Have Too Many Of Us Become C-addicts?

28 Jul

For info on my gay erotic fiction, including my new novel, “the Czar of Wilton Drive,”visit rpandrewsgayfiction.com on your laptop or gay-erotic-fiction.com for a mobile-friendly format.

Have Too Many Of Us Become C-Addicts?

No I don’t mean coke. I’m referring to our constant obsession with Cyberspace. Guys used to pull on their dicks in public. Now whether it’s in a bar or the gym or on the beach or in the mall, it’s their smartphone that’s their closest buddy. (Maybe because it’s always hard, ya think?) Well, one of Lauderdale’s weekly gay papers recently ran two opposing stories on the twenty-first century phenomenon known as “social media.” One writer said it had introduced him to people he would have never met in real life; the other said it has made us social cripples and recluses.

I think both are right.

Sure, cyberspace makes it possible to stay in touch with family and friends anywhere in the country or the world in an instant as if they were right there, and meet a whole lot of virtual buddies from Detroit to Dubai. But also, let’s be honest, isn’t the potential for sex also a big part of our C-addiction? For those of us on the prowl, str8, gay or bi, the hook-up sites and hook-up phone apps make cyber-sexual encounters, even if you never hook-up for real, as easy as some keystrokes and a flip through your “private pics” gallery. Funny, how we’ll release pics of our dick or butt to a total stranger half way around the world just because he’s hot. And in places like the boonies (where I’m at right now in rural Pennsylvania), it’s the only way to meet somebody for in-the-flesh sex or seven minutes of jack-off time.

But on the flip side, don’t we also waste a lot of time chatting with people about basically nothing? When we could be doing something more productive like brushing our teeth?

I mean, are we that lonely?

And when it comes to hooking up or even just reaching out to a hottie, do we find most of the time our wooing goes nowhere? Or worse, treat guys’ pics as our own private porn site without ever letting him know?

Plus, having chatted with under-thirty guys on the web and then meeting them upfront and personal, I find social skills are going down the toilet. One twenty five year old cutie kept stalking me on Growl’r for weeks. When we finally connected at his place, the sex was over literally in ten minutes and I don’t think he had uttered more than three words to me. I had to go to the gym to work off my Viagra.

So much for the romance my publishers kept telling me they want juiced-up in my books.

On a larger front, I wonder how these guys operate on-the-job? You just can’t ”delete” or “block” somebody, like your boss maybe, even if he’s a shithead. Plus a university study just out concluded str8 married couples (and I’m sure it applies to us too) who are Twitter addicts have a higher rate of divorce, maybe because they’re fondling their phones instead of one another.

So cyberspace is a double edged sword. It giveth and it taketh away.

But it’s too late.

We’re hooked.

Cleaning House

25 Jul

Cleaning House

That’s what many employers did in the Great Recession, unloading 50+ staff, using the excuse of hard times when in reality they just wanted to cut their pension and health benefits and hire younger people for less money. Maybe you know somebody who got caught in this mess. Maybe you’re that guy. And trying the find a job when you’re post-50 and gay – even when you’re just an average, regular looking guy who doesn’t wear mascara to work – may be a double whammy. “Never been married?” asks the uppity HR interviewer who’s old enough to be your son with the five hundred dollar suit and the fifty dollar tie and a picture of his stereotypical ”Great American Family” – braces and all – on his desk.

You get the picture.

Ninety five percent of the jobs lost in the Great Recession were middle class jobs. Many of these jobs will never come back because companies got smart and learned to do it leaner and meaner (like more part-timers with no benefits), don’t give s shit about experience (“we’ll train ‘em OUR way”) and turned to automation wherever they could.

The hospital in NYC where I was the PR VP went through a surprise merger in 2001, and while I survived, I saw the handwriting on the wall. I made sure years before that I had my shit together financially – sure, I had done my healthy share of international and domestic travel, had bought my tech toys and had my fun – but I was never the frivolous faggot. So by the next year, I left for a less paying but more secure teaching job in Lauderdale where the cost of living was 30% what it was in NYC and without all its fucken taxes.

But I count myself lucky. If I had been tossed out like a Handi-wipe as so many guys and gals I worked with for decades were, I would have gone through my 401K and whatever other money I had stowed away for my old age and been wondering what to do next.

A few years ago I watched a 65 year old unemployed guy who had had a six figure job being interviewed on TV, arrogantly insisting he would only hold out for a comparable job at comparable pay. I was ready to write the show’s producer and have him ask Mr. Hot Shot what kind of grass he was smoking and where I could get some. The chances are at that age or even younger of finding a job equal in status and pay to what you had is like winning the lottery.

So while it may too late to advise my contemporaries who got fucked by The Man, here are my words of wisdom to you under 40’s who think your hot job is yours forever.

Unless you’re a techie billionaire or corporate attorney, or have a rich Daddy by blood or the bedroom, have a Plan B.

Ask yourself what would I do if I lost my job tomorrow? Do I have enough $$ to coast? To live? What are my job prospects? How marketable am I? Am I in an industry or profession where experience or youth count? If I were to do something totally new, what would that be? And how prepared am I to do it?

Whenever I hear younger gay guys in a bar or at the gym spout on about their next RSVP cruise or next European junket and how they can only stay at first class hotels, or trot around in an outfit that was worth my entire wardrobe, I’d like to introduce them to Doug, a friend of a friend.

Young, pretty, frivolous, tres gay Doug pissed away the good money he was making as fast as it came in on the “Gay Life,” around-the-world travel, fancy cars and a beachfront condo. All to impress his equally frivolous friends.

Old, tired and broke Doug is now bagging at a local supermarket to pay the rent on his studio apartment.

And holding up the wall in the local gin joint on a Saturday night.

For info on my gay erotic fiction, visit rpandrewsgayfiction.com on your laptop or gay-erotic-fiction.com for a mobile-friendly format.

Good News – Sort Of

23 Jul

Good News – Sort Of

President Obama just signed executive orders prohibiting discrimination against gay and transgender workers in the federal government and companies it contracts without exempting some religious organizations. That’s despite the highly criticized “Hobby Lobby” decision by the Supreme Court which blessed corps whose owners hold religious views to op out of Obamacare’s family planning benefits.

The order will affect 24,000 companies with 28 million workers, a fifth of the national workforce, but fortunately many large federal contractors already have anti-discrimination policies in place along with almost half the states.

OK, sounds great, but a bill that would ban workplace discrimination of gays and transgenders nationwide has gone nowhere in the ‘Pubs-dominated House.

And the future scenario doesn’t look good. If Hillary runs and wins – a great probability – would she be faced with the same obstructionist Congress? I’m wondering if she’s rethinking whether she wants the job at all. And if Hillary doesn’t run, and the ‘Pubs get in, say with Jeb Bush, the most likely contender for the GOP Presidential nomination, we’re cooked for another eight long years.

Plus, I think we haven’t seen all the repercussions of the “Hobby Lobby” decision.

Not by a long shot.

For info on my gay erotic fiction, visit rpandrewsgayfiction.com on your laptop or gay-erotic-fiction.com for a mobile-friendly format.

Is There Really A Gay “Community?”

21 Jul

Is There Really A Gay “Community?”

july19c

Chatty Cathy Gary, a tall willowy nelly of a guy who could talk about the attributes of the comma for an hour and half, took the unfortunate step of sitting on the edge of my Bud Bill’s lounge chair one afternoon as the two of us sunned ourselves at Sebastian Beach, Lauderdale’s gay sandbox. He was almost teary eyed as he told us that the old man who rented the lounge chairs on the beach to out-of town gay boys for ten bucks apiece had died suddenly and that there would be a memorial service for him and that he wanted to make certain we knew. After all, Gary insisted, the old man had done so much for our “community.”

My response which I instantly threw back at Gary, whose diarrhea of the mouth always came at a moment when I wanted to snooze, was: who gave a fuck? Those of us townies brought our own chairs to the beach and the guys the old man ripped off with his $10 rental fee came and went like one time tricks in my bedroom. Gary got the message, called me “rude” (ask me if I give a fuck, go ‘head and ask me), got up, and left us alone.

But it was his comment that the guy had done so much for our community that got me thinking. What community are we talking about? And for the purposes of this discussion let’s forget our clout as a voting block. Sure, at least some of us have a coterie of friends or strong acquaintances or softball team buds or fellow bodybuilders that along with partners or three month lovers we try to be there for; but outside of them, do we really give a shit about one another as a “community”?

So what about that larger Lesbian-Gay-Trans-sexual-Transgender “Community” our own media keeps hyping? Asa str8 gay man I have nothing in common with gay girls, cross dressers, or guys who want their dicks sliced off.
Absolutely nothing.

Then there’s the so-called “Leather” Community with its overpriced festival weekends like Folsom Street, IML, or even the Leather Ball that I attend each Thanksgiving weekend here in Lauderdale and pay big bucks to trot around practically naked. But can you really call this bunch of horny guys out to get laid or show off their butts a cohesive “community?”

Now, I look pretty hot in a harness, but as a traditional bear (hairy and humpy), I have to say I have a somewhat stronger affinity to the “Bear community” which overlaps in many cases with Leather anyway. I recently attended a Bear pool party here in Lauderdale and must say I never saw so much fur in one place. But are we really a community just because we share a physical characteristic? Most guys were operating in their usual cliques, and as the afternoon progressed and the bar tabs for those eight dollar rum drinks escalated, many of them put their flirting or cruising talents in overdrive. There was even a “Hospitality” room in the adjoining motel where you could score with your man of the hour right there between dips in the pool.

Let’s face it, folks. Most times when we’re asked to support our “Community,” it’s some bar or event that says it’s raising money to help guys with AIDS. But are guys with AIDS a “Community?” Everyone of them is on his own and probably is jealous if he’s sicker than the other guy. And as for the bar or event sponsoring the fundraiser, their first and foremost objective is to sell liquor or tickets. Bars are businesses, not gay charities. Could it be they’re playing on our emotions to push more drinks?

The minority of us who are politically minded may rally behind some homophobic act of violence or civil rights issue like gay marriage, jotting off our angry e-mails or attending some public protest, but don’t we, after it’s over, go back to our porn websites or favorite watering hole – or an increasing number of us aging faggots – our remotes?

Bottom line, what I’m trying to say is, aren’t we all just individuals with our own egos to feed, private entrepreneurs in getting laid, with the only real thing that ties us together being our passion for dick?

For info on my gay erotic fiction, visit rpandrewsgayfiction.com on your laptop or gay-erotic-fiction.com for a mobile-friendly format.

Brain Drain

19 Jul

In one of the most colossal acts of stupidity ever perpetrated, not only did almost 300 people lose their lives in that crash in battle-ridden Ukraine. The world and we who were the first demographic to be plundered by the genocide lost some of the globe’s top AIDS experts who were on their way to an international AIDS conference in Australia.

While their colleagues, in mourning them, made it a point that the work would go on, as one commentator put it almost prophetically:

“Who knows, one of them might have been near a cure.”

So they’ll figure out who did it or aided and abided the jerks – so what? So they draw and quarter ‘em and their execution on TV draws more viewers than the World Cup? So ? Things won’t change, and if Russia is the behind-the-scenes instigator, what can Obama do without getting into another protracted conflict we don’t want after Iraq and Afghanistan and we can’t afford? Or what will Europe do since Putin has it by the balls, supplying so many of its countries with natural gas and oil?

Meanwhile, the world , and, yes, we gays and the thousands of other heteros in poor countries that can’t even get the meds we have access to, have been fucked again.

Here’s An Excerpt from My New Gay Erotic Novel of Deceit, Betrayal and Self-Discovery, “The Czar of Wilton Drive”

18 Jul

czar fb5

Let’s set up the scene: Jonathan Antonucci , a young, barely-out-of-the closet kid from New York with nothing going for himself learns his late great Uncle Charlie has dropped dead of a heart attack and left him his sizable estate. It includes two of the hottest bars in Fort Lauderdale’s Wilton Manors, Gay America’s latest hot spot, making Jon the Czar of Wilton Drive. Staying at his uncle’s beachfront condo in Lauderdale, now his, Jon finds Charlie’s phone and retrieves his last text message from a fuck buddy, Marcos. Hungry to know more about his uncle, Jon invites Marcos over to fill in the blanks…

The sun was warm on the terrace, and Jon lay on the green striped lounge, taking it all in. It didn’t take long for him to start to smell as the sweat from his hairy chest dripped down to his abs. Hearing the intercom buzzer, he grabbed his boxers off the sofa, slipped them on, and waited by the door.

On the phone, Marcos sounded like he’d be a big guy, the defense tackle type, but what arrived at Jon’s door was a short, compact man, no more than 5’7, with a boyish face and one of those pencil beards, hair buzzed on the sides and thick down the middle like a modified Mohawk.
Marcos smiled broadly with a glimmer of surprise in his smile.

“I sure as hell see the family resemblance,” said Marcos shaking Jon’s hand like a man. “Though you’re uncle was a short guy like me.”

“I think the height I owe to my father,” said Jon.

“And the fur?” laughed Marcos.

Jon rubbed his palm across his chest. “Dad, too, I guess.”

Marcos glanced around.

“So Pete still with Herbie?” Pete was Charlie’s dog.

“Yea, I plan to pick him up later.”

“Your uncle loved that dog. Said even though he was a small little fucker, Pete had a bigger dick on him than most of his tricks.”

Jon grinned. “Wanna Coke?”

Marcos nodded.

“And watch out for Herbie. He likes to use dog collars on more than just his two babies, Hildy and Helen.”

“Huh?”

“His two mini-doxies.”

They walked out to the terrace, Marcos stripped off his tank – he was tanned and hairless with the tight body of a gymnast – as Jon got the diet Coke from the frig. In the bright, naked sun, Jon’s visitor looked somewhere in his thirties. By now, Marcos had slipped off his floppies and cargo shorts and was down to his black bikini underwear. Jon could feel his cock stirring but went into the small talk, not knowing where this was headed or even where he wanted it to go. Right now, all he wanted was not to have his cock pop out of his boxer fly.

“So how long did you know my great uncle?” Jon asked staring out to the water in an attempt to cool his erection as he handed Marcos his drink.

“Since I came down from Tampa – I’m a transplanted New York Rican. Charlie had been down here awhile by then. We met at the local baths one Saturday night and just hit it off.”

“Baths? Aren’t they those seedy places where dirty old gay men go to have sex?” asked Jon curiously.
Marcos grinned.

“Yea, and they’re getting older and more tired looking every time I go there which hasn’t been much lately. And when I do go, it’s the same guys I saw there ten years ago when I’d go down to Lauderdale for an occasional long weekend. Christ, they should have bought time shares in the place instead of renting a room every week – it would have been cheaper. They used to ask for their social security card to get in – soon it’ll be their pre-burial arrangements.”

“So when you guys met there, Uncle Charlie was already …”

“Fifty nine and I was forty. I’ve always liked ‘em older, at least used to, but as you get older – I’m 45 now – you start looking at the younger men a whole lot more.”

Suddenly Marcos’s face went beet red. He realized what he had just said.

“You don’t look 45,” said Jon. “I’d take you for ten years younger.”

“Keep talkin’ dirty to me,” said Marcos. “Down here, when you’re half naked half of the time, you have to look good, or sure as hell try. And for those of us on the prowl, it’s a pre-requisite.”

“You and Uncle Charlie,” Jon replied.

Marcos smirked.

“You don’t sound like the usual airhead 21 year old I run into in the bars or on the web who were born with a smartphone up their butthole.”

“So you say you knew my uncle well?”

Marcos sighed. “Yea, he was a great guy. Him and I, neither of us were social butterflies, actually we were more homebodies, and it’s not that we got together a lot but when we did …”

“Like the day he died.”

“Yea, we were supposed to get together that night for a nice man-to-man, down and dirty, long slow sweat session.
That’s my thing, you know, sweat and man scent. Just call me kinky. And Charlie enjoyed it too, told me when he was driving to my place, he’d turn up the windows on his Beemer and turn on the heat, in eighty degree weather mind you, just so he’d be nice and smelly for me.”

“So – so he had the heart attack here?”

“Yep, the doorman who’s on during the day down in the lobby was delivering a package that had come that morning, some kinky underwear I think from International Male Charlie told me he had ordered where your ass cheeks hang out. He knew Charlie was in since he remembered seeing his car in the lot when he came on duty, so when he got no response at Charlie’s door, he used the master key and found him sprawled on the bed, cold. He was long gone, it must have hit him as soon as he got in the night before.”

“I wish I had stayed in touch all those years,” said Jon. “I think he would have been a good teacher for all this. I’m not like you guys who have seen it all. I’m a virgin to this life. All I’ve known is Manhunt and Growl’r and Scruff …”

“But you’ve met guys on them haven’t you, I mean you’re handsome and hot, with all that fur,” said Marcos leaning over to give a playful rub to Jon’s hairy abs.

“No,” corrected Jon, “when I said I was a virgin I meant it.”

Marcos laughed, “Well, I had my first girl when I was 13 back in Brooklyn and ended up fucking her boyfriend a week later.”

“Me and my j-o buddy, well, we were always afraid to do it for real with all the shit gonna on out there …”

“You mean like HIV?” said Marcos.

Jon nodded.

“What if I told you I was HIV positive?”

“You – you don’t look sick.”

“Well, my meds keep the big bad boogey man at bay, but yea, I’m a poz boy like half the guys down here. Guess the sun and fun attracts us.”

“Was my uncle – was Charlie…”

“No, he always played top, you know, he was the one who did the fucking. Seems they say it’s pretty hard for a top to catch it. Or maybe Charlie was just lucky. Me? All it took was one bad cock.”

Jon looked Marcos straight in the face. He had beautiful brown eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to see what it would be like to be with a guy, but living at home and working a shit job with a buddy who only wanted to shoot our loads over pics, well…”

“And you want me to be your first?” laughed Marcos, getting up. “I feel honored.”

“You’re making fun of me …” cowered Jon.

Marcos stopped laughing and got all serious.

“I would never make fun of you, Jon.”

“Sorry for sounding so pushy. I’m usually a wallflower. Forget I brought the whole thing up.”

Marcos grabbed Jon’s wrist.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

“No, don’t ask me why, but I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

Marcos raised Jon’s hand and stuck his nose in his sweaty armpit.

“This is what I meant when I said no shower. Fuck, you even smell like Charlie.”

Marcos led him by the hand to the bedroom – Jon followed his cue and left his boxer shorts on the living room tile – and threw himself on the bed.

“Come here, Jon, lay on me.”

Jon began to shake nervously as he gently lowered his six foot two frame over Marcos. They were both sweaty from the terrace sun and the film of mutual perspiration formed an invisible seal between their bodies.

“I always enjoyed doing this with Charlie, just laying on top of one another like this, sweaty and smelly, stroking the fur on his butt, mating down all that fur on his chest and abs, just like yours …”

With that, Marcos’s tongue got reacquainted with Jon’s armpit and Jon instinctively raised Marcos’s hand to smell, then taste his.

“Something your never gonna get over a phone app, right, buddy?” whispered Marcos.

Jon’s cock was aching, his PA pressed against Marcos’ drum tight abs, and he could feel Marcos’s wet, uncut cock nestled against his inner thigh.

“Let me show you what it means for one guy to give pleasure to another,” said Marcos as he flipped Jon on his back and buried himself in his crotch. Jon closed his eyes, but there was no need imagining like he had so many times before what it was like to have a man next to him. Now he had one for real.

Starting with the big toe on Jon’s right foot, Marcos used his tongue and mouth to explore every square inch of his body, licking up his sweat and deeply inhaling his stench like only a lover of the moment could, leaving Jon’s aching cock as his last frontier, yanking on his PA with his teeth, then swallowing him whole. It never took long for Jon to cum but now, just a few deep sucks by Marcos and he was there, spurting down Marcos’s throat uncontrollably.

Marcos wiped the cum off his beard and glided his finger over Jon’s lips as he roughly jerked his own his cock and shot his load a good foot all over Jon’s hairy chest, the splatter even hitting his nose ring.

“Now, wasn’t I better than Growl’r?” laughed Marcos as he fell back on the bed, alongside Jon, the sheet beneath them drenched, then lay on his belly, all still.

Jon moved closer and, leaning over, ran his hands ever so slowly back and forth over Marcos’ hard back and smooth butt. If Marcos had been hairy, he would have rubbed his fur off.

“Do I have permission to take that shower now, Teach?” asked Jon softly.

“I have a better idea,” replied Marcos and he suddenly sprang up, walked over to the living room and slipped his cargo shorts and floppies back on. “We’re hitting Sebastian.”

“Sebastian?”

“The gay beach, it’s two minutes down the road.”

Jon rummaged through his bag for his levi cut-offs, stuck on his Nikes and followed Marcos to the door.

Just then he remembered Uncle Charlie’s pride and joy.

“Wait,” grabbing the keys from the kitchen counter where he had tossed them. “I’d like to take the Beemer out for a ride.”

“You mean The Emerald Stud,” said Marcos. “That’s what Charlie called it.” He walked over to what looked like a linen closet off the living room and grabbed a few bed sheets. “We wouldn’t want to ruin all that leather with our sweaty bodies, now would we?”

Learning about man-to-man sex wasn’t the only lesson Jon got that afternoon. Marcos also showed him how to pop the roof as the two of them sped down Sunrise Boulevard to A1A and the beach. They passed hotel after hotel, the streets filled with tourists, but Jon kept glancing out at the ocean. The waves were rough, just as he remembered as a kid when Gramps and Grannie took him and Sally to Seaside Heights. He had cried when he saw what Sandy had done to the town but now he was back there all over again.

Marcos gestured to a side street and some empty meters.

“I always come prepared,” said Marcos, reaching into his pocket for quarters.

It was another sunny breezy June day in November, and Sebastian was littered with men. The best looking ones made sure to instinctively stand up like erect dicks and swagger and stroke their abs or lather lotion over their chests as they chatted with their buddies, or on their cell-phones or bobbed in the waves, all just to be desperately noticed among the sea of attractive clones, desired, lusted after, even ridiculed.

Anything but be ignored.

Three huge cargo ships dominated the horizon, but their white container sections resembled large sails, and as Marcos and Jon found an open spot away from the crowd, Jon imagined them Columbus’ Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria from Miss Fine’s fourth grade class, ready to explore a new world.

Just like Jon.

“So now that you’re a rich bar owner,” joked Marcos, “what are you gonna do with the rest of your life?”

“Well right now, all I want to do is get all this sweat off me,” and with that he jumped up and ran into the water. Marcos was right behind.

Splashing around, Jon grabbed Marcos and tried to kiss him but Marcos turned away just as a huge wave carried them back to shore.

After that they said little to one another until Marcos mentioned that he had to get back to the shop. He had some evening customers coming over.

“Sure, Teach, sure.”

“I’ll see you at Eddie’s memorial for Charlie tomorrow,” said Marcos as they parted ways back at the condo. “Hope you learned something today, Sexy.”

“Yea,” replied Jon forcing a smile.

Maybe Ernie, his j-o buddy back in New York, was right. Just stick to the phone apps.

Now on Amazon and Barnes and Noble, My New Novel of Deceit, Betrayal and Self-Discovery

16 Jul

Czar Cover

my latest erotic novel of drugs, sex, deceit and betrayal, set in in Fort Lauderdale’s Wilton Manors, Gay America’s playground from a writer who’s lived it. Lived it all.

Jonathan Antonucci, a 21 year old, barely-out-the-closet gay man from suburban New York, overnight finds himself a multi-millionaire, thanks to a bequest by his late gay great uncle. Uncle Charlie has unexpectedly died of a heart attack, leaving him the sole owner of several of the most successful bars in Wilton Manors, Fort Lauderdale’s gay ghetto. Flying down to Lauderdale to claim his bequest, Jon encounters Uncle Charlie’s dubious friends and business associates, and is immediately submerged in Lauderdale’s scene of unbridled sex and heavy drugs. He also discovers his great uncle’s memoirs which reveal truths not only about Jon’s own past but also what may have really happened to his uncle. In the end, Jon is torn between avenging Uncle Charlie’s death or loving the man responsible for it.

From Ai Press/Kokoro Press.

On amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, and All Romance E-Books.

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