I Hate to Sound Like a Broken Record

But yeah, good things happen in threes. I got DPd againg tonight. That's all.

Lost Contact

I hate to repeat myself here or in the bedroom too much, but last night this guy was fucking me and decided it would be a good idea to fuck me with some toys. I thought it was a good idea too. Then he decided it would be a good idea to try to fuck me with his dick and a dildo. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I got DPd again last night. So, after a bit of this, while I'm in the doggy position (first time ever!), is that what you call it? Wait, I mean doggystyle, thank you Snoop, I came. Couldn't help myself, but then again, who could, right? Anyways, so my head was kinda pushed down in the mattress and somehow my contact lens folded up and into the back of my eyeball, which took me about five post-coital minutes to find, while my poor friend was just laying on the bed wondering where he could stick his dick now. That's all.

These are the hazards of my life, people. I'm not talking about the hivs or shit. I'll probably get shit for this but I do always protect myself and I'm not a speed freak so chances are unless I get raped at a bareback breeding party I'm not too worried about that, but contact lenses going awry, cum in the hair, pinched nerves in the back due to excessive ankles to Jesus, bug bites on the ass or dick head, accidentally snapping up extra ball skin in a cock ring/ball stretcher, the old sand up the butthole (you think a pebble in your shoe feels like a mountain? At least it's exfoliating, but be forewarned, DO NOT TAKE DILDOS TO THE BEACH), slipping on a puddle of silicone-based lubricant (or rather your entire bedroom floor), slipping on a puddle of Crisco in the shower, these are my fears. Oh, and let's not forget losing total bowel control. Again.

Let this be a lesson to you all, even though there really is no lesson here that I can see. I learned a lot, though, and you should too.

Today Was a Good Day

That fine line between freaking out and being a freak,

I know I complain a lot about my miserable life, but I have to say:

I'm having a good time

I can make the assssss drop.

Pinching myself.

OCD/Insomnia

So it's that time again for rainbows. I like rainbows.

The OCD is getting out of hand, even though I don't really feel OCD right now, but I could, I just don't know it. I'll let you know.

I'm actually not feeling much of anything right now. Which is strange. I've been doing that whole "I'm gonna cry no wait laugh hysterically life is so great oh fuck why god why why why meeeeee?" type of thing right now. If I apply my fashion sense to it though, it must mean I'm doing great as it's that fine line between love and hate, tasteless and avant-garde, ecstatic and miserable. . .I need medication.

Double Penetration. . .it is Fun! ! !

And it's just as fun, if not more, for the tops! I had no idea!

A couple more words early in the morning

Dear Diary,

Thank God you called me this morning or I would have been late to work! Of all the questions I have in the world, I really want to know why some gay men get lip implants. It's really not sexy. But, if you're paying me for sex, you don't have to be sexy, so all of you guys out there with lip implants don't be afraid to call me. . .

And diary, I feel like you've been leaking out secrets. It's like I think you're the only person that reads these things, and then I get strange e-mails from strange men relating to the topics I discuss with you. You know, these things I write aren't for everyone's eyes. I'm mad at you!

Love,

Cory

Sex on the Beach

Sand. All I have to say. Plus, I have so much hair now that it literally took fifteen minutes to get it all out. Not that I tried to wash it. That's gross. I've built up a month of oil and product residue, and I don't want to start all over again. With that said, sex on the beach is better if you're not shivering.

OH, and I think I hate all homosexuals, but I'm not sure.

OH, and I also have been thinking about writing less about myself as a metaphor for life, and just writing about metaphors for life.

Blogs are so self-fucking it makes me sick. This is no exception.

Important Realisation

So as I was trying to rally up an army of guys to fuck me senseless in the bathroom at Boysroom last night, I realized something: I am a slut. And a whore. I feel like this whole blog I've been going on and on about how I'm not a slut or a whore any more, and that's just plain wrong. I am. I should be proud of it. And that's not going to change. And if that means that I can't work it out with a certain ex-boyfriend, then so be it.

As I was getting fucked in the bathroom and couldn't enjoy it as I was working, I also realized that I am a hardworking slut with morals.

As I was dragging another guy back to my place at the end of the night, I realized that I'm a good slut.

As I was taking it all the way down and his eyes were bugging out because no one's ever done that before so comfortably, I realized I'm an amazing slut.

See y'all at Fire Island this weekend!

Summer Rain Storms

I can't honestly thing of anything sexual to write right now, I actually want to talk about the weather. Wait a minute. . .

So some of you may know I'm DJing and hosting an underwear party in the East Village. It's supposedly sleazy and rock n roll, but nothing crazy seems to ever happen. There are three boys that work it and they always suck dick in the bathroom, but other than that and some line blowing, nothing that interesting happens. I've decided tonight to get fucked in the bathroom by as many guys as possible, while DJing, or while I'm DJing period, and document the photos. Still, that's not crazy I guess, coming from a Mormon it would, but me not really, but I'm trying. Any ideas people? How can I scare faggots into action?

I Can't Believe it's Happening to Me

I've heard people talk about this but have never experienced it:

So I finally got a hook off the internet last night that lives two blocks away from me. SCORE! I run over there, he bends me over, eats my ass for a bit and tries to shove his dick in me. AS IF! ! ! I don't bareback kids, even though I wish I did, let me tell ya. So yeah, he's fucking me, pulls out, starts jacking off, I'm like, come on bitch, fuck me some more, and then finally puts it back in with the condom falling off and starts groaning, like he's cumming. I back him out of me, and he starts ejaculating. WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE? ? ? I didn't realize that guys out there really did just try to cum up your ass whether you like it or not. So weird. I just don't get it. So then after that, I ask him to finger fuck me and he just won't really stick his hand in there, like he was going to hurt me. Once again, AS IF! I then noticed a small empty medical thingie on the ground and thought it was going to be triple antibiotic ointment or something, in hopes that the condom would break, but it was actually water-soluble lube. I don't get it.

the morning after

and I had a hair of the dog beer to keep the hangover away but I'm still a little drunk. . .I can't write any more right now. It's painful. I'm trying to hook up right now even though I just want to go back to sleep, and I'm getting lots of bites, go figure.

Hand to Phone

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I'm Gonna Live Forever

The following is my e-mail response to my blog being "Best Personal Gay Blog" this week. I'm so fucking funny and postmodern ironic it kills me. OH, and the website is bestgayblogs.com (my hyperlink thingie isn't working).

I feel honored, all I have to say. I don't think I have a counter, so I really have no idea how many people read it; it's a selfish venture anyways. I was shocked to see how many typos there were in the blog entry you posted--the one fucking blog entry I don't proofread, and there it is, indelible that I'm a fucking dumb ass. What are some of the other e-mails people sent me? Does anyone want to pay me for sex? I'm broke. I actually feel like my blog is once again stripping away the fantasy that porn builds up for people and is actually detrimental to my career as an escort/porn star. I'm glad I have other things going for me. I'm going on and on with this e-mail right now, because I know that once I finish it I'm going to copy and paste it into a new blog posting. I wonder which word I use more in my blog, fucking or pathetic?

Anyways, thanks thanks thanks, I'm a whore in many ways and this has slightly inflated my ego for at least a couple more hours.

Cory Koons

I've Been Waiting a Lifetime for a Moment. . .

So I started writing this shit after a hiatus, and not three days later, I get an e-mail saying that this blog has been chosen as Best Gay Blog of the Week! I don't really have anything to say tonight, but as they valued my constantly updated content, I felt I had to constantly update it.

Content, not quality? Fuck that.

I'm trying to bring back the art of public cruising; however, my initial reaction when seeing a guy that makes my crotch stir is to look at him with what I think is my "hot face," but according to various photographers, and I joke you not, is actually my "Cory, relax your face. Look sexy, not serial murderer," face, and probably the same face that while putting on a dildo (fire hydrant) show with a trick last night was my "Cory, you look so serious and angry" face. I think that's why guys like me doggystyle. Whenever I fuck a guy missionary he inevitably stops and says "God you look so unhappy and angry" face. Fuck, sorry, I also smile a lot when getting reared, I swear.

Happy face. Angry face. Happy face. Angry face.

I also snapped at a customer at Bloomingdale's when they interrupted a sales associate and me (I've been looking for a pair of low-rise, tapered stretch jeans, and can't fucking find them anywhere; it's killing me) with the question, "What size is this shirt?" "It's vintage, there is no size marked." "Well, is it a large?"

My life is starting to appear boring. The only thing interesting to me is that in my porn roles I'm going from Crazy Chinese Chef to Palestinian to Skater Boi to Gang Bang Bottom Fucko. After I get a savage tan and braids, I'm calling up Latino Fan Club. If anyone from Latino Fan Club is reading this, holla, holla.

It's Like 10,000 Spoons/When All You Need is a Knife

I was going to write something else, more vented and heartfelt, but then I got a little buzzed and stoned and the sarcasm just leaks out of me.

I've been so poor lately that I haven't been able to afford therapy or anti-depressants, both of which I need right now. I pinched yet another nerve in my back. The pain got worse and worse until it became debilitating. It got so bad I had to go to a chiropractor twice a week. I pinched the nerve getting the living hell fucked out of me by a big-dicked furry dancer (modern). I think he forgot I wasn't as limber as him, or just the sheer size of his dick meant him pushing my knees into my shoulders harder, I don't know. I finally had to go to the chiropractor because I now know that I pinched a nerve in my sacrum which is just below the lumbar vertebrae and above the coccyx and it causes your sex organs and anus to fuck up, and while I was having no problem shitting pushing out hit a nerve that I could feel all the way up my back and and getting a dick in my ass was harder and it was slightly swollen inside, plus arching my back, forget about it! I basically couldn't enjoy my ass. At all. At. All. So I had to go to the doctor. I know go twice a week to fix a years-long problem that apparently has shortened (not irreversibly)my left leg 1/2 an inch. OH, I guess the ironic thing is that with the money I'm spending to allow myself to be spinally adjust enough to enjoy getting fucked I could be spending it on a therapist that could help me process my issues associate with getting fucked.

I decided to save money last night by taking the subway back to Brooklyn instead of a cab like I usually do after dark/every day and after waiting twenty precious minutes waiting. So I actually had to pay more, given the longer distance to the subway I walked to.

There was another, but I forget.

OH, that when you dump someone a month later they're saying the exact same thing you said a month ago and you're saying the exact same thing they said a month ago.

That's all for now. . .

It's Like 10,000 Spoons/When

I was going to write something else, more vented and heartfelt, but then I got a little buzzed and stoned and the sarcasm just leaks out of me.

I've been so poor lately that I haven't been able to afford therapy or anti-depressants, both of which I need right now. I pinched yet another nerve in my back. The pain got worse and worse until it became debilitating. It got so bad I had to go to a chiropractor twice a week. I pinched the nerve getting the living hell fucked out of me by a big-dicked furry dancer (modern). I think he forgot I wasn't as limber as him, or just the sheer size of his dick meant him pushing my knees into my shoulders harder, I don't know. I finally had to go to the chiropractor because I now know that I pinched a nerve in my sacrum which is just below the lumbar vertebrae and above the coccyx and it causes your sex organs and anus to fuck up, and while I was having no problem shitting pushing out hit a nerve that I could feel all the way up my back and and getting a dick in my ass was harder and it was slightly swollen inside, plus arching my back, forget about it! I basically couldn't enjoy my ass. At all. At. All. So I had to go to the doctor. I know go twice a week to fix a years-long problem that apparently has shortened (not irreversibly)my left leg 1/2 an inch. OH, I guess the ironic thing is that with the money I'm spending to allow myself to be spinally adjust enough to enjoy getting fucked I could be spending it on a therapist that could help me process my issues associate with getting fucked.

I decided to save money last night by taking the subway back to Brooklyn instead of a cab like I usually do after dark/every day and after waiting twenty precious minutes waiting. So I actually had to pay more, given the longer distance to the subway I walked to.

There was another, but I forget.

OH, that when you dump someone a month later they're saying the exact same thing you said a month ago and you're saying the exact same thing they said a month ago.

That's all for now. . .

It's Getting Hott oh fuck I can't finish that

I decided to go for a Miami look today, complete with slicked back hair, before it gets too hot and muggy for the Miami look, and I just look like a sweaty fucking slob. I haven't started sweating yet, which is amazing. I've started to use sweatbands, and not even as a fashion statement, but more as a headband/necessity. It's kinda sad.

I Think I Might Be on to Something

So, professional life, great. Personal life, eh. Why is it always like that? Why am I avoiding calling my mom like I've been avoiding writing this blog? Why do I miss my exbf (that I dumped and now want to get back together with) so much? Why do we exist? Why was I abducted by aliens? Why isn't my blog as eloquent and amazing as Michael Lucas'? What is love? I don't wanna hurt no more (it's just time for letting go). And I