I Know You're Reading This

How many of me are there out there?

CONFESSION TIME

I really love doing porn.  It turns me on a lot.  Why should I feel embarrassed or ashamed that I have gone out and done something that makes me feel great, look great, and I'm having some of the hottest sex on the planet.  and what I mean when I say that, I mean, gives me boners for days, weeks, months later.  Maybe it is the effect of the cult, Treasure Island Media, that I am now part of.  I have been thinking about things in terms of Daddy/Son type ways, and it's kinda like Treasure Island is the daddy, whoring his boys out to all his other boys.  When I was in SF I felt like Cory the whole time.  Cory can do things that Darren wouldn't do.  I've been telling myself to hold onto that feeling and carry it on.  Embrace Cory, don't be afraid of him.  Cory is kindofthe idealized, super slutty, version of me. 

It's hard not to think that this creation of Cory is his mind's way of not dealing with things he deems too painful to deal with, so for him to enjoy himself and relax and enjoy things a bit Cory has to come out and woooooEEEEEEooooooooo.

I Have a Problem with Authority

and I think I've been running away from something my whole life.  The something changes regularly.  Kinda funny, right, that I, of all people, would be afraid of feeling. 

My SF Trip (XXX)

Holy Fuck!  This wasn't so much a trip as it was a mentality, which I guess makes it a head trip?

First off, I will say I roomed wtih Jessy Karson.

Brad McGuire was in the room next door.

Jerry Stearns had some kind words to share with me after we met, the whole studio has been talking about what happened when we met. 

Treasure Island Exclusives are not randomly selected.  It was less like porn and more like sex than anything I have ever done with a video camera and lighting before.

And what can I say about the freedom being on vacation affords?  What happens when you walk into the Treasure Island Media/Naked Sword party at TRUCK you were supposed to be at, thirty minutes, and this immediately happens:

"you know, after our scene was finished, I wanted to fuck you so bad...  I went to your door but I heard voices and didn't want to bother you."

[ed. note: the voice was Jessy Karson, who would not have minded being interrupted, as he would have been happy to share me]

 

 your wish is granted.  no lube, no nothing.  just suck it till it's hard and wet and stick it in.  simple. 

 Sage Daniels is a dream and my biggest regret that weekend is that he only came inside me once.  I would happily be in his crotch for very, very long time.  And don't we look related?  

Brad McGuire is a dreamotherfuckingboat.  The first time (and every time thereafter) he put my head in his armpit, my knees went a little weak and I let out a low lecherous animal growl.  I'm pretty I sure I saw him chuckle a bit (and every time thereafter).  I am helpless.  The iciest, most piercing blue eyes.  Wolfy. 

I like my new family.

And, yeah, the huge poster behind us is Dawson and a puppy.

PORN ST☆R

It's really funny, right, how I feel it's OK to get buttfucked in front of you guys but it's not OK to talk about other things?  Like I'm a role model or something.

So I didn't write anything for a bit.

Now I'm a porn st☆r again.

I should start writing more.  Posting pictures.  Sexy.

I have sex all the time now, sheesh!  It's hot too.  SUPER HOT.  I should be sharing it with people.

I received a text from my sister the other day that she reads THIS VERY blog, which freaked me out. 

The things I post here, sometimes I re-read them, and I myself am shocked by the brutal honesty. 

To think, this is only a tiny fraction of my good behavior.

I am so fortunate to have family that loves me no matter what. 

But at the same time, I don't want to hear about what anyone's business in the bedroom.  I don't talk about my sex life, at least I don't elaborate on it as much as I do here.  Then again, I am not forcing anyone to listen or read.

It has become very clear to me what I have been doing for years.  I have been trying to whittle down the number, and intensity, of people that depend on me for anything.  Cutting my ties, obligations.  I received a text just a few minutes ago from a friend, that I should consider myself family now.  I started to text back, "Don't be surprised when I don't see you or talk to you for weeks, months, or years at a time now!"

Then I decided not to write back.

Shhh. It's a Secret

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Baseball Caps, Large Sunglasses, Wigs, Eyeglasses with Nose and Moustache

I had dinner with my ex-boyfriend/best friend/dad tonight.  We went to the same place we generally always go...  Grand Sichuan, some of the best Chinese in Manhattan, and a few blocks from his apartment.  We've been going there for over four years now together, Pony has been going there since he moved to NYC ten years ago...  It really is the best.  Recently the menus have become leather, bound, and fancy, and the prices have raised.  The robotic, super butch bull dyke Chinese waitresses have stayed the same. 

The restaurant was full of gays tonight.  The last table to be sat was by a hot, buff, dark, short, beardy guy, so Pony and I were on it and paying attention.  When his bespectacled dinner date showed up ten minutes later, and on the phone, he was not pleased.  Pony and I continued to talk and make up stories for every table in the restaurant.  Glasses/phone guy caught my glance twice, directly in the eye.  BAM, he's been staring at me.  OK.  Cool.  Outside the restaurant Pony and I discuss Hotbeardyguy and Friendonphonewithglasses.  I mention Friendonphonewithglasses checked me out.  Pony immediately says, "They recognized you."

"Really?" I wonder.

"Yeah.  It happens all the time," from Pone.

"No way.  I've never noticed people recognize me as Cory."

"It happens all the time.  I know it.  I can tell.  I see it."

I still don't believe it. 

I have a zit.

Do I want to be famous?  If so, why is the "real 'me'" more popular than me?  Does he want to be famous?  Who wants to be famous?  Who wants to be famous more?

Be irresponsible.  Don't make any money.

What is it that makes you tick?

Like.  I could be in jail for doing nothing, really!

I don't think people recognize me.  Depending on length of facial hair, length of hair, styling, specifically contact lenses vs. spectacles and baseball cap, I can be many different stories.  The tattoos are sort of distinctive.  But at the same time, I am always serving up Face.  Really though, I think people don't recognize me because I'm not really anything to recognize, but possibly, by a very small group of gay guys, which is more than I ever wanted to be recognized, I think...

You know this is like a rough draft of something else that I'm going to write later, right? 









 

I am an Addict

Maybe you have guessed I am head over heels in love currently.  My mind is literally exploding with lightning bolt idea after idea.  My lover has left town for work for a few weeks, so I will hopefully be able to execute them all in this time.

I  am returning to my art roots.  He is an artist.  We will make art together.  I have a dream again. 

And of course, it has made me conflicted about my porn career, which seems like it will be taking off again very shortly.  Shocking, right, since I tend to be a total uncompromising (in my morals) bad-ass?

I am making love again.  I forgot how amazing it is.  It's like having sex fucked up on crystal or crack.  I guess this is what is conflicting me:  My sexuality feels so BRIGHT right now, but it seems like male sexuality is becoming increasingly darker and darker.

 I do not equate hot sex with worshiping Satan.  I do not think my cum is the seed of Satan.  I guess part of it is that I do not believe in, well, um, ANY organized religion, but why can't my cum be the sweet nectar that unicorns like to lap up? 

I am aware I have a tattoo of Satan on my arm, but in my world Satan is a very dapper gentleman, perhaps a little fey, and he loves bichon frises. 

Here's a pic of me sucking his big fat dick (as if you had to ask).  It curves a bit up, is wider than it is deep, if that makes sense, and every time I choke on it, get it down my throat, tears streaming, throat slime everywhere, he makes these adorable noises like he can't even believe people can deep throat his dick like that.  And I'm sweating and gagging and gnawing on it with my molars, he kisses me and sucks the spit and precum out of my mouth and spits it back in mine, and it is so sweet and tender
and loving.  I think I'm going to paint it. 

All That!

And I barely got any extra attention!  WAH.  I guess I'll crawl into my bed where my lover lies sleeping.

My Baby Blanket

photo by Paul Sepuya

The Bubble Burst

I find myself practically in a relationship, in love against better judgment, with a boy.  

Shoot went well.  Apparently, I am like a "breath of fresh air."

We had our first lil' tiff, if you want to call it that, tonight.

My boy started complaining how his millionaire father doesn't give him enough money.  I mentioned maybe his dad should have died when he was eight so he could live off the life insurance (until it runs out your sophomore year of college)/(so your mom can buy a new house and promptly move in the boyfriend you hate and the boyfriend's son you hate even more, but the boyfriend's son has a dick, and he wants you to suck it, so you do because you are eleven and hot and horny and it is all you can get.  When you are not sucking your dick you are trying to make his head catch on fire or at least implode... layers of skin fall off to reveal mucles and tendons falling off to reveal bones and joints and...  SLUGS?  THAT IS WHAT WAS UNDERNEATH THERE?  SLUGS?) money, until it runs out before it is convenient for it to run out. 

I started doing that thing that one should never do.  What would my life be like now if my dad had never died.  I would be gay, that is for sure...  but I'm not sure if I would have pushed my boundaries of gayness as far as I did.  I don't think I would have pushed myself so far in any way.  It's so weird to understand my father never heard me play my sax (I studied with a jazz saxophonist for about ten years...  he wanted me to carry on the legacy of old jazz masters like himself) or bassoon (my bassoon teacher, the studio bassoonist for Disney, told me once of a fifteen year old girl [I was sixteen, and slacking hard] who was performing a bassoon concerto.  He told me that I had more musicality in my right pinkie than she had in her entire body and it killed him to know she was getting a concerto and I was fucking my talent away when clearly my future lied in the realm of bassoon, and I should quit sax, quit sports, and devote the rest of my life to this dying art--bassson is considered one of the most difficult instruments to master.  They are as expensive as luxury automobiles, have wait lists, and the craftsmanship of something as simple as a double reed could take a lifetime to master), and I really thought that was where my life was headed until I was sixteen and my house burned down at 4am, my father's birthday...  just a few hours before I was to catch the train to go to all-state honor choir (I was a 2nd bass, and had scored highest from my school.  My voice doesn't really sound good, but my perfect pitch, ability to sight read, transpose keys, etc. but me at a serious advantage).  I gave everything that had to do with music up.  It was not my thing.

Neither was the ridiculously delicious food I was learning to cook, with the opportunity to learn the business of owning a restaurant from the inside out.  It was not my thing. 

I don't even want to talk about the fashion thing.  The dude that moved me to NYC and I decided it was better for me to quit my fierce restaurant jobs and gigs around time as the hot new piece of ass in NYC nightlife to assist him.  That lead to an old, dear, dear friend from Berkeley/restaurant days working at a magazine to get me to intern for that magazine.  Six months later I was hired as Fashion Market Editor, with no experience, no college education, no nothing.  Just.  Something.  I was believed in.  I don't know.  I guess I've had a lot of daddies.  A year later, I'm working with people I idolized when I was a kid and they are asking my opinion about their fashion line; I'm fast on my way to becoming HOT SHIT.  It was not my thing.

If my dad had been there and forced me not to give up, would I have, every time, for either fear of success or fear of failure?

Would my mom still be in the same fucking hopeless threadbare relationship with the same fucking asshole that I still fucking hate (let's not forget his disgusting hairdresser date-raping son)?

Would my sister's husband have killed himself ("this is because of you, bitch [BANG]")? 

Would I have become an HIV+ escort, go-go boy, stripper, and future bareback porn star for the good part of a decade? 

I'M AN ARTIST GODDAMNIT!

Everyone has it.  It's what you make of it, right?

Just for the record, I think I would have ended up owning a successful chain of old-school pharmacies/ soda counter with treats/variety/gift stores, on the lower end, and on the higher end completely changing the way western medicine looks at prescription drugs and drug companies and their role in our continued/future illnesses, after a stint as a symphony musician/cool cat in a jazz band.  At the very least I would have graduated college.

I love you Frankie.  I am not completely sure why, but I don't think I need to know yet. 

If this doesn't work out I will still love you.  I refuse to begin loving anything that I may regret loving/not love in the future.  That is not worth it for me.  If we stop being active lovers, know I still love you all the same.

Is this what I'm really trying to say?

Love is eternal?

Preparation: Meat Scrunchy

It was quite possibly the biggest dick I've ever seen.  I took it like a champ.  Last time I'm having sex or ejaculating before my scene tomorrow.  My mind can rest knowing that my ass can take A LOT.  I forget sometimes there is a reason why I am considered a powerbottom. 

Post-Gym-Time

It's gettin' there...

I Make the Porn

Got a shoot coming up this Saturday for a studio I've never worked for.  Got a shoot coming up Monday for a studio I worked for once but I was only like fist #14 or something.  Exciting, no, that I make the porn?

"Being sleazy is having the ability and the willingness to become whatever is necessary to get what you want. Or, conversely, to somehow make whomever you're with into whatever you want — or need. It implies a very basic malleability of selfhood, a flexibility of identity that's less depersonalizing than it is repeatedly repersonalizing. Take what you're given and make it work. This is the exercise of sleaze."

Christopher Rage

Bad Hair...

great fucking.

That is the title to a post I was writing in reference to my hairstyle in Manplay-17, but I can't figure out how to embed the video here so fuck it.  Hey guys guess what I am having special feelers for someone and right now it's at the point I feel I need to tranquilize myself a little bit just to stand it!!!

That's not really what I'm here to talk about.  I have decided to grow some balls and accept things might be discussed in a bad way but in the end I have to stay true to myself, my character and my self-expression.

I want to be a bad-ass in love.
The inclination is already there.
If there is reciprocation by another bad-ass, even better. 

I was talking to a friend about doing an anonymous cum-dump type of scene, and I said it was not my cup of tea, but I could imagine doing it if I had a lover that was really into it and got turned on by whoring my hole out indiscriminately...  which I immediately said was weird.  My friend asked why it was weird to want someone to look out for you.  I couldn't come up with a good answer.

Everything You Do

Should be done with conviction and confidence. 

The only times you make a misstep are when you think twice where you are stepping.

I realized something tonight:  I have lost the capacity to miss people.  Do we actually lose the ability to feel certain emotions or do we cast them aside when it suits us?  Selective hearing.  This may be redundant but I don't miss missing. 

What do you do when your emotions become a highly efficient angerconverter and any emotion that pops up in you end up expressing itself PISSED OFF?  What if you get part of your strength from your anger, your beast, your self-proclaimed worst enemy, and the world is going to end and only you can save it but you aren't sure if you have the strength and the advice you seek tells you IT IS NOT ENOUGH and to save the world you must embrace your worst enemy and let it become an even bigger part of you? 

If you were Buffy, you'd totally refuse to demonize your heart and soul, bust out of the chains, fight off the old ancient black dudes, and come back to reality thanks to a hot lesbian best friend, only to realize that it is not enough. 

Following this new train of Buffy-thought I have a vision of a hot lesbian witch casting a spell that causes all present and future powerbottoms  to release their full powers all at once... to an all-powerful metaphallus that won't know what it is hitting.   

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And from the looks of your last few weeks' of postings, it looks like the sort of boners you're chasing are the slimy, tattooed, drugged-out, unprotected & poz kind... which, I think we're all in agreement on, you should most-definitely be avoiding!

Slimy, tattooed, drugged-out, unprotected...  are you talking about me?  I've been chasing myself!  Holy fuck!  I've been at the edge of this river for weeks!!! 

new projects

are in the air.  I've been going back and forth (in my head, but not really....  a moment of talking myself out of it here and there) but all it takes is a look at a picture and the reality of it all and I get a boner, and is a boner so bad?