Dream Journal: December 29, 2009

Last night, I woke up at about 5:30 am with runny nose congestion and such, unable to sleep.  Got up for a few minutes and just sat in the living room, then went back to bed.  Had one of those dreams where you constantly revise the plot as it goes, like you’re making drafts of a short story, coming in and out of the dream several times.  Here’s what I ended up with:

I was apparently about 19 or 20 and gone home for the weekend with my boyfriend.  His parents were gone but his little brother (8th grade?  8 years old?) was there.  My boyfriend stayed at the house while I went out for a walk with the little brother and two of his young friends.

We were walking on a sloped hill, partly covered with grass, the rest soil and small rocks, going down into some ditch or small stream bed.  I slipped (or did I?) on the loose stones and slid down the hill, losing consciousness.  When I woke up, one of the boys was holding up a big chunk of concrete, threatening to bash my head in, while the little brother asked “Are you my brother’s butt buddy?”

I apparently didn’t get my head bashed in because the next thing I knew, I was at one of the neighbours houses, ringing the bell.  The mother let me in and I explained to her and her husband that their son had tried to bash my head in with a chunk of rock.  They called the boy in and he denied it and said I had tried to have sex with them. The parents screamed at me and I left.  I then went to the other boy’s house and said the same thing to the mother, who was from India.  She just nodded and said “I understand.”

Next thing I knew, I was heading across a field of well-trimmed grass (soccer field, I think), and the little brother, his friends, and several other boys all ran at me and started attacking me like a pack of wild dogs.

My boyfriend said he also had a dream last night:

He dreamed that he broke the new tiki mug I gave him for Christmas.

I joked that he broke it by hitting me with it in an effort to make me stop snurfling from the congestion and let him sleep.

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Updated on February 26, 2010
 

Dream Journal: November 15, 2009

Wow, two rememberable dreams in a month.  And this one is a doozy in the WTF dream logic department:

I dreamt that I was pregnant (but still male!) and about to give birth.  My boyfriend and I were riding through San Francisco on a scooter, heading for the hospital, and we were running out of gas.

We didn’t make it to the hospital, but rolled to a stop in front of a Catholic church, which had some sort of medical services in the basement.  They were willing to take me in for the birth of the baby, but they wrote up a bill ahead of time, with charges of $2800 — because I wasn’t Catholic!  (Being a pregnant gay guy didn't seem to enter into it.)

I screamed “Fuck you!” at them over and over, and we stormed out of the church basement.  My boyfriend then called an ambulance.  (Dream logic says not to worry about why we didn’t do that earlier.)  The medics were hesitant to take me to the hospital, though, because saying “Fuck you&rdquo to someone was legally the equivalent of attempted assassination.

We ended up suing over that, arguing that since the Supreme Court had ruled in the FCC case earlier this year that the word “Fuck&rdquo could not be separated from its procreative origins, and since procreation is the opposite of killing, “Fuck you&rdquo could not legally be the equivalent of attempted assassination.  At worst, it could only be considered attempted rape.

I think we won the case.

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Updated on February 1, 2010

Europe 2009: Aftermath

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

I had some nasty constipation after returning home, almost nothing passing through.  No pain or cramps, just minimal movements, despite ample food going in.  I finally realized that I’ve suffered from this before.  It’s the lack of intestinal florae, washed away from the repeated fisting cleanout regimen.  I need to get some live-culture yogurt in me to restore things.  (Yup, that seems to have helped; started improving just a couple hours after a dish of yogurt.)

In Berlin, I bought a 2010/2011 (two year) large format flip calendar, with the imagery on each page being some good, strong BDSM pics.  (That is, pics that look like real BDSM scenes, not stuff staged for porn videos.)  At €10 a pop, a good deal.  So I bought two, the second to be donated to be a fundraiser item: a large format German BDSM calendar should easily be auctionable for more than $15.

Out & About, a gay guide webzine from Denmark, has an article about the Mr. Leather OutGames contest (among its other coverage of the OutGames), including this pic of the five contestants.  (Photo by Claus og Tonny Bønløkke Hertz.)

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Updated on February 5, 2010

The calendar sold for $20 at GLPW’s Spanksgiving event on Thanksgiving night.  Frankly, it should have gone for almost double that; we need to find a way to boost attendance (and participation) at those events.

Updated on May 19, 2010

Tentacle Porn (in a bad way)

Last night, while engaged in kinky sex, I was blindfolded.

I tend to do sex visualizations when closing my eyes during kinky sex.  Circles and rings that glow and come closer and get larger and such, even sometimes turning into tunnels or portals to what’s on the other side.

(Yes, shallow metaphors, I know.)

But last night, with the blindfold on, the visualizations went a layer further.  I envisioned a ring with a starfield behind it (like a viewport).  In the middle was a rust-colored cylinder covered with scales like a pangolin, with some of the scales acting as lids for huge staring eyes.  The column was moving upward — constantly, like it was infinitely long — and the eyes were looking all over.  Including at me.

I managed to dismiss this one, only to have another viewport come in from the left.  This ring was completely filled with wet green lizard skin, one huge eye, and a couple tentacles with spikes on the end.  And it was bulging through the ring.

Ever hear of H.P. Lovecraft?  Elder gods, the viewing of which can cost you your very sanity?  Yeah, like that.

I ripped the blindfold off and stopped all the sex activity while I fought to stop myself from doing something between screaming and crying.  It took a good ten minutes before I could make any words to describe things.

It probably doesn’t carry across in this description, but… Seriously  Fucking.  Scary.

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Updated on February 8, 2010

Updated on May 17, 2010

Europe 2009: Berlin (Sunday, August 2)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

Since there was another party I wanted to go to that night, I headed back to Schöneberg.  On the way, I passed by the gay sunbathing areas of Tiergarten.  Apparently nude sunbathing is permitted!  I also met a cute Italian boy, Kurt — no, he wasn’t naked at the time — dressed in A&F gear with his collar turned up.

Kurt gave me a heavy cruise in Tiergarten, so I sat down on a bench and got him to approach.  Cute, but in his A&F attire, I figured him for a bit of a twinkie.  (He says A&F is pretty much only worn by gay boys in Germany.  I told him that’s true in the States, too, even if those wearing it don’t quite realize it!)  I offered to invite him back to the hotel, but said he might be scared.  To the contrary, he said it was the red stripes on my shorts that he was attracted by.  And on that note, I had one of the best fisiting experiences of the trip, one that we had to cut short because he was meeting a friend at a local bar.  I would have happily skipped the party that night to play a few hours more with Kurt.

I took the U-Bann out to Prenzlauer Berg, to the bar Stahlrohr 2.0.  (2.0 because it had moved a few years back.)  Several of the guys from the Kellerloch party were there again.

The Stahlrohr party was, of course, a fisting party.  Walking from the U-Bann, I met and talked with Matthieu (I’m doing my best guess for the spelling of some of these guys’ names, you realize), who spotted my black and red leather wristband.  Joachen, who had invited me to Kellerloch, fisted me, although I don’t think he got all the way in.  My ass was getting tender!  I was making lots of animal noises, though, and a bunch of guys stuck their heads around the corner to see who this new guy was whose voice they didn’t recognize.  I then talked for a while with Sebastien, and Marcel and I had a rematch of the previous night, well, of the part with my hand up his ass.

One pleasant surprise I’ve had this trip is the simple willingness of Europeans to engage in safer sex behaviors.  In the States, you find way too many guys who not only like to bareback, they will only do so.  You find ones (often enough to not be rare!) who will call things off if you want a condom to be used (whether as top or bottom), and occasionally ones who will actually be angry with you for wanting safer sex.  (And this almost never has to do with latex allergies.)  Seemingly not so with the Europeans; only a couple even tried any barebacking (including one in a dark room in Amsterdam whom I pushed away, disgusted; he might not have been European, in retrospect), and not a one made a peep at pausing to put on a rubber.

Actually, though, I didn’t do a whole lot of pursuit of fucking, and much of that was in fisting party contexts, so maybe this is the mark of fisters more than general Europeans.  While many prefer to play without gloves (and I could go into the pros and cons of that), it was always a negotiated part of each play session, and none I played with would say no to using gloves or having the top use them.  As I think of it in the States, at the big parties I have been to in Seattle, DC, and Chicago, I do think that this is more a standard behavior of fisters worldwide, perhaps.  But I’ll still think positively of the Europeans in this light, regardless.

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Updated on February 23, 2010

Updated on May 18, 2010

Europe 2009: Berlin (Saturday, August 1)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

I cruised around the Schöneberg neighborhood, visiting the leather shops and such: Connection, RoB, Mr. B, and a couple others.  I bought some t-shirt gifts — a Mr. B shirt that glows in the dark for my boyfriend, a brown and gold Berlin shirt for Rusty (who is house/cat-sitting while I’m away), and two for me, a red Berlin shirt with the bears with entangled tongues and a black Kinky Tulip shirt.  I met a couple guys (Mario and Stefan) from Bavaria outside Mr. B, along with their friend Donovan.

(Just because I name check someone in the blog, doesn’t mean I had sex with them.  Might have wanted to, though…)

That evening, I went to a private party called Kellerloch, although I didn’t know that was the name of it at the time — an online buddy invited me without specifying the name of the party.  A couple people online had asked if I was going to Kellerloch, but I had told them no, because I didn’t know at the time.

Kellerloch (“cellar hole”, per Babelfish) is, yes, another fisting party, held at the south end of Schöneberg in a basement.  There were probably 20 guys there.  I got fisted by Klaus, and then returned the favor.  Then by Marcel from the Netherlands, and again returned the favor, getting each of may hands in about 4" past the wrist, the deepest I’ve ever fisted someone.  And then fisted Marco from Zurich, to a similar depth, and then he fisted me on all fours.  And one point, he sat on my lower back (shades of Brüno!) and fisted me from above.

Back at the hotel, I thought I should cum, since I really hadn’t done that for a couple days.  Got out the sling, put in the Fist Pack video, lubed up the inflatable dildo and pumped it larger than I have before and went at myself.  But to no avail.  I pissed like crazy, splattering myself good, but couldn’t manage to cum.  Too worked up and worked over!

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Updated on March 1, 2010.

Updated on March 2, 2010.

This article claims that “cellar door” is one of the most beautiful phrases in the English language.  Can we make a parallel claim that “kellerloch” is one of the kinkiest in the German language?

Europe 2009: Copenhagen to Berlin (Friday, July 31)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

At the Men’s Shop — “adult novelties”, if you will — I used my certificate from the contest for a video (Fist Pack 20).  I had to spend another 25 DKK — $5 — above the certificate price, but no problem.  (Having since watched chunks of the video, I recommend most any other edition in the FP series.  The first scene goes for like 20 minutes before getting to any digital insertions, which was kind of the purpose of getting the video.  I haven’t watched all the scenes yet, though, so others may be quite a bit better.)

I went back to the hotel for some e-mail (free WiFi) and blog time.  Finally made contact with Ole from X-Rated Leather, then traveled to his shop for measurements.  What sort of a custom piece to get, though.  I want a piece that is special and notable — why have it otherwise? — but it also needs to be mainstream enough that I actually can and will wear it.  (As stated, why have it otherwise?  I have a couple pieces like that, actually, that I can only wear once per city per year, and sometimes not even that often.)  Obviously, he prefers to do a couple actual fittings for his custom pieces, which would not be possible (Denmark being a bit far to go for a fitting).

The idea I had was to get a custom-made vest, with lightning bolts across the back which exactly match the pattern of my lightning bolt tattoos, but with color — yellow bolts with a bright blue “shadow”, to echo Lightning Lad’s costume iconography that they are drawn from.  Per Ole, the vest will be lined inside with leather (rather than having one side raw as is usual in the States, which tends to leave suede crumblies on your shirt, and sometimes even dye stains), with a pair of zippered pockets on the inside.  He’ll also put some yellow and blue piping on the front to echo the colors on the back.  I will send him the computer files from the tattoos so that he can use the exact shape to match.

Is this a €500 (US$750) value?  Probably not, technically, but if you think of the prize as intended to be “a custom piece of leather clothing, value up to” the amount.  And given the physical distance between his shop and my home, I’m satisfied with the result; I think it’s an adequate solution, given time and location and desired uses.

The master’s cap arrived by post this afternoon from the Anco, before I had to leave.  Thankfully!

The hotel in Berlin is quite a trip.  This is a leather-themed hotel/bed & breakfast, with semi-themed rooms supplied with kink play equipment.  (The most well known of these is the Black Tulip in Amsterdam, an obvious antecedent in the name department; Seattle once had the Gypsy Arms, too.)  The hallway was lined with a dog cage, mannequins with straight jackets, a display case with assorted electric gear, and so on.  The room had a sling, a vertical bondage rack, and an adjustable fuck bench, plus a selection of medical furniture.  (And a closet, TV with DVD player, and sink, and a single bed that was originally a medical bed of some sort.)

After a quick nap, I went out to Mutschmanns, then to Scheune (as I had been directed; the crowd shifts from one to the other around 2:00 am).  There I met Pieter (from Berlin) and Graeme (from Los Angeles), and we all eventually went to New Action (where the crowd shifts to after 4:00 am).  Pieter was dealing with a friend of his who was suffering from lung cancer who had essentially moved in with him for the duration.

Graeme was a good piss boy and drained me a couple times.

Pieter gave me a piece of candy, which I later realized was probably Ecstasy, although if it was, I don’t know what effect it had on me, if any.  We also shared a cigarette laced with hash (I think), but again, no effect that I really can identify.  We ended up back at my hotel room, but he left soon after.  He tried to lay a trip on me about not being interested in him and just wanting him as a handy dick or fist, but he was feeling depressed about his buddy with cancer and that was more of the issue, I’m sure.   And maybe some drug effects as well.

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Updated on February 26, 2010

Updated on May 17, 2010

Europe 2009: Copenhagen (Thursday, July 30)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

This was my day for really focusing on the competitions.  So after the usual breakfast and puttering with the blog posts, I got everything set for the Physical part of the leather contest, laying out all my outfit pieces and putting them on (except for the boots).  I had mostly set this up in Seattle, but made a last minute change to use the other harness, and of course I now had to use the cowboy hat rather than the master’s cap (since the cap had been left in Amsterdam).

Then I did likewise with the Presentation part, running through the routine a couple times, watching myself in the bathroom mirror.  I also turned the netbook on its side and propped it up on a high shelf and used its webcam as a second sort of mirror.  I had to figure out how to do the costume change part within the very limited time frame; I ended up settling for layering two t-shirts, and slipping off the braces and rolling one shirt over my head to show the second one.  (More later.)

Then I headed over to the K3 nightclub for the afternoon practice.  Because of schedules, the other two Americans were not there for practice until later in the afternoon, and the Canadian had pulled out due to a schedule change for a conference meeting he was attending.  I did get to scope out the European competition, though — Erik from Denmark and Walther, the current Mr. Leather Norway — and got to see them do their presentations (fantasies).  Mine is storytelling, Erik’s is a standard-style leather contest fantasy, and Walther’s is a solo dance routine preceded by a speech about HIV; quite the range, and we’ll see what the other two add to the mix.  It was very difficult to design a fantasy that I could do by myself and would carry to an audience mostly European.

After that, I practiced for my line dance competition and then did the competition, winning two golds and a silver, plus overall for my division.  They finally did the awards and finished them just after 10:00, so I had to grab my clothes and really hurry to K3.

Of course, for all my hurry, it was halfway unwarranted.  I scrambled over to K3 and got upstairs to start changing.  By the time I got changed, the entertainment went on, a leather song medley from Ask Helga (Copenhagen’s camp drag troupe, real singers), called “Nights in Black Leather”.  I only paid a little attention to it, between changing and fanning myself from being very sweaty, and holding my head from where I kept banging it on the rafters in our changing area.  (I’m 6 foot, the ceiling was 6 foot, the rafters were 5 foot 10, and they seemed to be over the places we could stand to change rather than over the benches and table.  Bang bang bang, ow ow ow.)

For the Physical part of the contest, I came out in chaps, red-stripe t-bar (so my ass and tattoos showed), red-piped muscle police shirt, and cowboy hat.  On stage, I stripped off the shirt to show my red and ring harness underneath; good crowd reaction.  The question to me was about the most masculine moves done in country-western dance.  I told them that they didn’t let us do some of those for competition, as I faked a jack-off action, so then I showed dipping a partner lower… lower… lower… all the way to the floor, and then I would drop him and walk away (with a big finger snap).  The crowd really liked that: it played with the cowboy hat, it showed strength and good body form, and it was funny and a little mean, just right for a leather competition.

For the Presentation (Fantasy), I told the story of Leather Pinocchio.  Gepetto, the leather daddy woodcutter made himself a new sex toy, a leatherboy. Pinocchio wanted to be a REAL leatherboy, and the Red Fairy (who gives fists rather than wishes) told him how: become a donkey (pony play!), find Monstro (Girth and Mirth!), and compete in a leather competition in Copenhagen (the crowd liked that joke).  Unfortunately, when Pinocchio became a REAL leatherboy (this was when I showed the second shirt, which said “Leatherboy”), he lost his “woody”.  But he learned if he still told lies — “You’ve got a biiig dick!” — his dick would still grow.  His rubber inflatable dick.  “I am a top!  I am a top!  I am a top” as I pulled the inflated dick out of the shorts, all the way.

The crowd reaction was small at first, partly because the volume wasn’t up loud and the first two lines were lost.  (I recorded the Pinocchio, Narrator, and Red Fairy voices myself on my iPhone, artificially lowering the Red Fairy voice with another program, and edited it all together with Garage Band.  Impressive job, if I say so myself!)  By halfway through, though, the audience was getting it and laughing at the funny bits.  If I ever get to do it again, I’ll use the 3:39 length original version, which has a couple more jokes and a little more breathing room in it; might even pad a couple more seconds for the costume change and add a few at the start.

In the end, I got 38 out of 40 points — which means I probably got 20 of 20 for the Physical part — and ended up as 1st Runner-Up (and another Silver medal).  I’m happy with that, as I got two prizes: a €40 gift certificate and a €500 custom leather item.  Erik from Denmark won first place; his fantasy was definitely top notch (better than mine), he deserved it for that.

Afterward, I hastened back to the hotel with all my gear, showered and changed, and then came back to K3, dressed in my 501 shorts and the chainmail harness.  Originally a gay disco, K3 is now a straight club but it turned back into a gay club for the night.  Three or four floors, two different DJs — the one upstairs was pretty good, and that’s special coming from me, since I don’t like club music much.  They had dark rooms set up and everything, and they even ran out of beer so the guys from SLM had to go raid beer from their clubhouse.  Very successful party, I think.  I ran into both Jeffrey and Ho & Jens again.

Ho sucked my dick while we sat in one of the lounge areas, and we got some very approving looks.  (Or were they jealous?)  He offered to fist me there, too, but I declined.  I would have liked to, and I would have really gotten off on the public display, but even the dick sucking was beyond the level I saw anyone else doing, so I didn’t want to push the envelope all the way into confetti!

Out in the courtyard, as it started to sprinkle, I met Peter and he went down on me, really ramming my cock down his throat, PA and all.  (My cock is pretty thick and longer than average, so this was impressive.)  He did this right in the middle of the crowd, and again, there was very little similar activity from anyone else, but lots of fun looks.  He did this for some time, as the crowd dispersed and the party ended. We then headed back to his place, where I hoped for his fist.

But no such luck.  Instead, it was me on my knees (and etc.) for the next couple hours, and with major tit clamps on my already sore nipples.  And lots of really good poppers!  Never got his fist or even his dick in my ass, but it was a really good time anyway.  I had to call it quits when I suddenly started seeing huge snowflakes that glowed blue and yellow and pink — too much poppers and endorphins, I guess; very trippy and out of my head.  Got back to my hotel at 5:15 am.  Yawn!

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Updated on February 25, 2010

Updated on May 14, 2010

Europe 2009: Copenhagen (Wednesday, July 29)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

Tuesday night was the Naked Party at the SLM clubhouse.  I got fisted by two guys (a couple; Ho and Jens).  Jens had pretty big hands so he only got in once before his other half took over, then he got in again a few times later.  Briefly fucked a guy from Paris later, and then had my ass played with (but not fisted) by Jeffrey from New Orleans (who had neither a Southern nor Cajun accent).

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Updated on February 24, 2010

Updated on May 12, 2010

Europe 2009: Amsterdam and Copenhagen (Tuesday, July 28)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

Tuesday evening was a party at the SLM clubhouse.  It was a fisting party.  I have a goal of a fist a day while in Europe, you know.  I fisted two guys (Allen was one, although I’ve likely misspelled his name), got fisted myself (Pascal from Paris), fucked and fisted another guy (got 98% of the way in him, missed his fist cherry by millimeters; bet the next guy will get him done), and then got almost (95%?) fisted again while standing up and blew a load all over him.

Cleanout was a bit easier here than in Amsterdam, because the hose head will fit over the shower head in the bathroom here.  Got a lot of air bubbles, but I didn’t have to strain as much.

One “problem” I have when getting fisted is that when the fist comes out, I piss.  Happens nearly every time, and the more liquid I’ve had in me (orally, that is), the more volume I piss.  I can usually keep that confined to the pad we have under the sling at home, but at the SLM clubhouse, that would end up on the concrete floor and be more of an issue (could be slippery for others).  Solution: I put a condom on my cock while I was being fisted, so I could piss to my heart’s content (bladder’s content?) and not worry, so long as the condom itself didn’t come off.  Worked very well tonight.

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Updated on February 23, 2010

Updated on May 12, 2010

Europe 2009: Amsterdam (Monday, July 27)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

I bought myself a new nose ring at a piercing place.  It’s a staple with rectangular edges and points, like an inverted trident without the middle tine.  Kind of cool.

I ran into Dael and Kev again at the Argos.  I sucked and got fucked in the dark room, But not by Dael and Kev this time.

Checked for the missing nose ring at the Eagle’s lost-n-found, but no luck.

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Updated on February 9, 2010

I proceeded to lose the new nose staple in Denver in September, either during play at the Denver Eagle or during wild sex in the hotel room.  We couldn’t find it later, so probably at the Eagle.

Updated on May 12, 2010

Europe 2009: Amsterdam (Sunday, July 26)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

Wandered around a while, then trekked 30 minutes southwest of the Centrum to a fisting party I had been invited to, at a bar called Sameplace

I was wearing one of my kilts, the tan canvas and black leather one from MacLeo.  It got a number of looks, but I trained myself long ago not to make eye contact back on those.  Just let them pass by.  Unfortunately, the heavy canvas rubbing against my PA apparently unscrewed the ball and then worked the entire ring out; it was gone by the time I got to the party.  I think I remember hearing a “ding” noise which may have been the ring falling out, and I felt a jab of one of the kilt snap backs at one point which was probably shortly after the ring fell out.  (Bad things come in threes, eh: three piercing rings gone in a week!  Fortunately I have a couple smaller spares with me.  I didn’t plan on new jewelry being a main souvenir on this trip, but it looks like I’ll go shopping on Monday at the leather shops and a piercing place on Warmoesstraat.)

I met a couple guys at the party — Patrick and Chris, expat Brits — and went out to dinner with them to a pizzeria called Paprika (they tell me most of the Italian places in Amsterdam are Turkish owned) where we talked politics and same-sex marriage and sex stuff, and then went back to their apartment.  I had fucked and fisted Patrick at the party, and then fisted Chris (after finding out they were partners); I almost got both hands in Chris.  Back at their place, Patrick fisted me.  Met their cats, Desmond (Abyssinian, but he doesn’t look much like it to me) and Molly (Desmond’s daughter, half Somali).

I was told that the big gay social networking (hookup) site in the Netherlands (and maybe the rest of Europe?) these days is GayRomeo.com (at least for leather; anything listing fisting as one of the top-level search options is a plus), along with Recon.  Stuff with a big presence in the States like Manhunt and AssPig have almost no membership here; Manhunt doesn’t even have Europe as an option!  Bear411 is still a presence here.

Later that evening, I caught a cab and visited an online buddy from GayRomeo.com, Mauricio, ironically within blocks of where the party had been.  He fucked me until I came, then fisted me with each hand, came, and fisted me some more until I came again.  (pig)  Walked back to the Centrum late at night (1:30 am); beautiful weather in the high 60s, me in shorts and tank top.

For clean out, I have been using a portable shower head, intended for attaching to the sink or tub faucet when a shower isn’t available.  (European and American pipe sizes or threading differ, so I didn’t bring my shower shot.)  This doesn’t work quite as well as a shower hose, and in Amsterdam, the sink was about an inch too high to deal with comfortably, so I have had to perch with one foot on a chair and one foot tiptoed on the floor to get my ass over the sink to evacuate.  Fun fun.  (Stretch and strain.)

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Updated on February 8, 2010

Updated on May 3, 2010

Europe 2009: Amsterdam (Saturday, July 25)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

Went to the Argus, Dirty Dick’s, and the Eagle.  Met up with Robert, a guy from Haarlem I had been chatting with online.  He tells me that the religious government is cracking down on things in Amsterdam, that it isn’t as wild as it once was.  Plenty wild to my inexperienced eyes, but I take his point.  He also said Dirty Dick’s is likely to close soon, because the building foundation is rotten.  Always a shame, but that bar was quite empty for a Saturday night(to my eye), so maybe not a huge loss.

I sucked dick upstairs at the Web in the afternoon; I got off but he didn’t.  Sucked dick in the dark room at Dirty Dick’s; we both got off.

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Updated on February 5, 2010

Europe 2009: Amsterdam (Friday, July 24)

This is just the sex parts of my European trip report.  For the rest of the report from this day, click here.

The Web has a “dark room”, a small cruising maze like a mini-bathhouse.  I got reprimanded by the bartender for coming into the bar, nosing around, and heading upstairs without buying something first.  I ’can’t blame him, and 5 minutes later, he gave the same spiel the same to another guy (so its a common event).  I typically spend a couple minutes in a new bar before deciding I want to stay long enough to have a beer, and I walk around the place to get a feel for it; there isn’t usually a dark room like that to explore in the process, in the States.  The only times I’ve seen such at bars in the States were the Pit at the Chicago Eagle (now closed), and the brief time that the backroom was open at the Loading Dock in San Francisco (also now closed).  (Well, formal backrooms.  Lots of bars have had informal grope areas which the staff turn a blind eye to, until the cops eventually notice.)  Turns out all the leather bars here have them.  (I visited them in the Argos, Cockring, Cuckoo’s Nest, and Eagle later that night.  Well, passed through most of them.)

Other than the dark rooms, the leather bars should look familiar to Americans.  Maybe a bit small.  The exception is the Cockring, which is a leather dance bar downstairs and a bar and cruising area upstairs.  It’s rare to find a dance floor at a leather bar in the States; Detroit Eagle is about the only one I’ve seen, other than places like the Cuff in Seattle which added a dance floor and stopped being much of a leather bar.  (“Why don’t leathermen dance?”  “Because they’ll bruise themselves with their keys!”  <twitch hips back and forth, say ow ow ow as the keys smack you>)

I met a pair of bears, Dael and Kev, from the Midlands (England) upstairs at the Eagle.

I sucked and got fucked in the dark room at Argos; got the guy off.  Nipple play in the dark room at the Eagle; ow ow ow.  Threesome at my hotel with the Midlands bears, got almost fisted by one, then fucked and fisted by the other; only one of them came.

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Updated on February 4, 2010