerring—just trying to understand a post that read more like a vague obituary than a medical update. Thanks for the clarity… or not.

Every cover photo is professionally touched in some way or another - to what degree depends on the parties. It’s very common nowadays that celebrities will get sign off on the proof photo.

Should we send your PCP your condolences on your behalf, or just wait 6 to 12 months and see if we don’t get a follow-up post?

Alex, I’ll take “Not Even Once Should This Be Typed” for 100. Answer: A doctoral thesis written in the comments section of a hookup app. Question: What is… this nonsense?

Wow.

Agreed!! The stretch of the fabric on his pants across his ass plus the gripping hand on the backside seals the deal for me.

Of course it’s an opinion — that’s what this forum is. A place where people share perspectives. I never claimed to speak for universal truth — just the patterns I’ve seen, directly from the poster’s own words, across multiple threads. That’s not judgment. That’s observation. Have you taken the time to read, pause, and reflect on your own posts? Because frankly, they’re some of the most judgmental and condescending I’ve seen here — and that’s saying something.

I appreciate where you’re coming from, but the idea that “the forum diagnoses and tells you what’s wrong” feels like a bit of a backhanded take — especially when most people here are responding in good faith, taking the time to actually read everything and offer thoughtful perspective that the poster explicitly asked for. I’ve been very vulnerable on this site — shockingly so, at times. And I value emotional honesty. But there’s a difference between validating someone’s feelings and co-signing a narrative that keeps them stuck. Exploring feelings is important. So is being willing to challenge the story we keep telling ourselves. This is a forum — a space for exchanging ideas and opinions. The original poster is already seeing a professional therapist, yet still chooses to engage here. That tells me he’s not just looking to feel heard — he’s looking for input he’s not getting, choosing to receive, or not wanting to listen. But when that input doesn’t align with the narrative he’s committed to, he dismisses it. This isn’t about conversation anymore. It’s about control.

You asked for perspective. I gave it — based entirely on the words you’ve chosen to share across multiple threads. I took the time to read all your posts. Every thread. Every analogy. Every rationalization. That’s more than most people — including, apparently, the multiple therapists you’ve cycled through — have managed to get through to you. You may not like the reflection, but don’t confuse that with me lacking empathy. I simply stopped co-signing the story you keep telling yourself. Privilege doesn’t guarantee connection — but denying its role entirely isn’t self-awareness, it’s avoidance. And calling disagreement “lack of empathy” is just a convenient way to dodge anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’m double your age. I’ve lived long enough to know the difference between real confusion and performative helplessness. You say you want intimacy, but you treat it like something you’re owed — a reward for doing the “right things,” instead of something you build by showing up without a script. You talk about being emotionally ready, but what you really want is emotional certainty — the kind you think you can buy, control, or talk your way into. You intellectualize your loneliness, compare yourself to others, and twist analogies to sound reflective, when really, you’re just spinning in place. Let’s be clear: you didn’t come here for conversation. You came for validation. And when you didn’t get it, you called it judgment. At a certain point, this stops being a request for advice and starts being a waste of everyone else’s time. Including yours.

I’m basing my view on what you have repeatedly shared — across multiple threads, over months — not on assumptions. It’s pattern recognition. You’ve consistently rejected every piece of insight that doesn’t fit your narrative, and when someone holds up a mirror, you call it judgment. You’re a self-proclaimed hot guy with a big dick (your words), living in one of the most densely queer-populated cities in the world, who doesn’t have to pay to get laid (again your words) — and still claims connection is impossible. Meanwhile, there are people with severe disabilities, chronic illness, or real barriers who may never experience connection, let alone love — not because they’re unworthy, but because the world doesn’t always meet them halfway. You don’t have that obstacle. You have proximity, privilege, and access. What you lack is the emotional capacity to show up without needing to be chosen first. That’s not harsh. That’s reality. And pretending otherwise is an insult to people who are truly isolated — not by attitude, but by circumstance. Whether you’re ready to sit with that is your choice.

No — the next step is to stop treating connection like a vending machine you’ve been feeding for a decade without getting your snack. You didn’t “just live life.” You lived it with an underlying belief that doing the right things should eventually earn you intimacy. That’s not openness — that’s expectation in disguise. And now you’re angry that life hasn’t delivered. If therapy hasn’t helped, it’s not because “it’s them.” It’s because you’re still filtering every experience through the same lens: What do I get from this? When will it finally work? The moment you stop asking what to do next and start asking who you’ve become in this process — that’s when something might actually shift. Until then, it’s just another loop.

Look at your previous threads on the exact same topic. The problem was never a lack of advice — it’s your refusal to hear anything that doesn’t come in the form of a formula or a fix. If connection worked like something you could control, you’d have it by now. But it doesn’t — and that’s the part you keep avoiding. If I recall, you were also seeing a therapist. What ever came of that?

You keep rewriting the narrative to absolve yourself while sounding like you’re searching for truth — but you’re avoiding the one truth that matters: connection isn’t eluding you because you’re unlucky. It’s because you’re guarded, entitled, and transactional, even when you don’t realize it. You talk about trying everything — therapy, friendship, travel, apps, even escorts — as if this is just a puzzle you haven’t solved yet. But love isn’t a reward for effort. You call the men in your community flaky, drugged-up, or emotionally unstable, and then wonder why nothing meaningful sticks. That’s not insight. That’s contempt dressed up as disappointment. The real grief isn’t that you had to pay someone for intimacy. It’s that, for once, you let yourself receive it — and it didn’t come from someone who chose you freely. That’s painful, yes. But the solution isn’t booking more boyfriends by the hour. It’s asking why you only let yourself be soft when it’s safe and scripted. You say you want risk, depth, connection. Then show up without expecting a payoff. Stop treating every drink, date, or text like a test people keep failing. Maybe the intimacy you’re chasing isn’t out there — maybe it’s behind whatever part of you still believes you need to earn being loved.

I’m not questioning whether you have friends. I’m questioning how you frame connection. You said you “tried the friendship path” as a strategy to get romance, and when it didn’t convert, you described people as only showing up if sex is on offer. That’s the issue. What you’re describing isn’t confusion — it’s frustration that people aren’t behaving the way you hope. But this isn’t a vending machine. Offering drinks or chats doesn’t entitle you to dates or intimacy. And yes, you did say it felt like people only connect if you’re offering something — that’s a clear projection, whether you realize it or not. As for the masseur, I’m not discounting the emotional impact it had on you. But let’s be honest: paid experiences, no matter how unexpectedly tender, still take place in a structure where one person is hired to be present, kind, and open. That doesn’t make it fake — it makes it contextual. The feelings are real. The frame is controlled. It’s okay to unpack that. But don’t confuse it with someone choosing you freely. You say you want the risk and discomfort of intimacy. Good. Then stop treating it like a puzzle to crack or a service to unlock. Start showing up in places and ways that aren’t about outcome. That’s where connection begins — not in strategies, but in surrender.

I’m dating myself here, but this felt like an episode of Password. Voiceover: Today’s password is… “Polly Pocket.” Benjamin: Ass. Me: Uh… Benjamin: Bleach. Me: …Spa day? Benjamin: Bumper. Me: Car detail? Benjamin: Brite. Me: Laundry detergent? Benjamin: Miniature. Me: Bidet? Benjamin: [exhales, defeated] Polly Pocket. [BUZZER blares. Audience gasps.] Me: OH MY GOD. Betty White: Well, at least someone finally bleached the damn thing.

You keep saying you gave it an honest shot, but what you’re really doing is romanticizing paid intimacy because it lets you feel in control. That’s not vulnerability— it’s curated affection you can turn off the moment it challenges you. You didn’t feel “seen” because something real happened. You felt safe because you paid to avoid rejection. You didn’t “try the friendship path.” You sampled it like a disappointed Yelp reviewer and gave up when it didn’t immediately give you what you wanted. Real friendship isn’t a transactional detour on the road to sex or romance— it’s connection for its own sake. Saying people “only connect if you’re offering sex” is just a projection. Maybe you’re the one struggling to show up for people without expecting something in return. If you reduce every interaction to a reward system — where your time, looks, or libido should automatically earn you closeness — then of course you’re going to feel used, rejected, or misunderstood. Friendship isn’t a means to an end. It’s the foundation of anything meaningful. If you can’t invest in that without strings, you’re not looking for connection. You’re just lonely and blaming the world for it. You want the feelings of intimacy without the risk, the work, or the discomfort. But that’s not love. That’s fantasy. And until you stop treating people like mirrors for your unmet needs — expecting them to reflect desire or devotion just because you’re “hot”— nothing is going to feel real. Not dating. Not friendship. Not even the next massage.

We’ve been down this road before. https://www.companyofmen.org/topic/158371-escorts-in-ny-bf-experience/

I stumbled upon one of the hottest and sweetest top videos in a really long time and Axel was in it - he was the top. I had no idea he was also a provider. He is gorgeous and, based on his videos, a great top.

He appears to be now.

Why? Was there any doubt he wouldn’t?

Over 500 Broadway Artists Release Open Letter Reprimanding Patti LuPone PLAYBILL.COM The letter also called the American Theatre Wing and Broadway League to disinvite LuPone from the Tony Awards.

And Just Like That… Season 3, Episode 1 recently premiered on Max. And just like that… I died of secondhand embarrassment. This show has become the knockoff bag of its former self—same shape, but the stitching’s off and it smells like regret. The writing is flat. Lifeless. Uninspired. The characters? No longer complex women. They’re caricatures in wannabe couture. The jokes? Nonexistent. The rhythm? Gone. And the fashion? It’s a cry for help. It’s like someone got locked inside a thrift store during a blackout and just grabbed things. What the fuck was Carrie wearing? That hat in Washington Square Park? In summer? Really? Miranda’s outfit looked like it was auditioning to be a couch, and Carrie’s dress could file for social security. This isn’t Sex and the City. This is Sleep and the Suburbs.