January 26 is the new January 1

I vacuumed today. they say that completing simple house chores is therapeutic for people suffering from depression.

January 2 is the New January 1

I must leave my quarters soon. I live in the basement of an old seminary. It is hard to leave sometimes. I am excited about a new year. woo!

portraits

by Paul Sepuya

Before and After

My Blood is Boiling.

I Bought a Costume Today

It's an instant cat.
Black PVC with Kelly green PVC and Kelly green plastic jewel accents.
Ears on a headband.
Tail with a loop.
Collar.

I will be wearing it tonight at the Cock. Costumes for Friday and Saturday night are more substantial.

Meow.

I'm really sad that I haven't posted things that I reminded myself to post last post. It seems like cheating if I post about them now, but what the Hell?

POST TO MYSELF:

Hey You,

I know you don't have time right now and I also know you had quite an eventful week last week. Don't forget to write about

new love
Spit
BUTT Party
anal fissure
Double Cheez Whiz
nice beard!
kilt party

OK thanks! Don't forget to write!!! I miss and love you more every day, oxoxCK

PS what are your plans to visit? I am off indefinitely and would love to get together. we can let bygones be bygones. I love you too much to let you go. Let's work this out, OK?

I Eat the Same Thing for Breakfast Every Fucking Day

I wake up, put the kettle feed the cats (two Maine coons, they are huge and my lesbian roommates. both males. What is interesting about Maine coons is they are known for their vocals. Meows like you have never heard), make a pot of English breakfast tea that I drink with milk and agave nectar (low glycemic). Then I usually do my emailing while I wait for my steel-cut oatmeal to cook (it's the best oatmeal. Irish style. In the cute metal can. It takes thirty minutes but it's worth it. Alternatively you can boil it for five minutes the night before and let it sit, covered, till the morning and finish cooking it in a jiffy, but it makes it a bit less toothsome and more gummy). I always top my steel-cut oats with grade A organic maple syrup, a bit of cinnamon, and always, ALWAYS, fresh-ground nutmeg. Nothing like it. It's like that Japanese sixth sense... also the secret to an amazing Bolognese. I add whatever I have laying around--a handful of raisins, dried cranberries, sour cherries, apricots, chopped apple, banana, nuts.

I'm eating it right now.

I like starting my day the same every day.

I feel much better today.

My love life has been interesting lately. The fact that I have one is pretty interesting in and of itself, really. What started as a joke--me being only interested in either guys with boyfriends, or guys visiting from out of town, or both, has proven to be true, and now it's getting complicated. Funny how I was trying to avoid that. Am I ready for complications? Am I ready for love? Should I adopt my roommmate's' cats as my own and start my African violet collection?

It's Happening Again

I have that queazy feeling in my stomach. I am unsure of my actions or motivations. I feel vulnerable. What could it be?

Hey Bro, Is There Something You Should Tell Me?

It was inevitable, yes, and it has finally happened. ¡Aye! My sister knows the full extent of my "modelling/go-go dancing/bartender/independent film actor/costumer" career.

I'm still too uncomfortable to fully process it.

I am happy to say that my amazing sister loves me unconditionally! I am truly gifted to have her and the rest of my family in my life.

Hopefully I'll be able to read her MySpace email tomorrow.

Cut the Cake

For those of you who missed last night's Hustlaball, it was a total blast, a smashing success! Jeff at Rentboy is my new hero. Things got interesting when a fire started on the top floor and the club had to be evacuated. The party resumed thirty minutes to an hour later. DJ Rich King is my favorite DJ in the world. Ladyfag is the sexiest woman I know. I kinda want Rich and Lady to do it so I can watch. Hanging out with Ladyfag makes me feel very queer.

BTW, my burlesque number was a hit!








Thanks to Tony Serrano for cleaning up my mess. And to all the queens that bitched and moaned about the slippery, sticky, cakey mess that resulted from my act... DON'T BE JEALOUS!

On another note, I must say that someone needs to teach some of these newer, younger rentboys, some manners. You know who you are, little ones. Come to daddy.

my burlesque debut, this Sunday...

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I have such a great reputation.

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WORK OUT

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tempur-pedic

they have this funny way of enhancing whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment. what is floating on clouds one night is sinking in a hole the next. tonight it feels like a cave that makes me keep my eyes open. it is weird.

it could be nerves. it could be emotions.

I have to wake up in four hours. I don't want to go to bed.

the sleep has been jittery lately.

I didn't want to leave the beach. no one knew me. my iPhone broke the minute i boarded the train. my voice mail box was full. one night turned into a week.

the man I was with and I are perfect for each other. great chemistry. instant pet names. we tried not to talk about anything important; keep it on the surface. we cuddled less but fucked with invariable intensity.

when I got back from the beach, I tried to pretend I was still there. stay at home. they won't find you here.

Back in Town

I'm back in town. More to come later.

Off to the Beach!

So I met a very nice man with a beercan cock and a Harley and he invited me to his beach house this weekend. Thank fucking god. My tan is going to be fierce.

Black Party '08 Memories:

In regards to a certain Brazilian who became my nemesis as quickly as he manipulated me to become my best friend.

From:
Subject: were u at the black party? dancing?
Date: Sun 13 Jul 2008 10:56 AM

On Sun 13 Jul 2008 10:57 AM, Cory Koons wrote:

i sure was. I was wearing high waisted deerskin shorts, boots, and such, and then a chaps waist jockstrap. was on stage soaked in blood, etc.

On Sun 13 Jul 2008 10:59 AM, wrote:

i think we were dancing together,.
we met upstairs in the dressing room with this other fried of yours.
We kissed a bit,..
You were wearing an ass free outfit,..

On Sun 13 Jul 2008 11:01 AM, Cory Koons wrote:

oh shit we did, didn't we? OK, so that friend of mine later turned out to be all crazy and shit, and even last night any guy I would talk to he would immediately try to steal from me (even if I was just talking to a friend)... was that the case there? usually when it happens I just walk away.

From:
Subject: Re: were u at the black party? dancing?
Date: Sun 13 Jul 2008 11:05 AM

that was exactly the case,..
i think he was high on something
he's hot but he's too crazy for me.
you were extremely mellow.
Yes he was very jealous and kept asking why I like you and not him.
You felt extremely good and I would have loved to make out with you but you
disappeared...

WITH FRIENDS LIKE THAT WHO NEEDS ENEMIES?

This Goes to Show You How the Energy You Throw Off Comes Back to You.

I am riding my bike from Union Square to the Bar, to dance. I am late. I cross 6th Ave crosswalk. A motherfucker takes two running steps and kicks my bike as hard he can. I cut him off or give me any reason to do this. I stop my bike. "what the fuck was that?" no response. "fucking asshole!"

"fucking faggot."

"what did you say?"

"FUCKING FAGGOT!!!"

He is already walking away by this point. I put my kickstand up. Leave my bike in the street. Start walking after him. Rip my fucking sunglasses and earphones out. "Say it to my face!" he continues to hustle to the nearest store, a fucking Sprint PCS. I follow him in there as he walks deeper in the store. I call him a fucking pussy a couple times really loudly, then walk away, get on my bike, and get ready to don a plastic'grass skirt, and a floaty ring in the shape of Tony the Tiger.

Afterwards, I am leaving with a friend, and two dudes walk past us, one of them makes an under-his-breath type of condescending comment that sounds nice but you know it means the opposite, you stupid fucking faggot, so when I chirp up "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY? COULD YOU PLEASE REPEAT THAT? SPEAK INTO THE MICROPHONE." He doesn't like it very much and can just say

"I didn't say nothing mean, I just said that you can go on continue doing whatever you want to do, I didn't say shit."

with all the sarcastic, deluded, grandeur he can conjure up.
"BULLSHIT. BULL-FUCKING SHIT" This is when my friend steps in, as he can see that they are probably in a gang, three of his friends are half a block away wondering if they should pull him away or wait for the signal to join in and beat us faggots down. They talk heatedly for a while, I stop listening. Key terms I hear are, "This is my turf," "your friend needs to step down (I was unchanged in my position, smiling bemusedly, I would rather have had my teeth knocked out and my face drug across the pavement than back down at that moment)," "...Just because you're light-skinned," "I know. My friend, he's talking stupid, and he's not going to say nothing no more (friend is looking at me, like keep your fucking mouth shut stupid ass)."

We managed to get out of that one unscathed, but seriously, fucking hell, why should two faggots think that being fucking heckled by some ignorant assholes (whose fucking turf you happen to be on, um, we're one block away from a gay bar and fancy car delearships assholes I think that makes it just as much our turf, um, joking, but anyway) whilst walking away from a leather bar think that's OK, and not speak up, even if it means getting our asses kicked?

I guess that really doesn't change anything.

Needless to say, I got so freaked out I had to immediately change plans, and hop on my bike, and ride the entire way back to the bowels of fucking Brooklyn. Finally. The best part is that I was frying my nuts off and was quite drunk and stoned also. It took me maybe forty-five minutes to ride the six+ miles. How's that for endorphins? Work it out.

MORALITY REPORT: Please, everyone out there, do not ride your bike, your car, your motorcycle, whatever, when you are wasted. It is super dangerous and really dumb. And really, I'm a huge believer in doing whatever the fuck you want as long as you are not putting other people in harm's way, and that is it exactly what you do when doing stupid shit like that. Riding across the bridge all whacked out and shit was pretty awesome though.

an excerpt from a letter I received two nights ago from my ex-lover/why i totally suck

the party was really really fun until I left without saying goodbye. I am going to do laundry this morning, after I burn some sage.

"if you intend to make a scene and throw things around and kick doors until they are falling of their hinges, I cannot be around you. If you cannot find a place to be calm when you are around me, we cannot be friends. I understand you are let down and disappointed with me but you have no right to behave with me as you did today. I never ever deserved this sort of treatment and I do not deserve to be treated this way now. I will not allow our interactions to ruin another event."

an excerpt from a letter I just wrote my ex-lover/why i hate crystal meth

"I don't know why I am writing this. I already know it won't change anything in your life, or between us. Maybe this is just a letter to make myself feel better, to know that I have tried to help... but it's not my responsibility, as much as I wish it were. I know that I either have to accept you as how you are because that is never going to change, or move on. Either option sucks so much and the thought of either has made me burst into tears. I hate thinking that I'm going to lose you first as a boyfriend, and then as a friend because it hurts me too much (which then turns to irrational anger) to see you destroy yourself, but do I have any other options? NO."

I Found a New Way to Have Pork

I read this article a few months back in the Wednesday Times Food section:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/16/dining/16ital.html?n=Top/Reference/Times%20Topics/Subjects/F/Food

In preparing a delightful summer pasta I came across the exact secret ingredient, guanciale, that they were talking about in that article.

I made a really delicious pasta with braised chicken thighs, guanciale, summer vegetables and herbs, and a bit of parmigiano tonight. It will be just as good cold tomorrow.

I feel so happy now that I don't really remember being anything BUT a happy person brimming with ideas I can't wait to execute.

Moving into a new space, having space of my own--a fucking HOME--has been the most amazing thing to happen to me in so long.

To those of you reading, we're on the home stretch now!!!

The Nicest Thing Anyone Has Ever Said to Me

"Your ass is the genetic equivalent of a twelve inch dick."

Something Very Important

I've realized that I'm taking cymbalta for a reason... If I go off it, I go completely nutty. It happened to me again in the past month. I was really depressed anyway and figured that if I stopped taking it maybe I'd get my sex drive back at least, but instead I was subject to wild mood swings--from bad to worse. I didn't want to write about it, nor did I talk to friends about it, family; I isolated myself as best I could. I realized I was reaching an all-time low and thoughts were entering my head that never had before. I have a great lesbian therapist and that combined with resuming the cymbalta seemed to help, or rather, I woke up one day and decided to attract positive energy again. PHEW! More later. I'm trying to get to bed after such a crazy, wild weekend (I will post stories soon) but I can't stop thinking. I can barely keep my eyes open but my brain is wide awake. As usual. I keep trying to tell myself I control my brain, not the other way around, but the brain seems to be winning tonight...

OK I'm Feeling Better Now

I've had a great weekend. I have had tons of sex in the past week. All of it was fantastic. I had not had great sex since January. It's pretty great. I feel motivated enough to start pursuing my dreams again. WOO!

One of my Greatest Fears

Is that I'm boring. This was confirmed today when I last minute canceled a plan to go to a big radical faerie gathering for May Day which takes place on one of their compounds, Short Mountain in Tennessee. Maybe I am secretly boring, and I just go-go dance and turn tricks and do porn and work in fashion and art to make myself more interesting, and once all my friends figure this out, and also that I am pure evil on the inside trying to be nice on the outside, they will hate me along with the rest of the world.

It's one of those days. It's been a while since I've had one this severe.

It's raining. I want it to be sunny and pretty.

TONIGHT: THE OFFICIAL RELEASE PARTY OF SQUEEZEBOX THE MOVIE

This is a busy weekend for me... I will be go go dancing here tonight as well, and the getup will be a little more trashy punk rock n roll glam whore than what we're used to these days... Damon Demarco is coming over beforehand and we're doing each other's smoky eye.

TONIGHT: THE COCK & RENTBOY

SAVE THE DATE: This Thursday, April 24th--Rentboy's Hodown at the Cock

I Had Pork Six Ways Today

1.  In a BLT, and A on whole wheat with mustard, mayonnaise, red onion.

2.  The cubes of bacon in the sauteed bok choy.

3.  The Canadian ham wrapping the Mayan prawns.

4.  The Berkshire pork belly in the ramen.

5.  The Berkshire pork neck in the ramen.

6.  The pork broth of the ramen.

SATURDAY, April 26th

Best Week Ever

So far this week, I have had tacos EVERY day, I got a new tattoo, and my new mattress was delivered.   AMAZING.  I upgraded from full to queen (insert joke here) and splurged on a Tempur-Pedic® Deluxe.  Fucking hell.  I've never been in a more comfortable bed (besides the celebrity bed and the ultimate bed, at $3500 and $6000 respectively).  AND it has a twenty year warranty.  I am so stoked!  I feel alert and fresh this morning (last night was my first night sleeping with my bed--notice I say sleeping WITH my bed, not ON my bed.  Such is the magic of Tempur-Pedic®.

I Keep Missing

therapy, which is troubling. The other day, I showed up for therapy five minutes early. I was very proud of myself. My habit of being late for everything is one of the reasons why I'm there, late. In any case, I arrive five minutes early. I wait for a bit, fall asleep for an hour, wake up, and realize it's WEDNESDAY not THURSDAY. The next week, and I shit you not, I forget it's Thursday, and think it's Wednesday and miss it again. At my next session, we decided I would set a weekly alarm on my iPhone so I wouldn't forget. The next week I remembered when the alarm went off, vibrating my toe and making me giggle as I lay on my rooftop on a blanket soaking up the sun and huge bong tokes. I was forty minutes late, so I had to reset my weekly alarm forty minutes earlier. It now goes off at 4:31PM, Thursdays.

Mark Your Calendar: I'm Dancing at the Cock Tonight, April14th, "Twin Cheeks"

I just got asked to dance at the Cock tomorrow night, 29 2nd Ave in NYC... Stop by and say hi and tip me a $10 or $20. My buddy, DJ Josh Sparber will be spinning the tunes, I will be on top of the bar starting 1am doing dirty things.

March 24

I woke up and turned a trick, then met my ex-boyfriend for an amazing lunch at the Spotted Pig. We shared deviled eggs, a dozen oysters, a fried duck egg and bacon salad, and pan fried calves liver with crispy pancetta, all washed down with a couple pints of speckled hen beer. I started crying during the calves liver because he left me. Then we shared a cheese plate. Then I went home and cried some more, slept off some of my food coma, and got ready to meet my best girlfriend and her boyfriend for dinner at Blue Ribbon Bakery. We toasted over a bottle of Veuve Cliquot and proceeded to share a dozen oysters, steamed clams, roasted whole garlic, roasted chorizo, and a green bean salad, and I followed that with some sweetbreads with a grilled onion compote and fennel and herb salad. This was followed by ordering every dessert off the menu and a nice cognac. After that, I ran home, douched myself clean and met a trick that wanted to be fisted. I fisted him and fucked him, then fisted and fucked him, then he fucked me, then I fisted him, then he fucked me till he came, apologizing that he usually lasted longer. Then I went home and to bed, by myself. Happy Birthday.

Hey Y'all

Yes. It is me. I have decided to write again, mostly because I was described as a porn star and blogger recently in an email blast. I have been thinking about writing again (it seems that it is more interesting for all parties involved to write this thing when I'm single, so here goes, starting with my birthday, in which I turned 27. CRAP. This year I decided my (Cory's) birthday was March 27. The Cory generally known as someone else's birthday is March 24. Let's start with March 24th, shall we?

Pics from SPIT Last Night

To Those of you who made it, thanks so much!  I hope you had as much fun as I did.  To those who didn't make it, here is some of what you missed.  It was hard to control myself around such a sexy bear!!!  PS can you tell I'm totally tripping in the photos?  Christ.  Plushie woke up with such a hangover he could barely move.  Word of advice:  well tequila shots and mushrooms DO NOT mix.


Special thanks to Peter Lau, Paul Short, Andy and Patrick at Dirty Boy Video, Uncle Ming's, Menelik and the hot straight bartender in the jockstrap and bunny tail, Mike Smart, Mike Grimes, and Mark Jacobs as the sexiest chipmunk I've ever laid eyes on.  Mark, when do you return the suit?

SPIT Wednesday Night, January 23rd PLUSHIE SCHWARTZ

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For Those of You That Didn't Make it to "HoDown" by rentboy.com at the Cock Last Thursday. . .

This is some of what you missed. That's Carlos Morales and me on the bartop doing our thang, before we did each other's things. I kid, I kid, or am I?

STEVE CRUZ, My Long Lost Gay Brother

did the best interview on me EVER. Check it out. . .

Rentboy's "HoDown!" at the Cock

This is super late to post but I'm dancing at the Cock again in approximately three hours for Rentboy's "HoDown!" I have no idea why they asked me to do dance for this particular party. I kid, I kid. I have some very exciting news to tell y'all about but I'll wait until tomorrow.

TONIGHT! SUNDAY at the Cock

If you're out and about stop by the Cock on 2nd Ave and 2nd St and say hello. I go on around 1am.

To Fill Everyone In on Recent Events Part I

I went to SF to shoot a porn. Very succesful I must say. Jake Deckard is my favorite porn star ever. Next to me. He directed our scene, "our" being Tober Brandt's and mine. Tober is my second favorite porn star ever. It was literally the most laid-back shoot I've ever had. We laughed and joked the whole time, plus I got a major leg workout, OH and my hole worked over. Shocking, I know. The rest of my trip was really great. I met some really quality people, more quality people than I met when I lived there, actually. Funny how that works. Can't wait for the movie to come out, and y'all shouldn't be able to wait either. It's hot!!! Pics to follow. . .

HARRY POTTER SUCKS

My ass looks like the face of someone ugly.

Did I mention the bug bites my ass accrued whilst in the Hamptons two weeks ago? They look even better now on my white ass. They're almost the same color as my red fucking thighs and back. Who wants to bet that I'll wake up with a hemorrhoid tomorrow?

(Finally) It's Happened to Me

I was in my mom's backyard today sunning myself reading the new Harry Potter book and lost track of time. My tan is so fierce until I turn around, exposing a red red red back and for the first time in my life, red red red red motherfucking thighs. The small bikini protected my ass. I am going to look so funny on film. NOT THE LOOK two days before your comeback porno.

I used to quietly pride myself on being an atypical porn star. I'd secretly laugh at the guys with Hitler moustache pubeys and bright red skin from the tanning bed. I bought a body trimmer two days ago when I was at Target with my mom (HOW GAY) and now this. . . All I can ask now is

1. When are my steroids going to kick in?

2. When will I do my first fisting movie?

3. When will I do my first bareback movie?

Those are the only two I mean three things that can happen at this point, right?

4. Where will my first large tribal piece be located?

So I was wrong. Let's think here, there must be other, funnier things I left out.

5. ??? Help me out dear readers. . .

Bakersfield Gay Bar UPDATE

I am already feeling smothered by the texts that said trick is sending me.

Bakersfield Gay Bar

Lesbians go out so much more in small towns. PS I'm back home now. I went to a gay bar last night and it was mainly lesbethnic. So hot. And they come in packs. Also, I never realized that they came in so many different sizes. There'd be a group of girls, all looking like Da Brat, and they would range it height from 6'0" to 4'11", I shit you not, and there would be five of them, all dressed like Da ("All juiced up/that comes naturally") Brat.

The music was pure, unadulterated, guilty pleasure hip hop and pop. The lesbians ground like nothing I've seen before. I was extremely disappointed that none of the janky trannies did runway.

There was slim pickings for me, but the bartender I used to hump was still bartending. My sister found the two straight guys in the bar (some things run in the family), her boyfriend set me up with the hottest guy there, and we went back to my sister's to hang out, drink dirty martinis, smoke Marlboro Reds and pot, skinny dip, whirlpool bath, and discover that the hottest guy in the bar I brought home not only had a dirty ass (but a cute one), but a teeny tiny dick. Recounting the events to my boyfriend (I mean ex) today, he asked me why I didn't check his dick at the bar, like I usually do.

Today, I Realized Two Things

If I were straight I'd totally go for extreme blondes (as I did when I dated girls). Some things don't change.

I am a total fucking tramp.

So Exciting!!!

I am working my ass off daily before I leave for California. And I got dumped. I promptly changed the date of a big shoot I had today to tomorrow. OH, and I had to style it and cast the seven girls (one has been shot, fresh faces story) too. This has barely left me any time to mourn over being dumped, or get fucked repeatedly. JUST KIDDING!!! Can't wait to see my family.

Maybe I Should Try Being Nice to People Who Love Me

I pissed the shit out of my boyfriend. Again. He dumped me over the phone. At 9am. As I was waking up with a hangover.

TACOS!!!

I wanted a taco for lunch today but they stopped making them at 4pm. I got a salad instead. It was gross and not fulfilling.

Also, a coworker and I were discussing how we share the same john. He's a bit creepy. Surprise.

I Look Like One of Them Now

And it gets me laid more often.

My Idea is Your Idea

This has never happened to me but apparently it's really common:

You tell someone an idea. Lay it out for them. In detail. And then they spout it back at you, verbatim, like it's theirs.

You think, "Maybe they're just retarded."

You call and leave a detailed voicemail for them about something. For instance, "Hey dude, let's move the shoot to next week, there's a 50% chance of rain tomorrow and I don't want to chance it. If we could move it to Monday or Tuesday that would work really well for me. Let me know if that works for you. Sorry about this, just want to be safe rather than sorry."

The phone call back is this: "Hey dude, so I hear it's going to rain tomorrow. I think we should move the shoot. How about next week? Monday or Tuesday? Are you around? Is this OK? I just don't want the shoot to be rained out tomorrow. Better safe than sorry, right?"

Right. In these situations, as my boyfriend has told me, all you can do is say yes, and smile because you're getting everything you wanted.

Dirty Italians

So I'm go-go dancing at Big Lug some Saturdays ago. This very hot, small, furry furry furry Italian guy is eyeing me and being very direct and forward. He's hot, I'm getting hot, I say, wait till my boyfriend gets here. The boyfriend gets there. He realizes that, SURPRISE! it's the guy he was flirting with last night that kept on saying, "Wait till you see my boyfriend."

Needless to say, we take him back home. We do it. Like mad. Everyone's dick is in everyone's ass and mouth, one or two at a time. And it's protected. Shocking.

Fast forward. Monday. Trying to arrange some fun for the BF and me. We have two separate appearances we could make. I get back from appointments, he says, "Honey, I think we have the clap."

Today. Get call from doctor. Sure enough, it's not only the clap, but Chlamydia too. Fucking Hell. Those tourists!!!

The best is that maybe ten days prior to this, I had gotten a full screening and was totally clean. Dirty Italians.

First STD since I moved to NYC, and that was over three years ago. What s more shocking, that I didn't have an STD for three years, or that I got it from a Dirty Italian?

Don't I Know You?

Walking down 8th Ave to get a cup of coffee at a coffee shop other than Starbuck's today, I realized that all gay men look the same. I come to this realization every day at least twice. Sometimes, I pretend like I know everyone that looks like someone I think I might know, or have met, because I can't really tell the difference between people I know, people I've met, and people I think I know. Sometimes, I ignore them all and you know what? Either way, I don't think any of us notice a difference.

WHOA

I'm not sure quite why I feel like writing this again. Maybe it's because I'm revving up to start doing porn again. Maybe it's because I had raucus, dirty, hot sex all weekend with my hot boyfriend and others. Maybe I'm truly becoming comfortable in my skin (at least MORE comfortable). Or maybe I just want more attention.

I'm tired. Have a boner. Sore ass. I learned something last night. Expect a sore ass if you're going to do the whole "get fucked by a huge nicely curved thick cock with absolutely no lube or spit" trick. Yeah. Didn't realize, for some reason, that that could hurt. I guess every other time I've done it my ass has already been a little greasy already. Maybe it was just slimey with discharge. I kid, I kid!!!

To bring things up to date for all you kiddies who have been awaiting my return to blogland, I still live in New York City. I still work in fashion, but I am doing much more freelance. It is going well. I am building my name up, and no, that name is not Cory. I started working part time at a clothing shop in Chelsea just because I didn't feel like I was working enough. I am also dancing occasionally. I think it might be a good idea if I start posting when I'll be dancing around the 'hood so y'all can stop by and GIVE ME MONEY cuz I'm still broke.

I still have lots of free jeans. More than ever, actually. It's a bit scary. Freaks my boyfriend out. Would sell them on ebay but I'm not responsible enough to think for a second that I am able to ship things in a timely manner, so I've been thinking about selling things at a consignment store, but once again, don't think I'm responsible enough to consign (???). I've got a lot of sneakers too. And more!!! Thanks for all the suggestions.

I have a new boyfriend. He's amazing. The others pale in comparison. I think he is the reason that I'm getting comfortable with my big ol' slutty self again, finally. We're very compatible. We've been together for over a year now, and that is actually the longest I've gone without breaking up and getting back together on and on etc. Or at least breaking up for more than a day. You know what I mean More on him later, but you must know he gets so many kudos for sticking with me despite my, ahem, Sybil moments.

I'm still one of the most difficult people I know. Supposedly I'm worth it. So I've been told.

I miss me!

Free Jeans

This is what I have to look forward to in life: Free Jeans. As I work at a magazine, and as I work in fashion, I basically work for free. As a fashion editor, though, the perks are free things, commonly referred to as swag by everyone else but me. These things, this shit, as I like to call it, consist of but are not limited to, XL t-shirts (hi, faggot fashion editors are not XL), rapper alarm clocks, ugly shoes, canvas tote bags, small bottles of new PREMIUM liquor, and last but not least, Free Jeans. I get so many goddamned jeans I could clothe fucking Africa in original selvedge ringspun Japanese denim. Most of them look the same, too, and strangely, jeans in the $100-$200 range are much nicer than jeans in the $300-$500 range, which consist mostly of such hand-finished details as hand-painted whiskers, hand-stitched back pockets, embroidered bullshit, resin coating, hand-painted whiskers ON TOP of 3-D whiskers, hand-sanding, hand-holing, and hand-balling (FUCK YEAH! [oh that's a joke BTW]). Today, I got a free pair of jeans AND an XL electric blue pima cotton t-shirt. And tonight, after the parties I'll probably have an additional free pair of pumps! Throw this in and a salary that amounts to barely above minimum wage, and you get a grumpy ass man. As I was telling a cute, yet not so smart friend of mine, "I literally make my salary a year in free shit."

"Coooool!" he replied.

"No, not cool dude, I make less than my rent a month."

"Oh dude, sorry. So what do you do with all that free stuff?"

Satan

So I'm going down in an elevator in Midtown, and this woman gets on at the next floor, one of those New York ladies, please excuse my Californian ignorance but she could have been from Jersey, Queens, Long Island, they all kinda sound the same to me, she's this kind of permed, acrylic manicured, yet jogging suit, plastic furniture, and macrame plant holder holding carefully tended geraniums type of lady, but not so much that she's fantastic, really, just an ordinary lady, who happens to be checking me out, head to toe, shirt, pants, shoes, hair, facial hair, eyes, eyebrows, scowl, bulge, tilt the head and try to get an outline of the ass, tilt the head more to fully stare at tattoos. After a while of this, and of me staring straight at her wondering why the fuck she's looking at me like this with some weird glazed expression of happiness, and why her head is so tilted and so fixated on my arm, probably wondering about that devil holding a bichon frise number on my right forearm, her face registers an epiphany of sorts. Nineteen floors to go.

"You're goin' for that devil look, aren'tcha?" she asks me, satisfied.

I make out a fickle chuckle and mumble "Uh huh," confusedly. I am in the elevator with a work person that I just met, trying to be polite and pleasant.

"Well, it LOOKS GOOD. Lookin' good," she smiles, even more satisfied.

I was slightly offended at first; my demeanor softened considerably after she paid me this compliment.

So Reactionary

I hate and love it when people leave comments. I always think that they should leave their opinions to themselves, but I guess I shouldn't be particularly entitled to have one either then. I should be a dictator. That's the only way I could be happy I think. So what kind of typical mid twenties shit is that, motherfuckers? ? ?

This is Really Hard for Me Now

I just don't want to write about my life. I'm afraid it's because I'm ashamed of it, even though from a typical moral viewpoint my life is least shameful now than it's ever been. I don't want you to know what's going on inside my head or am I just projecting?

Every Time I Say I Resume Posting. . .

I don't! However, now that I'm not as exhibitionistic in my real life, I figure it's time to be somewhat exhibitionistic in my faux life, especially since I haven't done any movies in a while.

As some of you may know, although I don't know how any of you would know, I'M BORING NOW. I got back together with my ex that I had so many lovely things to write about in the past, well, not write about, but reference, I suppose. I moved back in, and we built a walk-in closet and he's talking about getting a dog. I'm thinking about subscribing to Martha Stewart. I read Gourmet every month. I've dabbled with raw foods. Now instead of cruising the internet for sex, I cruise Design Within Reach for lighting solutions. I think, "Moving to New Jersey wouldn't be bad, it's only fifty minutes away from the city by train, and I could have a big garden where I could grow nasturtiums, bearded irises, maybe some heirloom tomato varietals. I'm thinking about partial castration.

I work, although I make no money working. It's very odd, to be legit now, and to work more, and get less. So annoying.

I go-go dance once a week so I don't feel too square. Sometimes I don't go into work until noon.

I try to stay away from dairy.

I have a gut.

Soymilk doesn't taste as good as whole milk to me.

I wear the same black stretch jeans every day.

I have a mullet.

I eat lots of granola, sometimes with soymilk, sometimes with sheepsmilk yogurt.

Sometimes I eat sheepsmilk yogurt with raw cashews, almonds, pumpkin seeds, a bit of pure maple syrup, sprouted flax seeds, and a quick grate of fresh nutmeg. Nothing really beats the aromatic qualities of fresh-ground nutmeg. It's also essential on bolognese sauce.

Explanation/Don't Call it a Comeback

It's been a while since I've written anything here, but I've been busy, and I've been doing a lot of thinking, as I will explain. I've had some life changes (scientology, sobriety, celibacy [fuck, I love alliteration, it's my one of my favorites]) and then I woke up and realized that nope, it's still the same ol' me.

To make long, boring stories less long and less boring, I'll just sum things up quickly: I believe that me writing this blog has hurt my career in porn and as a performer. I have mentioned names in this blog and given my opinions about things that other people have taken out of context and used against me. I read an article about a woman who worked as a beauty editor at a magazine and had a blog (anonymous, mind you, not like this one where my name [name?] is all over it) where she wrote some things about the beauty/fashion/magazine industry, and when people found out who she was, guess what happened? That's right folks, she was fired! Fortunately, for me, as a freelance porn model, I can't really get fired from anything, especially since my fifteen minutes is over and there are no upcoming offers, but I believe that if it wasn't over before now, it is now. I have, on this blog, never set out to hurt anyone or defame any names, let alone my own, and I feel I have done that, and foolishly so. I am not proud of that. In short, I've underestimated what written words can do, much like I've underestimated what starring in gay fuck films can do. I think I have inadvertently burned some bridges. I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, and I've tried not to dwell on it as it probably won't be very significant one way or the other.

Now that I have that off my chest, I would like to set the record straight about Raging Stallion. For any of you that have taken any of my posts as depicting Raging Stallion in a less than rosey light, let me tell you that of all the companies I've worked for, I can say that I've enjoyed working with them the most, and I mean that. I feel that they have taken a chance with me that no other studio has been willing to do. I've always had a great time making movies with them, and I think they've showcased me the best. My favorite movies are all Raging Stallion. I have a personal aesthetic that is very strong and very important to me. I've always said that my top three attributes (in no specific order) are my eyes, my ass and my hair. That's all. I wouldn't have liked it if I had to put fake colored contacts or if they made me seat on a wicker chair naked before a scene either.

I think I have cleared all that up now. Now, I have to say that we all need to take this a little less seriously. I write everything tongue in cheek, with a SENSE OF HUMOR. It's meant to be a joke. Cory Koons is a personality, not a person. Cory likes to have a piss take. He likes to push people's buttons. He's obnoxious, a little annoying at times. He's a total sex pig pervert. He likes to have a good time. He's not a drug addict my any means. He's not insensitive or mean or bitchy or racist or stupid at all. He's pretty fucking smart, he just has a strong opinion about things that generally differ from other peoples'. His point of departure isn't Jenna Jameson or Jeff Stryker, but Jeff Koons or fuck I don't know, ask him.

So, nice to be back, assholes! Hope ya missed me! Plus, my life has been so crazy that I have to talk about it to someone, somewhere, and it's not like I have any friends I haven't alienated already! ! !

I had such an eventful week, I don't know where to start

So much happened last week that I honestly don't even know where to start. I feel like last week really announced the return of Cory Koons, even though I'm thinking about renaming him Corky Goons. Last week was one of those hyperactive, busy as hell, about to fall over and die, totally lose it, coming down with a cold, wearing five hats, working during the day and in nightclubs, etc. Crazy it was. I started to snap. And I'm sure that you can all imagine that me snapping is no small thing nor is it very pleasant for those involved. So upsetting. OK, I lie, it wasn't upsetting. It felt great, every single person that gave me a reason, forced me to lose my temper, IT FELT AMAZING. I really wish I did it more often. Just thinking about it now makes me hope that the dry cleaning fucked up my Alexander Mcqueen sweater. I'm a bad person. I'm a bad person. I'm a bad person. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. . .

I Love LA

I'm in LA, and I have to say, I kinda like it more than NYC, although that's no big surprise to me. It's been really nice. For instance, yesterday: I styled a shoot yesterday at the Roosevelt Hotel with a photographer friend I had been working with over the weekend.

I knew it was going to be good when we met up with the publicist, who, after shaking my hand, said "Nice beads. Could you wear any more?" to which I replied, "I've got three more strands in my bag just in case I start to feel naked," to which he replied, "I've got some too--these are all Tibetan--I made it myself but then I got it blessed by my teachers from Tibet and wow I just can't wait for them to come out here because these men are so spiritual and righteous and I'm in soo good with them and pretty soon they're going to introduce me to their teachers and. . ." He went on to talk about his teachers and his teacher's teachers for twenty minutes and honestly I couldn't have given a shit less, and neither could my friend, but god, what an LA moment. Did I mention that we went to the Coffee Bean right before that?

After the shoot, we lounged by the pool for a bit and "Candy" struck up conversation with us. She was a rich bitch for sure, and kept on asking us if we were cameramen, for some reason. Even after Sam explained he was a photographer, she didn't really seem to get it. Her daughter was going to a casting, her 10-year-old daughter, whom EVERYONE says should be a model or an actress, but she just doesn't know yet, and describing her outfit, which was a red polka-dot Jil Sander dress with red polka-dot Marni pumps with bows. She couldn't believe that I knew what Marni was, and after she asked me if I was a cameraman and I told her I was a stylist, she seemed to understand a bit more. When she asked me who my favorite designer was I named off about ten amazing Belgian and Japanese designers that she's never heard of. She then got on her cell phone and walked around the pool in her Chanel bikini and coverup and sunglasses and her Costume National ("Do you like my shoes? They're Costume National! NO ONE knows who they are but I think they're FABULOUS!") cork platform spike heel slides. BY THE POOL, PEOPLE.

This all made me realize that the world really is full of douchebags, and I'm just as big a douchebag as the next. Realistically though, I'm a bigger douchebag than most, a douchebag amongst douchebags, so have you, because most douchebags don't know that they're douchebags, yet I can recognize the douchebaginess in someone a block away, yet I still play the game. I hope it's good for something other than material, because I think I've made a certain lapse in judgment in my self-worth and the contribution I could be making to society.

But sheeit, I put cute outfits together, I'm hot, and my asshole just lights up in front of the camera with a big dick in it, and maybe that's more than most people, right?

Guess I'll Just Eat Worms

Here and I think it was about me complaining a lot, but I'm not sure any more. Right now, all I can think of is that I'm kinda pissed that my friend Angela postponed brunch for fifteen minutes which means that even though I was running on time, now I'll write this, lay around, and then be an extra fifteen minutes late. It also forced me to write something here. Hmmmm. . .Should I get stoned right now?

OH, something really funny happened. I should totally put my foot in my mouth, but why should I start now? Remember when I was talking about that porn star cruise and how it kinda sucked? Well, now you can read all about it. I feel like such an asshole!
Kindly read the comments. Ouch. Hope I didn't burn any bridges. Damn. Pretty soon it's gonna be me, and me. Way of the Samurai.

Have I mentioned I'm broke? There I go complaining again. . .

Did I tell y'all lately that breakups are really hard? Oh wait, that COULD be constituted as complaining.

OK, well, I'm gonna have brunch now. Have I mentioned that I'm getting mildly obsessed with straight porn lately? More on that later.

OK, This May Be Bitchy

but if y'all want to e-mail me about a blog related topic, please just post a comment rather than e-mailing it to me. This goes to all my friends too. What ends up happening is me writing the same shit over and over again.

And on another, less bitchy (ha ha ha) tangent: breakups suck. I'm heartbroken, and it sucks. If only I could hate him like I have all the others. . .

You Ever Wake Up Like You Just Did Lots of Smack?

And I wouldn't even know what that's like, and that's how I feel. I can relate it closest to when I take too much Vicodin, Norco, Tylenol w/ Codeine, etc. and wake up the next day feeling like, "Wait a minute, what goes up must come down and I guess that's why I feel like sick shit." That's how I feel right now.

I slept on my couch last night to let my girlfriend and her boyfriend fuck in my bed. The sheets had been clean until the night before (I had changed my fuck sheets so that she wouldn't have to sleep on them, but then she hasn't been staying at my place, and I got REALLY lucky the other night) but were filthy. I was going to change them again but then realized she's probably a shooter and pussy excretions apparently are worse for sheets than cum.

I think my problem is that I like my sheets chocolate brown, slate grey, dark burgundy. . .it's like towels--I love white towels and white sheets, don't get me wrong, but I just can't do for myself. Can't do it. Can't. And then every bit of cum just glows on them and threatens to bleach them out. And it's not like I sleep on anything less than 350 thread count. I'm getting used to combed Egyptian cotton but really I still prefer pima cotton, I don't give a shit what anyone else says.

Then, you throw in lube stains (I can't help it if I like silicone-based more and that's the shit that stains) and the odd poppers spill here and there, and my sheets are looking real ghetto. One last word, Calvin Klein Home bedding--total ripoff.

Who wants to go to Bed, Bath, and Beyond with me today?

Honestly

Right now I really want to write something, but I know that I'm getting picked up at should be here by now and I'm just writing this because I didn't have time earlier due to a houseguest so I'm trying really hard to rack my brain trying to write something right now so I thought I would just write about that but these tricks can only be undertaken every so often so I should really be saving them for when my life actually is boring and there's nothing to write about versus being too lazy to edit down what has happened since I've last been typing this shit.

I will say that the haircut I got in San Francisco sucked and I'm going to have to get it fixed by my hairdresser here in New York (I just blew it out and it looks kinda funny, and not in a good way. I got the haircut three weeks ago and by this time Richard's haircuts look better than they did when he first cut it, instead I once again look like an old lady with a set hairdo).

And on another note, I've had pretty amazing sex two days in a row, and it's real nice. I'm actually in a better mood, and my skin looks better (or maybe it was my $50 tanning session and no it wasn't spray on OMG I totally forgot! ! !)

SO, I FINALLY JUST REMEMBERED THIS FUNNY THING THAT HAPPENED TO ME(and my friends aren't here to pick me up yet so I must write on. . .the powers of writing about nothing!)--I went to this tanning place next to my gym the other day. I already have a tanning package over at another place, with a low-pressure stand-up bed, but in SF I had a high-pressure tan session and it was amazing. I also had one in Bakersfield, CA after I got back from Hawaii and I swear to god it was the darkest I've ever been. Anyways, so they have this bed that's $59 a session, but the package was buy five get two free get three free today as a thanks for joining and you get ten percent off for working out at crunch so after deliberation I decided to go for it (and also I had a date with a very hot very sexy mixed black/native american/irish man last night and didn't want people to look at us funny ha ha ha oh I know that's terrible) and I invested the most money I've ever spent in my life all in one big tanning shebang so as I'm signing my C/C slip I see a bottle of tanning shit that has a name on it, "Corey Feldman." I chuckle, think it's a joke, and ask the lady if it's for real. She kinda tells me to shush and says "He's right there behind you."

WHOA! ! ! I don't know about you, but that's a whole lotta dreamboat Cory/Corey action goin' on over there at California Tans. Fuck man, my dirty little tanning secret is out, and Corey Feldman is plastered all over it.

Going Postal

I DJd last night, got home around 3, was half-heartedly looking for action, but I knew where my heart lay: the new Harry Potter. You see, I get mildly obsessed with books when I'm reading them. It never takes me weeks to finish them. Instead, I go nuts, think I'm one of the characters (Harry and I do have a lot in common) and prioritize the book above and beyond everything else. So, at 3am last night, I quickly finished up the last 150 or so pages. I woke up with a hangover too, which was a little annoying, but more on that later.

There was a doorbell ring around 1130. In my slumber, knowing I was the only one home and that it could be my girlfriend that is staying with me right now, I threw some shorts on and went to the door. Dogs all barking crazy and shit. Not too happy about it. No one is there. I don't want to say anything too racially offensive, but I think we're all familiar with the term used to describe, um, ringing someone's doorbell without having any intention of being in front of the door when they open it. I came outside, called out "Hello" a couple times, was pissed, went back to bed.

I'd say, oh, enough time later for me to close my eyes and start to drift off to sleep, the doorbell rings again. By now, I'm pissed. I grab the same shorts, buckle the belt (remember this for later), and go to the door. It's the mail lady. With a parcel. For the next house over. I start muttering something bitchy about how when you ring someone's doorbell you wait for them to answer and probably said some real cunty things. I'm not really a morning person, and fuck, I was up late reading Harry Potter. Doesn't she know that. She walks away, I slam the door, and then I hear her exclaim "ASSHOLE" from the window. I get offended by this, which is funny because I was being an asshole, come back outside, and start going off, like did you call me an asshole did I hear you right I'm sorry last time I checked an asshole was someone who [knocks and runs] and then she turns to me, looks down, and says, "Your dick is hanging out of your pants. Why don't you put it back in? That's nasty. ASSHOLE!"

Hiatus

As some of you may have noticed, I haven't been writing here very often lately. My trip to SF took a bit of a toll on me and I have wanted to shun the sex industry ever since. However, since I'm actually starting to get somewhere with it and I've come this far, I guess I should stick with it.

Basically, the movie we shot was starring me as the only bottom in the movie, but getting back to the plot, the only bottom in the ID Lube Warehouse. I get plowed by everyone, basically. It was pretty nasty. Kinda hardcore. Mildly humiliating. It was supposed to emulate straight gang bang movies where the guys just use the girl and you can kinda tell the girl is freaking out and not enjoying herself, really being used. Not stuff to write home to mother about. I choked on lots of cock, almost hurled probably 20 times, and that was only the first day. Whatever gag reflex I had has been knocked out of the way, literally. It was kinda hot, but after four days of it, it was starting to wear. I had bruises on my knees, my shins, my ankles, a slap mark on my ass, etc.

My self-esteem was shot down quite a bit during the whole movie. Before I threw a diva temper tantrum when I found out I was being forced to cut my hair (I understand it was better for the character to look more conventional now) for the movie but after I found out I had to share a room, the director of the movie didn't even recognize me, and throughout the shoot, he said things to the other stars like "This is gonna get you nominated for a Grabby! Amazing!" meanwhile I guess I was just chopped liver. I also learned that people were fighting for me to be on the cover, as apparently the movie is already a fetish-type movie and my presence on the cover would do nothing but keep it sitting on the shelves. A blow to the ol' ego, in other words.

After doing this shit for over a year, constantly getting good press and rave reviews, deciding to work with more open-minded less commercial studios, I am still too "edgy" or "ethnic" or whatever they want to call it now.

I was starting to feel emotionally damaged. Me? Damaged? Issues with Sex? Weird. It's now been, oh geez, over two weeks, and I've had pretty regular sex, and the only time I wasn't paid for it in some way, I couldn't get hard and couldn't go on with it. Weird, right? I think I'm getting better though.

I have my FUCK YOU attitude back (and more on that in about five minutes). I forgot that I'm better than this shit, and that I shouldn't be upset with the rules when I've always known they were shit and I've never wanted to play by them. So I'm not. Nothing's changed, I haven't changed, and I'm not changing anything, IT'S JUST PORN.

So Much Has Happened

I don't really know what to write.

I filmed a movie in SF. More on that later.

I'm trying not to talk shit. Plus, I'm over it now. I need a break. This is the first time I've done a movie and felt emotionally exhausted afterwards.

As a result, the last thing I want to do is pour more of my damaged self onto the blog, even though I am doing it anyways. Fun times.

Lates.

 

I Can't Tell if this is Messy or Not

So I was on the Bad Boys on the Hudson cruise yesterday, one of Will Clark's fundraisers. I was glad that it was a fundraiser for something good, I think, some sort of anti-gay violence thing ha ha ha ha, which I think is a more noteworthy cause then the last fundraiser I helped Will Clark out with which I think was to give broke showtune queens dying of aids one last chance to see their Broadway favorites or something like that. To cope with all my, ahem, fame, and the stimulating people around me, I had to get extremely drunk. This led to me crumping (I've been very inspired by David LaChappelle's Rize lately) and circuit dancing, to the horror of my friend Adam.

This led to a bar crawl involving the Maritime, the Park, and A.P.T. After all this, I decided it would be a good idea to go to the West Side Club to get fucked, so I did, but when I got there I realized I was too drunk, sleepy, and hungry to be any good. I decided that meth would be a good idea despite not liking it and not doing it in over three oh wait I mean a year. I found some coke, found some cock (and it was large and attached to a black man [see previous blog please]), he fucked me for an hour, I was starting to get tired again, he came, left, I was about to go back around the dump and shower and find more cock, but then next thing I know I look at my phone, it's 9am, and I've been asleep this whole time.

It was all just a dream!

I Just Realized I'm Getting Less Witty

Strange Waves

So as some of you know, last week was my week of the old-fashioned two dicks in one hole trick. This had nothing to do with me. Nothing. I didn't look for it, or ask for it. OK, I asked for it once, but, fuck, what were they waiting for?

This week, it's been my week of color. I've literally had sex with more hot, sexy, hung black men in the past week than I think I ever have. . .I don't understand why, or how, and it once again has nothing to do with me, but this is just how it's worked out.

I'm very excited to see what happens next week.

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

This is SO Funny

I was just about to write something here, but then realized that I should take a shower, as I should be on the subway right now back to Manhattan. I then decided that I should just take a cab, because I'm really lazy, and even though I'm broke, I might as well, because otherwise I'll never leave. It will even be hard for me to make the phone call.

I'm finally at home for more than thirty minutes at a time since Tuesday. It's really annoying. I like my house. There are dogs here that I have to house-sit right now, which is nice since my dog Rookie (aka The Bobie) was put to sleep yesterday, which is fine because he was old and not enjoying life. There. I said it. And "Flashdance" is on the Women Channel. I don't want to go. I don't want to go. And I don't really like showering anyways.

So Sorry

I always forget about this thing. To make up to all five of you that actually read this thing every now and then, I'm going to go back and make blog posts for every day that I've missed. I have a really shitty memory and tend to gloss things over though, so really, take everything with a grain of salt.

It's Been a Long Time

I actually forget that I have to write blogs now. It's good, though, I feel like it gives my life some sort of direction, meaning. I styled my friend Fredrick Ford's first music video yesterday, for his first single, a remake of "Too Funky." It was fun, if not slightly self-indulgent, as I made all the other porno boys (Johnny Hazzard, Arpad Miklos, Tony Serrano) try in and out of as many things as possible. It's times like those when I feel like a perv amongst pervs, if that makes any sense. When I'm an old man I better have lots of money so that I can, well, be pervy with young cute guys more easily. Hmmmm. . .What else is new? I can't sleep more than four hours at a time? That sucks. I still sleep on the floor? That sucks. I learned how to properly flatiron my hair? Fuckin' A, man. I've gone to the same bar in Williamsburg five nights in a row? Pathetic? Or is it becoming my Cheers, and what's wrong with that anyway? This is all I can handle right now. I need a cup of tea, but unfortunately, all that's here is earl grey, and though I'm a big fan of the essence of bergamot, I prefer it in scented candles.

Coming Out of the Dark

Baby Steps

I've decided to title every blog something really cheesy. Since I don't really feel like writing anything else, that astoundingly profound title will be all tonight.

New Beginnings

I had to title it that. It's just too cheezy to pass up. I now live in Brooklyn, which makes me feel like I need to shave and stop wearing scruffy sneakers, because if one more person says, "You look like you live in Williamsburg," I might scratch their eyes out with my Dior heels. On a negative note: the squealing mice in the oven. I still think they're kinda cute though. I wish I was a kitty.

May Day

Last night I had a dance off with a drag queen, and then when I got home played pinball with myself walking down the hallway, right before I went into the wrong bedroom and accosted a female roommate of mine with my naked body. Oops! I'd like to say that I regret drinking that much but I don't really remember. Boy am I lots of fun. I think I need to lay off the PCP. Just kidding, just kidding. What do you guys think I am? A mess?