The Golden Age of Gay Sex

30 Jan

The Golden Age of Gay Sex

A columnist for the South Florida Gay News, probably around my age, recently reminisced about the days when the only infections gay boys had to worry about were syphilis and gonorrhea. Those were days I look back on fondly today as the Golden Age of Gay Sex, when getting it – sex I mean – was easy and real. Today, the members of the younger generation with their smartphones and phone apps think they got it made, but actually, as I’ve said many times before, the internet has, for many, become an end unto itself – virtual sex in the form of sexting and skyping. It may sound strange to say this, but in those technologically barren days of the 70’s, 80’s and into the 90’s, when we felt like members of some secret society, not demographics for politicians and marketers to exploit, being gay was a lot more fun.

For me, the golden age of gay sex is synonymous with my days as a New York City slut. On weekends, there was the West Village scene and Christopher Street, Boot and Saddles, the Monster, and Tys, which morphed into a zebra bar (white guys and black guys cohabiting). But for most of us, those bars – and places in the West 20’s like Rawhide – were just foreplay to the triumvirate of hot guys, the Eagle, and the Spike, both on West Street, and just a short walk over, the quiescent leather bar, the Lure. Cruising, real cruising, not the flirtatious cockteasing you find in bars today, was why you were there. And the arousable scents of sweat and piss and poppers were far more intoxicating than the liquor they served.

Sadly, most of these watering holes are gone, and the once deliciously seedy West Village has been largely yuppiezed.

For the more practical minded there were the East Side Baths, uptown off Third Avenue, populated by a seasoned blue collar crowd, and the West Side Baths, downtown, where the young and buffed pranced around like peacocks.

In the 70’s, Man’s Country, a multi-storied whorehouse in the 20’s, ran two dollar locker nights on Tuesdays that resembled some ancient Roman orgy. In fact, it was at Man’s Country that some hottie introduced me to poppers that to this day, like Pavlov’s dog, I associate with hot sex.

Even when it isn’t.

Twenty years later in the 90’s came Wally’s Place, a warehouse-sized sex club in the West 20’s, named after the same guy who had given birth to the Lure, where on a Wednesday or Sunday evening you checked your clothes at the door in a paper bag  and left a few hours later with cum dripping from your goatee.

I can also thank the baths and sex clubs for helping me build my private stable of fuck buddies – Joe, the cancer researcher who worked at Sloan Kettering; Mike, a pharmacist at Pfizer’s who introduced me to its new experimental med, later marketed as Viagra; and Doug, a cameraman for NBC, who started our evenings with grass and a beer and ended them with sex and a few lines of coke. We knew how to push one another’s buttons; after all, we had all product tested one another in the whoreholes.

Bobbie Rosenberg from my playful New York days lived on the Upper East Side in an old walk-up, a relic of the turn-of the-last-century days when immigrants crowded what were then considered tenements. We had met at Uncle Charlie’s, a local bar, played around one night, then morphed into Saturday night bar hopping buddies. Moonfaced, stoop-shouldered, Bobby nonetheless knew how to play the system, and I was, yes, jealous how successful he was at it.

Bobbie also had the not-so-coveted knack of contracting the Disease of the Month which didn’t bother him at all; in fact, he’d often brag to me about what exotica he had caught getting fucked. Amoebas were my favorite.

December 31, 1979, Bobbie hosted a New Year’s Eve Party in his tiny apartment. I remember watching Dave Clark who had that gay iconic group, “The Village People” on. They sang some song extolling the upcoming new decade and the buzz among us gay guys that night was that the ‘80’s were to be OUR time.

Instead, the 80’s signaled the abrupt end of the Golden Age of Gay Sex.

Had we known what was ahead, we would have dumped our poppers down the toilet and joined a seminary. Looking back, though I know it wasn’t true, AIDS seemed like some Biblical retribution for the Sodom and Gomorrah ‘70’s.

And Bobbie was among the first wave of gay men to be swept away by the scourge.

But hey, you have to admit one thing.

For as long as it lasted, we sure as hell had fun.

Fort Lauderdale’s Sebastian Beach Named THE Gay Beach in the U.S.A.

28 Jan

Fort Lauderdale’s Sebastian Beach Named THE Gay Beach in the U.S.A.

Sebastian Beach, our gay sandbox by the sea, was recently named by “Out Traveler” magazine has the hottest gay beach in America. This follows Wilton Manors, our gay ghetto, being named Gayborhood of the Year and Fort Lauderdale being honored as the LGBT destination of the year.

Named for the street it butts against (appropriate choice of words, wouldn’t you say?), Sebastian Beach is sandwiched between two long strips of Ft. Lauderdale’s straight beachfront. Ironically, it is at its busiest October through May when other beaches are deserted, and America’s sun-hungry, straight and gay, flock to that alien planet known as south Florida, the warmest spot in the continental U.S. in the winter.


Sure, it’s filled with male eye candy, though I often get a bunch of shriveled old fucks standing up near me half the afternoon, blocking my views of those luscious hunks when they decide to stroll, nonchalantly of course, down the shoreline.

Gay advocates will wax on how we are discriminated against by straight society, but take a gander at Sebastian on a typical Saturday afternoon and you will see segregation alive and at work, gay style.

Most obvious is the fact the beach is 97% male (at least anatomically). Do gay girls have a higher rate of skin cancer than gay guys or something? Or are women in American society far more mature than men and may have more productive things to do with their time than lay virtually naked on a beach and get fried.

Most of the interior of the strip spreading to the shoreline is usually populated by tourists glued to their fellow buddies from Boston or L.A. or Omaha (how ya gonna meet anybody, guys, if you stay together?), or by 20 inch waist twinks and, in a few cases, their girl friends.

Towards the back under the palms by the wall adjoining the sidewalk and AIA are the May/December couples, you know the old retired guys who can hardly stand up (rich retired dentists from Chicago or doctors from Butte, Montana) with their 35 year old power paramours. True love. Sure. Or maybe they’re their private duty male nurses. Hope I got the dough if and when I get to their age.

Lastly, on the left hand fringe (if you were facing the ocean) jammed against the lifeguard station are the juiced up muscle men and the bears, fur optional. Maybe that section of the beach just looks more dense because they’re all so BIG.

I also think Sebastian has the honor of being the beach smartphone capital of the world. Who the fuck are all these guys chatting with and about what?? Are they all real estate agents trying to sell that overvalued condo? Male escorts or one of those “deep tissue” masseurs lining up their next appointment? Or are they just horny fucks checking Growl’r fort the fourteenth time today?

Hey, guys, drop the cells and look around. You just might meet somebody!

Which brings to me to my last point, the thread that binds us all. Ego and the thirst for attention. I think my best take on Sebastian was the one I used in my upcoming new novella, slated for publication later this year, called “Buy Guys.” Buy Guys is the story of Blaze and Pete, two young, gay handsome drifters with nothing and nothing to lose. Blaze convinces Pete, who is falling in love with him, to leave dreary New Jersey and lead free and easy lives as male prostitutes in sunny Fort Lauderdale. Blaze, however, soon pulls Pete into a much larger, more dangerous scheme, a scheme that eventually threatens to destroy them both.

This scene takes place shortly after their arrival in Fort Lauderdale:

“It was a hot July afternoon in late October and the beach, only a block long, was littered with men. But it was only Tuesday and from what Blaze told him, Season, as the locals called it when all the tourists came down, didn’t actually get going until Thanksgiving weekend. So what with all these guys, yea, some wrinkled old farts, but plenty of young hotties too. Doesn’t anybody work in this town, thought Pete.
Blaze spied a cluster of juiced up muscle boys near the lifeguard station and gestured to Pete to follow him there to an open spot closer to the ocean.

Throwing down the blanket, he lay on his stomach and pretended to take a catnap, while Pete watched the moveable feast before him. The best looking guys 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 smartphones or bobbed in the waves, all just to be noticed among the sea of attractive clones, desired, lusted after, even ridiculed. Anything, thought Pete, but be ignored.”

One troubling development of late has been the small but growing influx of str8’s to OUR beach. Seems the luxury hotels across the street may be the culprit. People staying at these places for three hundred bucks a night and up see a beach and make a beeline to the sand. I truly wonder how many of them pick up on the fact that the beach is unstr8 when they see it littered almost totally with men.

Or is it when their little 8 year old Sally asks them, “Daddy, where are all the mommies?”

A Plug For My New Venture: and More!

26 Jan

A Plug For My New Venture: Super Smart Resumes and More!


I mean for a new job.

It’s a new year and for some of you that may mean looking for a job or switching to a new one. With pay raises at an all-time low or non-existent, many people have no choice but to flip or fall behind in the inflation race.

So, whether you need to have your current resume reviewed, or are looking for one from scratch, consider Super Smart Resumes. That’s me, which means you’ll benefit from my over thirty years as a New York City executive and business writer who hired and fired, and who later taught college writing as an adjunct professor for a leading university, including resume writing.

I’m not just familiar with the real business world – I’ve lived it and can share that experience with you.

Besides your resume, I can also assist you in drafting that all important cover letter or e-mail, important because it’s the first thing a prospective employer sees. If it doesn’t fit the job description, your resume will never be read and may end up in the “circular file.” I’ll even prep you for the interview your resume hopefully generates, anticipating what questions you may be asked, and how to answer them competently and professionally

Want to know more? Visit

Why Obama’s State of the Union Failed Us

23 Jan

Why Obama’s State of the Union Failed Us

Look, I ain’t wealthy and I ain’t poor, but as I see it Obama’s grand plan to assist the middle class as outlined in his State of the Union message the other night ain’t gonna help ME. Okay, there are those of you who are married with kids either from previous str8 marriages, adoption or the petri dish, but let’s talk turkey: six out of ten gay guys and gay girls are sinks (solo income no kids) or dinks (double income no kids), at least in the eyes of the law and the tax man. And from what I experienced during both my working life and now retired one, single people with a couple bucks get the shaft.

I know, I know, bambinos are our future social security checks besides being the future of our society (that is if they got at least ten brain cells), but, and forgive me if I sound egocentric (as if you didn’t know that already), as a gay man who paid through the nose in taxes when I was working, and still do today, not one of Obama’s proposals will help me, Mr. Solo Gay Man. I don’t have kids so what the fuck do I care about child care or free college. Frankly, many of the students I taught in my college teaching days would have been better off if they pursed plumbing.

What Obama is saying very pragmatically is while those in this society with dependents and all the other write-offs associated with a family should get a break, we solo boys and girls really get shit on. In fact, all we’re doing is subsidizing other people’s fucking. (If you own a house or condo, did you ever take a look at the portion of your real estate tax that goes to schools?)

If Obama and Washington are going to spend money they rob from the one percent, spend it on stuff for the common good – our infrastructure, which is a joke in the wealthiest, most powerful country in the world, or on environmental change before everything goes to hell, or in real improvements in elementary and high school curricula where the foundation for living responsibly begins. (Three out of ten high school students don’t graduate.) I agree families and single parents that have become a norm in this society have a hard time affording child care but why should that be my problem? (Plus, I’m convinced not having a parent at home during those developmental years leads to fucked up adults later in life.)

As for college – even community college where tuition is a fraction of what it is in private schools – well, I worked part-time throughout my undergraduate and graduate years with modest help from the folks and still maintained a 4.0. Obama is proposing aid to students who graduate high school with a 2.5 average? That’s a C+, unacceptable for college material. If you can’t achieve at least a B, look at some other occupation that a good two year certification program or trade school can give you and make more money than most Ph.D’s I’ve known. In my day, you had to be college material; then when I taught college I discovered we had to remediate students to get them up to college level. Huh? Maybe some more parenting and less emphasis on the high school rah-rah team glitz would make the difference.

And when it comes to affordable health care, I don’t see people coming up to the plate and losing weight and stopping smoking, the two primary contributors to raising health costs and premiums.

So while it’s fine and dandy to pap the hands of the sick and grease the dicks of the fucking, what about the rest of us who work hard, eat healthy, exercise, and live within our means. Huh? What’s Obama’s grand plan for us?

“Monogamy Turns Into Monotony”

21 Jan

“Monogamy Turns Into Monotony”

That was the title of a recent column by “Ask Amy,” the syndicated advice columnist who appears in my local paper, the Sun Sentinel. Seems sex between a guy and his girl fizzled out after a year and now the girl’s distressed her boyfriend favors porn over her.

Sound familiar?

But what was more surprising was Amy’s response: “Sexual relationships are bound to fizzle if one partner finds a sexual outlet that interferes with the connection between the couple. Perhaps your guy would be willing to share his porn with you so you could have parallel pleasures.”

I’m sure there are gay couples out there who do just that, but G and I don’t even agree on the kind of guy we like anymore. He digs increasingly younger, me, more seasoned like the Trivago guy who’s gone through a redo -fucken hot motherfucker!

In fact, my partner of double digit years has preferred porn for years even with me prancing around the house naked half the time (“Put on some clothes will ya?!”) As I write this he’s debating which package of discounted DVD’s he’d like to order from Titan. While he bates me about going out on a weekend night, he rarely wants to join me since I give him a couple of hours of unbridled time to watch his boys while I attempt to get blown at our local sex club or troll our leather bar.

And those of you who follow my blog know my conviction on how the hook-up sites have morphed into private porn sites where guys, partnered or solo, have less interest in pressing the flesh when they can drool over some hot pics of their favorite profiles, or discover some new ones, and jack off without even having to brush their teeth. Ditto with the phone apps like Growl’r where I can have ten minute sexcapades with guys in Dubai or Omaha, exchanging dirty talk and rock hard cock shots til one or both of us shoot our loads. (You know the guy is done when he stops responding to your come hither rantings.).

But the one thing I don’t tolerate is some trick wanting to watch porn while we fuck.

If you need the porn, you don’t need me.

What If The Supreme Court Says No?

19 Jan

What If The Supreme Court Says No?

The Supreme Court recently announced that it will decide, once and for all, whether gay marriage should be the law of the land – in all fifty states – by the end of its term this June.

So what if the Supreme Court says no?

Highly unlikely, since the have-nots (14 states) are greatly outnumbered by the have’s (36 states and D.C.), but if for whatever reason the Court does a flip-flop and decides that gay marriage is not protected by the Constitution or is a states’ rights issue to be decided by each state, can you picture the social and legal chaos that would create in those states where it’s already law? Would the gay community become a new, homegrown ISIS and start terrorist guerilla warfare with str8 society? (Finally all those juiced up muscleboys would have something to do with their pecs besides looking pretty.) Or would str8’s turn on us? Start raiding our bars, start arresting us in our ghettos for petty shit. Or worse.

Would a no from the Supreme Court give the homophobics the justification, the ammunition to not only hate us more but turn on us in ways we haven’t even imagined?

And trying to get an amendment to the Constitution to allow SSM through a Republican Congress would be harder than trying to fuck a tight nineteen year never-been-fucked ass with a dick high on meth.

What If the Supreme Court says yes?

Most likely, but would the states that have fought the inevitable, like the South did after the civil rights legislation was passed in the sixties, block entrance to their marriage license offices, tie it all up in bureaucratic bullshit, or resist with a guerilla army of their own? Maybe even get the GOP driven Congress to pass an amendment to support their notion of marriage?

Would a yes actually fuel a new wave of homophobia?

And BTW, where would all this leave polygamy and polyamorous relationships? Hey, if two guys can get married now, why not three guys, or a guy and two gals?

Well, why not?

But with all the other shit our country is facing, and with the “sanctity” of marriage pontificated by the Church in the sewer anyway (60% of hetero hook-ups end in divorce), don’t you think we all have better things to worry about?

“No One is Born Gay”

16 Jan

“No One is Born Gay”

So says Parents and Friends of Ex-Gays, another one of those conversion therapy advocates, that recently posted a billboard on Interstate 95 in Virginia urging that gay people can “turn” str8 if they put their minds to it.

On its website, the group gets even more predictably bizarre: “People deserve to know the truth about the many men, women and children who have made a decision to change their lives … it’s important to remember that sexual orientation is a matter of self- affirmation and public declaration.”


Sexual orientation is a genetic roll of the dice. Period. True, upbringing and environment can either re-enforce it or repress it, and guys and gals can make a conscious decision to lead a str8 existence, and sublimate their natural desires. But that doesn’t change one damn thing – they’re still gay inside and will be to the day they die. Some are successful in pretending; for others, such repression only leads to supreme frustrations that manifest themselves in outrageous behaviors, even criminal ones, when the individual can no longer hold back.

Hey, I never had any guilt trips about my sexual orientation, not in my teens when I realized I liked guys not girls, nor later when I found there was a whole world out there populated by people like me. I was lucky. I came out at the beginning of Gay Liberation, but even in those early years being “out” on the job left you ostracized and unemployed. Yet that didn’t deter me from expressing my sexuality on my own time. Nor did I ever feel I was a terrible person for doing so, just a discrete one at a time when discretion was common sense.

Having said all that, what’s my acid test for why I think the conversion therapy freaks are dead wrong? Who, even in this enlightened age, would “choose” to be gay in a society overwhelming dominated and controlled by str8’s where being str8 is just easier?



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