First let me get this out of the way, I don’t claim to be a writer.
This project began as an outline for self portaits (photographs) that I wanted to make about sex, sadness and being a superhero. As I started making notes, they slowly turned into short stories. The first seven stories were turned into hand-bound booklets called CAKE WALK. That can be purchased HERE.
I’d also like to give a big thank you to Jon Kinnally for all of his support, as well as his incredible editing and profreading skills.
This project began as an outline for self portaits (photographs) that I wanted to make about sex, sadness and being a superhero. As I started making notes, they slowly turned into short stories. The first seven stories were turned into hand-bound booklets called CAKE WALK. That can be purchased HERE.
I’d also like to give a big thank you to Jon Kinnally for all of his support, as well as his incredible editing and profreading skills.
Good To Go
The Oatmeal Boy
Colonel Mustard
Señor Wolff
New Wave
Learning To Fly
The Accidental Fister
First Time
The Oatmeal Boy
Colonel Mustard
Señor Wolff
New Wave
Learning To Fly
The Accidental Fister
First Time
The Accidental Fister
Willkommen! And bienvenue! Welcome!
Fremder, étranger, stranger
Glücklich zu sehen
Je suis enchanté
Happy to see you
This is how the day started. 8am and hiking through volcanic mountains just north of Barcelona, while listening to a gaggle of Catalans singing the soundtrack to Cabaret. It was Carnaval and that night there was a big party. They were all preparing for what would come later, though I definitely wasn’t prepared for what the night had in store for me.
Put down the knitting
The book and the broom
It's time for a holiday
Life is a Cabaret, old chum
Come to the Cabaret!
We finished our hike, chilly but full of gorgeous views, and drove back to Barcelona. I had arrived about a month before, after living in New York for far too many years. My Spanish was still pretty weak and my Catalan was even worse. We returned to my friend Rodrigo’s house and showered off the stink of the day. Everyone pitched in to make a big dinner and then we sat down in his living room, popped in a VHS copy of Cabaret and started drinking. Sweet Vermouth on the rocks, red wine and rum and Coke. They were really prepping hard for this party. As the final credits were rolling and the music still playing, everyone started to get their costumes on. My roommate, Rafael, dressed as Sally Bowles, and was gorgeous, hairy shoulders and all. I was not prepared, so Rodrigo gave me a sailor cap that he wore the previous year at the Carnaval party, and I was dressed. In the gay world, when in doubt, throw on a sailor hat and you’re ready for anything.
Something's bound to begin
It's gotta happen, happen sometime
Maybe this time
And we were off.
The party was crazy and everyone went all out with their costumes. Dragons, devils, Hello Kitties, a lot of Spanish references that I didn’t know. Groups of friends came up with their own themes. There was a big tribe of sexy, hairy, shirtless firemen, and a handful of queens in sailor caps. I can’t remember if seeing them made me feel better or worse that they were also not fully invested and took the easy gay way out. In the end it didn’t matter too much to me because I ended up just following the firemen around all night, trying to get close enough to get a good smell without seeming too creepy. I believe I succeeded.
Around four in the morning Rodrigo found me on the dance floor and said everyone was getting ready to head out to an after hours bar. At this point I’d been awake twenty hours and I was pretty horny after rubbing up against a couple of the firemen for the past hour, so I thought, why the heck not?
A taxi dropped us off in a very residential neighborhood. All the doors belonged to apartments except for the one on the corner, which was small and had blacked out windows on either side. We walked in and found about three dozen glassy-eyed and smiley queens twirling around on the small dance floor. After making our way to the back bar, we ordered ourselves more rum and Cokes, joined the early morning revelers and danced to some 80’s Spanish dance music. The crowd eventually started to thin out and Rodrigo said he was leaving but I decided to stay and sip on my new drink, shake my hips and spin and listen to the last of the die-hards sing along to the music.
¿A quién le importa lo que yo haga?
¿A quién le importa lo que yo diga?
Yo soy así, así seguiré
Nunca cambiaré
A few feet from me was this guy, about my height, shaved head and beautiful bushy eyebrows. He smiled at me and I returned the gesture. He moved closer and we started dancing. We moved even closer, continued dancing, and started to make out.
“¿Quieres venir a mi casa?”
My Spanish was bad, but I understood that.
“Sí.”
We stepped out the door and it was no longer dark. The city streets had a light pale blue cast and far up the street you could see a sliver of yellow and orange start to peek up the avenue and illuminate the distant windows. He only lived around the corner so it was a short walk. I told him in my horrible Spanish that I had just moved to Barcelona and I needed much practice with the new language. He laughed and smiled and then kissed me again. We held hands the entire way.
His apartment was grand. The entrance was a beautiful carved wooden door and the lobby was marble floor to ceiling. We walked up two flights of stairs and kissed again before he unlocked the door. He told me he had a roommate but that he was either sleeping or still out. The entrance led to a long hall filled with photos and paintings in gold frames and was furnished as though someone’s grandmother had decorated it. Not what I imagined for a couple of young queers. His bedroom was to the left and before entering I looked down the hallway to the living room. Behind the eighteenth century sofa was a sling. At least that’s what I thought I saw; by this time I think I’d been awake for about twenty-six hours and was thoroughly drunk.
As I walked into his bedroom I saw a low dresser with a small television, a VHS player and a video resting on top, “Fists of Fire.” Not able to fully verbalize what I wanted to say, I pointed to the video and then pointed to my butt and shook my head back and forth to say, “No”. He laughed and smiled at me again. That put me and my butt at some ease. We started making out again and clumsily made our way over to his bed, disrobing and kissing, simultaneously. He rolled over on his stomach, and as I kissed his neck and back, I thought, okay, I’ll fuck him. It seems like that’s where this is going. Fun.
In what felt like a matter of seconds, he arched his ass up off the bed and reached back and grabbed my hand. Before I could even get out a “¿Qué?”, my hand was inside him. He reached back more and led my forearm deeper inside. He moaned. I was now practically elbow deep inside him, and quite effortlessly. I was startled and also very impressed. He was so sure about what he wanted and I felt a bit envious of his self-awareness and confidence. Never having done this before I was unsure of what to do next. Luckily he was still doing most of the work, writhing back and forth and using my body, my arm as a tool for his pleasure. I was still processing the experience, while trying to remain cool. My mind went to so many places. At one point I thought about making a shadow puppet animal, but with the lack of light inside his cavity, I realized that action would be wasted. I tried moving my hand around a bit but was still not sure exactly what to do. He was getting off regardless of my actions and inactions, and it seemed he was getting close to cumming. I was happy to provide that service.
A memory exploded into my head. When I was little, My mother always had butterscotch candies in her purse. The ones individually wrapped in honey colored cellophane. I think made by Brach’s. I loved those candies. When I would get my chores done, or do well on a school project, she would reward me with a couple of them. I would go to her purse, reach in, dig past the lipsticks and packs of Pall Malls and at the bottom would grab the butterscotches, their wrappers crinkling between my fingers.
That’s what I was thinking about when I had my hand deep Inside this hot Spaniard’s ass.
My mother.
I’m not sure if I shrieked out loud or was able to keep it in my head. He came and I quickly pulled myself out from inside him. I asked where the bathroom was, washed off my arm, returned to his bedroom and started to dress. He walked me to the front door. “Gracias.” He kissed me again, smiled, and I turned and went down the stairs.
The sun was fully up at this point and after figuring out where I was and how to walk home I relived the past day in my head. Laughing all the way home and craving a Brach’s butterscotch candy.
Maybe this time, I'll win
Willkommen! And bienvenue! Welcome!
Fremder, étranger, stranger
Glücklich zu sehen
Je suis enchanté
Happy to see you
This is how the day started. 8am and hiking through volcanic mountains just north of Barcelona, while listening to a gaggle of Catalans singing the soundtrack to Cabaret. It was Carnaval and that night there was a big party. They were all preparing for what would come later, though I definitely wasn’t prepared for what the night had in store for me.
Put down the knitting
The book and the broom
It's time for a holiday
Life is a Cabaret, old chum
Come to the Cabaret!
We finished our hike, chilly but full of gorgeous views, and drove back to Barcelona. I had arrived about a month before, after living in New York for far too many years. My Spanish was still pretty weak and my Catalan was even worse. We returned to my friend Rodrigo’s house and showered off the stink of the day. Everyone pitched in to make a big dinner and then we sat down in his living room, popped in a VHS copy of Cabaret and started drinking. Sweet Vermouth on the rocks, red wine and rum and Coke. They were really prepping hard for this party. As the final credits were rolling and the music still playing, everyone started to get their costumes on. My roommate, Rafael, dressed as Sally Bowles, and was gorgeous, hairy shoulders and all. I was not prepared, so Rodrigo gave me a sailor cap that he wore the previous year at the Carnaval party, and I was dressed. In the gay world, when in doubt, throw on a sailor hat and you’re ready for anything.
Something's bound to begin
It's gotta happen, happen sometime
Maybe this time
And we were off.
The party was crazy and everyone went all out with their costumes. Dragons, devils, Hello Kitties, a lot of Spanish references that I didn’t know. Groups of friends came up with their own themes. There was a big tribe of sexy, hairy, shirtless firemen, and a handful of queens in sailor caps. I can’t remember if seeing them made me feel better or worse that they were also not fully invested and took the easy gay way out. In the end it didn’t matter too much to me because I ended up just following the firemen around all night, trying to get close enough to get a good smell without seeming too creepy. I believe I succeeded.
Around four in the morning Rodrigo found me on the dance floor and said everyone was getting ready to head out to an after hours bar. At this point I’d been awake twenty hours and I was pretty horny after rubbing up against a couple of the firemen for the past hour, so I thought, why the heck not?
A taxi dropped us off in a very residential neighborhood. All the doors belonged to apartments except for the one on the corner, which was small and had blacked out windows on either side. We walked in and found about three dozen glassy-eyed and smiley queens twirling around on the small dance floor. After making our way to the back bar, we ordered ourselves more rum and Cokes, joined the early morning revelers and danced to some 80’s Spanish dance music. The crowd eventually started to thin out and Rodrigo said he was leaving but I decided to stay and sip on my new drink, shake my hips and spin and listen to the last of the die-hards sing along to the music.
¿A quién le importa lo que yo haga?
¿A quién le importa lo que yo diga?
Yo soy así, así seguiré
Nunca cambiaré
A few feet from me was this guy, about my height, shaved head and beautiful bushy eyebrows. He smiled at me and I returned the gesture. He moved closer and we started dancing. We moved even closer, continued dancing, and started to make out.
“¿Quieres venir a mi casa?”
My Spanish was bad, but I understood that.
“Sí.”
We stepped out the door and it was no longer dark. The city streets had a light pale blue cast and far up the street you could see a sliver of yellow and orange start to peek up the avenue and illuminate the distant windows. He only lived around the corner so it was a short walk. I told him in my horrible Spanish that I had just moved to Barcelona and I needed much practice with the new language. He laughed and smiled and then kissed me again. We held hands the entire way.
His apartment was grand. The entrance was a beautiful carved wooden door and the lobby was marble floor to ceiling. We walked up two flights of stairs and kissed again before he unlocked the door. He told me he had a roommate but that he was either sleeping or still out. The entrance led to a long hall filled with photos and paintings in gold frames and was furnished as though someone’s grandmother had decorated it. Not what I imagined for a couple of young queers. His bedroom was to the left and before entering I looked down the hallway to the living room. Behind the eighteenth century sofa was a sling. At least that’s what I thought I saw; by this time I think I’d been awake for about twenty-six hours and was thoroughly drunk.
As I walked into his bedroom I saw a low dresser with a small television, a VHS player and a video resting on top, “Fists of Fire.” Not able to fully verbalize what I wanted to say, I pointed to the video and then pointed to my butt and shook my head back and forth to say, “No”. He laughed and smiled at me again. That put me and my butt at some ease. We started making out again and clumsily made our way over to his bed, disrobing and kissing, simultaneously. He rolled over on his stomach, and as I kissed his neck and back, I thought, okay, I’ll fuck him. It seems like that’s where this is going. Fun.
In what felt like a matter of seconds, he arched his ass up off the bed and reached back and grabbed my hand. Before I could even get out a “¿Qué?”, my hand was inside him. He reached back more and led my forearm deeper inside. He moaned. I was now practically elbow deep inside him, and quite effortlessly. I was startled and also very impressed. He was so sure about what he wanted and I felt a bit envious of his self-awareness and confidence. Never having done this before I was unsure of what to do next. Luckily he was still doing most of the work, writhing back and forth and using my body, my arm as a tool for his pleasure. I was still processing the experience, while trying to remain cool. My mind went to so many places. At one point I thought about making a shadow puppet animal, but with the lack of light inside his cavity, I realized that action would be wasted. I tried moving my hand around a bit but was still not sure exactly what to do. He was getting off regardless of my actions and inactions, and it seemed he was getting close to cumming. I was happy to provide that service.
A memory exploded into my head. When I was little, My mother always had butterscotch candies in her purse. The ones individually wrapped in honey colored cellophane. I think made by Brach’s. I loved those candies. When I would get my chores done, or do well on a school project, she would reward me with a couple of them. I would go to her purse, reach in, dig past the lipsticks and packs of Pall Malls and at the bottom would grab the butterscotches, their wrappers crinkling between my fingers.
That’s what I was thinking about when I had my hand deep Inside this hot Spaniard’s ass.
My mother.
I’m not sure if I shrieked out loud or was able to keep it in my head. He came and I quickly pulled myself out from inside him. I asked where the bathroom was, washed off my arm, returned to his bedroom and started to dress. He walked me to the front door. “Gracias.” He kissed me again, smiled, and I turned and went down the stairs.
The sun was fully up at this point and after figuring out where I was and how to walk home I relived the past day in my head. Laughing all the way home and craving a Brach’s butterscotch candy.
Maybe this time, I'll win