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Gogo Boys in Lust, and Other Sexy Scenes From the Nightlife

wilson

Photography by Wilsonmodels

Slithering around NYC gay bars and clubs on a nightly basis, I’m privy to sexy scenes and revelations which ignite me to stay an extra few hours or so, just to catch an eye- and earful. Here are some of the more vixenish vignettes I’ve had the hormonal honor to witness lately:

At the very gay friendly Bamboo 52 restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, fellow writer Frankie C and I talked to two gogo boys — I’ll call them Leo and Ryan — who were obviously enjoying the fact that we were interested in probing their love lives. The guys admitted that they both have boyfriends, but happen to be fuck buddies and their beaus don’t mind in the least. (These gays today!) “After we tricked for the first time, we hung out,” Leo, a 30-year-old black guy with a pretty face and a steamy body, told me. “I’ve never hung out with someone I tricked with before! My boyfriend has slipped discs, so we don’t have sex anymore. I’m moving out and he said he wants to come with me. I said, ‘OK, but separate bedrooms’.”

But back to the sex between the gogo boys, please. The two said they recently took Cialis and went at it for five straight hours. (Again: These gays today!) “But the Cialis hadn’t even kicked in yet!” Leo revealed. “I felt it later, when I went to work.” Yikes. There’s nothing more dangerous than time-release Cialis, especially on a 30-year-old gogo boy in the workplace.

At this point, I started playfully rattling off the names of party drugs and asking Leo to act out what the user of such a substance would come off like. Having seen it all, he effortlessly responded with a Meryl Streep-caliber performance. I said “crystal,” and he promptly looked around the room anxiously, practically eking sweat out of his pores. For “coke,” he came up with a brilliant array of glazed eyes and gnashing teeth. “Pot”? “The way I am now,” he replied, laughing.

Same place, another guy, this time a good looking 20-something showing off shirtless photos of his boyfriend. “I met him on Grindr,” he told me without even having been asked, “but we didn’t just jump into bed. We met at the gym, we walked around the High Line, and we had dinner — then we jumped into bed.” Ah, the gay courting process. It’s so long and involved!

At the long-running bar Julius, a man in a suit was standing alone and looking at me, exuding friskiness in an obviously drunken sort of way. I gamely approached the guy and started chatting him up, and as he seductively put his arm around me while I did so, I got excited, thinking, “Wow! I’ve still got it at this late stage!” I assumed he was a straight businessman on the down low, which made it even more thrilling, perversely enough. But then he blurted, “You weren’t at the Garden Party last night,” referring to an annual LGBT event. As a result, I quickly realized: (1) He’s actually a big ‘mo. (B) As my interest waned, I’m clearly a self-loathing homosexual, lol.

A dinner at the sumptuous bachelor digs of porn mogul Michael Lucas. I was seated with Time Out New York’s Adam Feldman, performer/writer Ben Rimalower, Frankie C, and some assorted twinks, plus a comic who’d interviewed Lucas for The Daily Show. Over dessert, someone decided that we needed to play a party game whereby we each take a sip of coffee, then say, “Wow. That’s an amazing cup of coffee,” as if in some hokey yet riveting commercial. Everyone did well with this gambit, especially Frankie, who sipped and beamed without saying a word, getting a huge ovation from everyone else at the table. “I can’t top that!” I exclaimed. “Give me a different mission.” So they decided I should take a sip, then say, “That’s an amazing cup of cum!” Well, I asked for it, so I had to do it — and it was a party at a porn mogul’s apartment, after all. (It’s not like we were going to act out Chekhov.) I took a sip, looked horrified, poured some Splenda in there, then took another slurp and lit up, gushing: “That’s an amazing cup of cum!” I got a nice laugh, but the comic topped me, as it were. He started by licking the rim of the cup, devouring every possible drop like a love-parched demon. Then he took a loud gulp, smiled, and said, “Was that guy Latino?” Bingo.

Over on Fire Island, people are apparently skipping the cup and any proper silverware. Promoter Daniel Nardicio just reported to me: “We're used to seeing lascivious behavior in the clubs and at the houses here, but I was shocked to wake up one morning to find this email sent to me by two different people who witnessed underwear-clad boys getting it on right on the boardwalk at dawn!” Oh, my! That kind of behavior can get you a slipped disc.

Back at Michael Lucas’s place, the porn god and I engaged in some more sex talk, this time over a glass of cranberry juice. (I swear.) Revealed Lucas, “Two people I recently slept with [separately] wanted me to close the window because there’s a church across the street, and it might look awkward to them. But I will not let the church ruin my sex life and I will not compromise my fucking because of religious prejudice. I told both guys, ‘Either I will fuck your ass with the window open or you’re leaving. Either way, God is watching.’ They stayed.” Oh, good. As the bishop said to the masseur: “I love a happy ending.”

sting

STING WENT THE STRINGS OF MY HEART

For those who get their rocks off on all things Broadway, let me tell you about the musical version of the 1973 Best Picture Oscar winner The Sting — about two Chicago con men who outsmart a high roller — that’s aiming for the big top. It’s written by folks who did Urinetown and The Drowsy Chaperone, and my source tells me that for the latest reading: “The Paul Newman role was played by Charlie Pollock (9 To 5, Violet). For the Robert Redford role, they’ve gone African-American and used a guy named Kyle Beltran who was in In the Heights. And for the Eileen Brennan part of the whorehouse madam/confidante, they’ve gotten Tony winner Cady Huffman (The Producers, The Nance).” And already it’s sounding like a much better idea than a musical version of that other Best Picture winner, The Hurt Locker. Uh-oh, my Cialis just started kicking in. Gotta go!

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