It’s Pride here in New York today. Every year from certain quarters—online and in real life—I listen to gay men grouse about this annual c...

The sun’s beating down on the concrete and asphalt of the motel parking lot, still damp from the morning’s brief rain shower. There’s a fain...

When I first moved from a small Southern city to the U.S. Midwest, I felt as if I might as well have moved there from Kazakhstan. I was supp...

There are slow or even tragic evenings at the park-and-ride lot. Then there are Monday nights like this one, when I pull with a sharp right ...

Guys are always asking me in email or on an instant messenger about the park-and-ride lot I visit. They picture it as basically a roadside o...

I don’t think there’s a single person alive who, when a kid, didn’t hope he could affect the world with his thinking. Coincidence happens wh...

I’ve bottomed four times in the last six months. Twice for the Russian , once for Tim the senior , and once in a group encounter I’ve not r...