I have a tendency to meet people and make new friends, when I go out. I also have a tendency—perhaps you’ve noticed—to accumulate new stories all the time. Sometimes the two things go hand in hand. And I guess sometimes they work against each other.
Through another friend, over the summer I made acquaintances with a sexy Asian banker in Manhattan. He’s a nice, down-to-earth guy with a dry sense of humor that matches mine. I’d kind of guessed, from a couple of dropped hints he’d made on our first meeting about slings and leather, that he was perhaps sexually attracted to me. The explicit text bombs he made to my phone, later on, confirmed it. But for whatever reason, we haven’t done anything about it. (Yet.)
We were sitting at a midtown bar last week when he expressed the wish—one I’ve heard many times before from gay guys—that he could sleep with one porn star, once in his life. I suggested it’d be easy enough to pick up a copy of Next and riffle through the escort ads in the back, as they’re nothing but porn actors selling sex, but apparently the notion of having to pay for it didn’t appeal to him. He wanted the porn star to want him for himself. Kind of the way that guys who love strippers and prostitutes and other sex workers want them, but want it to be a freebie.
So I told him that I suspected even with porn actors, he’d find the whole spectrum of sex from good to bad, and that just because they’d fucked on film didn’t make them super-lovers or even spectacular human beings. “You don’t even know any porn stars,” he told me, scornfully.
Oh-ho-ho, but I do. I pulled out my phone and opened up my contacts, which has its own ‘Porn Actors’ section. (Not because I’m bragging, mind you, but because I’m anal about classification.) “Oh my god,” he exclaimed, over the first name alphabetically on the list. “I’ve seen all his movies! How do you know him?”
I didn’t want to say that I write a sex blog and the man in question was a fan, so I just mumbled something about how I’d known him for years. My acquaintance had already pulled out his phone, though, and was looking up some of the other names. “Oh my god!” he’d say after each once, once he’d Googled some photos. “Oh my god! You’ve had sex with all of these guys?”
“No, no,” I said, laughing. “I haven’t had sex with any of them. Well. Almost, with this one.” I pointed to the last name in the list.
“But I know who that one is! I love him! How do you know him?!”
The him in question was a kid who’s been in a lot of scenes lately. I’d met him over the summer at another bar near Grand Central, when he’d been out celebrating his twenty-first birthday. He’s a short, muscular little thing. I’d taken a pee break and he’d followed me into the single-person bathroom. We didn’t have sex (I thought he was too drunk for it, and I do have ethics), but we did make out against the slate walls of the restroom for a good ten minutes (my ethics only go so far). And then I had to listen to him talk to me about what cars he liked for an hour afterward.
Truth be told, I didn’t know he was a porn actor until later in the night when one of the bartenders told me. Then I, like my friend, looked him on my phone and realized that yeah, I’d made out with a porn actor. A twenty-one-year-old-that-night porn actor. I’d thought he was just some dumb kid who liked cars. “And I’m not saying he’s dumb,” I said, with the implication that I was saying exactly that. “But he does have an L and an R tattooed on his feet.”
“Liar,” he snarled.
“No really.” I brought out my phone, googled a couple of images, and sure enough, on a couple of them you could see the fancy L on the kid’s left foot. The shot was of him with his legs over his head, but the right foot was out of frame.
My acquaintance stared at me for a moment. “I think I fucking hate you now,” he said. Then he stood up and stalked away.
I’m still trying to figure out whether or not he was serious.
Let’s get to some questions from readers, courtesy of formspring.me. And if you have questions, please feel free either to ask them through that service, or via the email in the sidebar. (Don’t be offended if I don’t get to yours immediately. I put them in a big backlog and choose them at whim. But I’ll get to them!)
Have you taken part in a "naughty librarian" fantasy/role-play? Would you like to?
No, I've never engaged in that particular kind of roleplay.
One of my grandmothers was a librarian. (Hence my anal tendencies about keeping contacts rigidly classified.) I had a severe crush on a librarian once, and I actually had fun with a naughty librarian several times. Sadly though, with the latter, it was never actually in his library.
What movie is better than the book from which it was made?
The English Patient. Good god, that book is a terrible read. And I usually love that arty literary crap.
Also, the Emma Thompson Sense & Sensibility is a hell of a lot better than the original Jane Austen book. Hey, I’m a Jane Austen lover who picks up Mansfield Park every other year for fun, but Sense & Sensibility is a tiny bit underbaked and a whole lot overwrought.
Did you have a favorite store to visit to buy snacks and pop when you were in grade four?
Johnson's Hardware was the name of the store, and it was a dinky little mom and pop hardware store in Richmond's north side that had what I felt was the most amazing nickel candy display in the world. I bought Wacky Packages and Bottle Caps there almost nightly, after a long bike ride from home. Additionally, the store had a soda machine outside that sold both Grape Nehi (which was my favorite) and Brownie (which Wikipedia describes as a 'whey-based chocolate drink', making it sound as unappetizing as it probably really was).
Plus, two doors down was Willey's Drug Store, where I could buy a chocolate or vanilla cone for a dime.
My, I was a little glutton.
What are (in your opinion) the oddest search terms that have brought people to your blog?
Most of the search phrases that people use to find my blog are pretty straightforward: things like "mrsteed's blog" or "a breeder's blog" or "mr steed sex journal." Those I understand.
What mystifies me every time are the phrases that seem to be very, very specific. So specific, in fact, I can't fathom why or how my blog came up in the Google search. Phrases like "depraved tops who bang out six loads in a row" (well, maybe that one I can figure out!), or "African violet use during sex." I also tend to get a lot of Justin Bieber sex-related searches as well.
However, I think my two oddest search phrases have been "photos of young men having sex in poses of the zodiac", and "spongebob squarepants sucking dick." If I actually had written about those things, my life would be a whole lot more interesting.
How many times do you think your parents have had sex?
My parents had a lot of sex. My parents had a LOT of sex.
They were not shy about it. If they were cuddling on the sofa watching TV, and the cuddling turned into making out, and the making out got them hot and heavy, they would have absolutely no qualms about leading each other to the bedroom and shutting the door. They made absolutely no attempt to pretend they were doing anything other than what they were doing, either.
Growing up I remember being barred from a couple of motel rooms for an hour or so while we were traveling, so they could fuck. Sometimes I was sent to the local store on errands on my bike so they could have the run of the house to themselves. They once did it in the back seat of my dad's 1963 Dodge Dart so that the windows fogged over.
I always accepted it as something natural—which it is, and should be. The only time it bothered me was the night before I moved to Michigan for graduate school, and my parents screwed with their bedroom door open, thinking I was asleep down the hall. That was loud and a little annoying. Not because it was my parents having sex, but because jeez, at least try to keep it down a little, folks!