Still Buddy Dreaming

Nerd. Geek. Stud. Fighter. Lover. Brain. Sportsman. Raunchy dude. Survivor. Those are just a few of the words that come to mind when I think of myself.

I grew up a lonely boy who felt like a fag and just wanted one buddy for a life of love and adventure. Now I'm a lonely man who feels like a great guy and I still wanna find another great guy so we can be buddies for life.

We'll play like boys and love like men. Let's shoot hoops, toss the football around, go Trikking, and work up a manly sweat being buds in the great outdoors.

Then we'll turn all our private, nasty, kinky, raunchy fantasies into reality. Dig each other's ripe pits. Rim each other's funky asses for hours on end. Love, love, love all our troubles away.

We're not gay, straight or even bi. Fuck all that. We're buddies, like the great buddy duos of movies and TV. Let's make our own kind of relationship. Let's define who we are for ourselves. Let's be buddies

Wanted: Someone with the Guts to Love Me

I've been living with HIV/AIDS for nearly 26 years and counting.

I've learned that life doesn't end with a diagnosis.

Breathing continues, feelings continue, dreams continue. Life goes on and so does human sexuality.

As long as I'm alive and have enough desire, guts and determination to keep going, I'm gonna be me, a man on a mission to live life to the fullest.

That means great sex, too! Any buddy wanna share the adventure?

A Perfect Buddy with a Perfect Body?

What kind of body do I dream of my buddy having?

Find out in Imperfect Bodies, Perfect Match.

Dream Dad

In another life, I'm the perfect dad.

I've got a few kids and they're being raised right, I tell ya. I'm strict, fair, consistent, hands-on and strict (enough to say it twice!).

Chores? You bet. Punishment? The kind that hurts: taking away what they value most.

Spanking? No way. My kids are gonna be civilized, studious, perfect!

When I was younger, I desperately wanted kids. Not that I did much about it. How does one dream of making kids while one is a socially and sexually retarded, misunderstood kid himself? With AIDS?

Now, nearing age 50, I'm not so retarded anymore, but it's pretty much too late for kids.

I think I would have a made a great father. I also think I would have learned to love the little boy inside me a little more, were I to raise a love a copy of me. Shame I'll never know.

When Cocksuckers Aren't Gay

Not every man who has sex with other men is gay.

Not every cocksucker is a faggot.

Not every married guy who fucks pussy is heterosexual.

Not every man who throws his legs up and gets fucked by another man is a homo.

Not every man who has sex with other men is gay.

Some men get their nut when they want it, where they want it, with whomever they want, and the only thing it makes them, is men.

Born to Be Funky

Not here for the reading? Click here for more funky pics.

In a World Without Pussy

If women vanished (and survival of the species were not an issue), men and their brains would adapt, and soon enough, they'd be having sex with one another.

Sex is a dance between the dick and the brain, which evolves to learn the "most productive and least disruptive" ways to get a nut.

Usually, that means the following:

Most productive: a piece of pussy. They're abundant, they're easier to find compared to the alternatives, and they're far more socially acceptable.

Least productive: another man's flesh. Abundant yes. Available and socially acceptable, no.

Most disruptive: the price one must pay to become a fag.

Least disruptive: liking pussy doesn't render one ostracized, misunderstood, excommunicated, banned from society.

It's only natural most brains figure all this out and get with the programmed. It's also only natural some brains get it twisted, rebel, mutate, differentiate, retard, never get with the programmed.

But if the dick had no choice but turning to men, eventually, the brain would follow. Sex is an acquired taste, and if only men were available, men would acquire the taste for other men.

That's why men in isolation with other men, in prisons and such, suddenly become cocksuckers and butt fuckers. The brain adapts to what's available, same as when people stranded from civilization learn to live in ways and eat things they never imagined.

Sure, some won't make it. They're brains won't let them adapt and they die. But the majority, they'll find a way to suck it up and keep going, pun intended.

In a world without pussy, men and their brains would adapt, and soon enough, most men would be practicing homosexuality and practicing it a lot.

Play Balls!

A reminder to all the fans watching Major League Baseball this summer: a man can tell a thousand lies, especially when it comes to how many dicks he's sucked in his lifetime. Enjoy the game!

I Love a Black Man with AIDS

I love a black man with AIDS. It could happen to you, too, if you posses an open mind and an open heart.

Narrow-minded fear mongers need not apply.

Those who prefer WHITES AND LATINS ONLY need not apply.

Anyone obsessed with big black cock need not apply.

Persons not educated about safer sex, forget about it.

I love a black man with AIDS. It could happen to you, too, if you dare to dream.

How I Feel In Love with White Men

It's simple really. I was born the youngest child in a family terrorized by three angry black men.

Since circa age 5, I lived with a daily reality: myself, my mother or my sister, the weak links, could be taken out. Killed. Life and game over. Or maybe just paralyzed, if you were lucky, which was almost the case for one of my brothers one time.

Did I mention there was no back up for the innocent? Not my relatives, not the neighbors, not the police. Just three men, who happened to be black (and were supposed to nurture and protect the baby, me!) who used violence to work things out.

Conversely, the white males on television were strong, handsome men who rescued people, hugged people, smiled at people and didn't abuse their loved-ones. On top of that, the handsome white men on TV did some pretty terrific and adventurous things. Cops. Firemen. Loving dads.

I was raised in Indianapolis, Indiana, in the 1960s and 1970s. The city's passion was race cars and race car drivers, who were ... white. As a young boy, I loved the Indy 500. I dreamed of the Unsers and Foyts fighting over me in a custody battle, rescuing me from my angry, abusive family.

By the time I hit puberty, I was thoroughly convinced my fate lay in the hands of a white man whom I had yet to meet. He was going to be another boy at school. We were going to be best friends, as seen on TV and in the movies. Playing sports together. Horsing around together. Chasing girls together. Sharing secrets together. The Hutch to my Starsky. The buddy of my dreams, with whom I could survive anything, even my family, even puberty, even high school.

Ditto for college. Life was about finding the white man who could love me.

Of course, I'd had exposure to non-angry black men in high school and college, but not enough to crack the core of a young man's brain. It didn't help that said brain was already conditioned to profile black brothers in the same vein as my actual black brothers.

Then there's the Assimilation Factor. My parents moved us to the suburbs of Indianapolis where I, the youngest, became the most-assimilated member of my family.

Our neighborhood and school district were naturally integrated, but I had all the motivation in the world to be like all the white people suddenly thrust into my life. My older siblings didn't do school. Never once did I see them do homework. They also caused a lot of hell for my parents.

With so much darkness within my black family, my young spirit was signed, sealed and delivered for a better alternative: white people.

White people, the ones who can go anywhere and do anything in America. The ones who didn't get hosed or attacked by police dogs just because of their color. The ones who weren't getting killed for trying to vote.

White people. The ones who can qualify as "the boy or girl next door." The ones who lay claim to the title "all-American." (What does that make me, half-American?)

White people. I can't be one of them. I can only hope to be loved by one of them, so that I too may bask in their golden blond sunshine, as seen and celebrated in the movies and on TV.

White people. A black boy's only hope for a life without violence.

White people. They've called me nigger, articulate and many other things, but never lover.

I've hooked up with all races. I've known beauty and lust in all shades. I could fall in love with any color man, but my heart palpitates most for white men.

Is it a good thing? A bad thing? No, it's just a thing, one piece of the puzzle that is me. It's also one puzzle piece that has, so far, brought more pain than joy.

Imagine a little black boy's heart breaking when, one month before college at USC, he receives a booklet featuring all the school's fraternities. Many of the frats have group shots. The freshman-to-be notices the absence of black males.

"Why are there no blacks," I ask Kelvin, a co-worker at my summer job. Kelvin's an upperclassman in a frat at Ball State. He knows things. He explains to me how the college Greek system is segregated and that I won't be joining any white fraternities at my new dream school in California.

A month later, I arrive at the University of Southern Cal in 1980. The week before school starts, some of the USC Sigma Chi's call me nigger. Imagine how hurtful that felt, surviving my abusive childhood so I could find my special white boy in California, only to be called nigger a week before school starts by the very white boys who rule the school's social life and refuse to let me into their fraternity, all on the account of the color of my skin.

That's just one of a long list of times white men have broken the heart of the little boy inside me. Every time I read online personal ads and read the words WHITES AND LATINS ONLY, NO BLACKS, NO ASIANS, SORRY NOTHING PERSONAL, it hurts. It hurts.

Every time I'm among gay men and they look past me, thru me, behind me, as if I'm not there, it hurts. Same for every time I cruise sites like bigmuscle.com and see profiles that include no blacks as their favorites.

It hurts, but it doesn't change how I feel in love with white men. And it doesn't change the fact that many black people get upset when they hear a black man waxing poetic about the color white.

Those black people will need to be angry at a lot of their own. Many black children grow up favoring white people, wanting to be white and dreaming of having "yellow hair," which is how a young cousin once put it (age six).

When I was a child, I fell in love with white people. When I became sexual, I fell love with white men. I am not alone. My story is one lived by many a black child.

Sexual Racism in the USA

When I ask gay men to explain their WHITES AND LATINS ONLY preferences, as stated in countless online profiles, I get the same responses white folk offered up fifty years ago while trying to promote their WHITES ONLY preferences for their schools, their rest rooms, their bus seats, their sons and daughters.

"Aw, man, nothing against blacks, don't get me wrong, just a preference. Some of my best friends are black."

But you've written them and all blacks off as possible objects of your affection, just as your parents did, just as your grandparents did, just as your great grandparents did, just as your great great great grandparents did (quite possibly while owning blacks and interbreeding with them).

Is it a coincidence that for you, too, it's NO BLACKS, NO ASIANS? It is really as simple as "just a preference?" A preference in ALL CAPS by countless gay men (of all races) in America in 2011?

Ask your black and Asian friends how they feel about your WHITES AND LATINS ONLY, NO BLACKS, NO ASIAN preferences.

Will you still have as many friends after you reveal your preferences? If the answer is no, consider yourself a racist in someone else's eyes, if not your own.

That Was Me ... Then

Once upon a time, I was young, gifted and black.

See how I looked in my younger days, plus see what I would say if I could travel back in time and tell myself 15 Things I Wish I Knew When I Was Young, Gifted and Black, now on my author blog.

Also on my author blog: go back to school with me in High School Highlights: 30 Years Later and College Daze: 25 Years Later.

What I Like About Me

Quick: name three things you like about yourself.

That's one of the exercises I used to help myself feel better in my 20's and 30's, when I was struggling with with life. Come to think of it, I could use a little boost right now. Here then, are three things I like about myself:

1. Clean Kitchen, Clean Mind: Dishes are to be washed and put away immediately following a meal, sort of like the last step that completes the ritual of replenishing one's self with vital nutrients. When I walk into my kitchen and see a clean, empty sink, it makes me smile. No living in the past, which is what doing old dishes amounts to.

2. No Lies In, No Lies Out: I don't have to keep track of all the lies in my life for a simple reason: I don't lie. Life is much easier when lived gunk free.

3. Still a Believer: I haven't given up on my dreams of finding true love. Sure, the odds. After all, I haven't come close in my entire life. But still, I believe anything's possible, and that life can still shock the shit outta me and gift me with love.

Those are three things I like about me.

In His Smile

Gay internet dating sites have something called smiles or winks, which is a digital way of nudging a prospective date and seeing if he nudges back. It's a way to gauge someone's interest, some might say.

Don't send me smiles!, a lot of guys demand angrily in their profiles.

Why the smile? asked some guys in respond to receiving one, usually followed by a smart-ass comment.

Only I'm not looking for a smart ass. Be it a job interview or a blow job interview, in life, when I'm looking for someone, I'm looking for someone who can enrich my life and vice versa. The longer they can do that the better. The more we enrich one another, the more we both wanna smile. The more we wanna smile, the more we might ask ourselves: what other ways can we make ourselves smile?

When all the smiles are gone, and we can't dream up more ways to make smiles together, we thank one another, wish one another well, part company, and continue onward with our journey.

Two people can make one another smile for seconds, minutes, hours, months, years, a whole lifetime.

So when you see me smile, it's because something about you makes me wanna smile, and I'm wondering if something about me makes you wanna smile, and if there's anything we can do to make us both smile ... together.

When White People Obsess Over Big Black Cock

"Can I see it," asked a middle-aged white man, desperate to see my dick.

He was a total stranger who happened to be parked in a truck near where my dog was taking a leak. Broad daylight. An urban residential street.

Okay, so I did have on some short, old school gym shorts that were quite sheer, but it's not like I put my big black gun to his head and made him beg for a peak.

He said he was hetero, divorced and had never done anything with another guy. But I want so more than to show my dick to a leering stranger. Friendship. A j/o buddy. Dare I say, love?

This guy didn't even want my phone number, said he wouldn't use it. He just wanted to use me, or rather my dick, to satisfy some pent up curiosity of his.

I repeat, white people, I am not a dick.

The Jock Crazy Chronicles

Really, I'm not gay.

I suck dick but I'm not gay.

I eat men's asses but I ain't no homo.

I kiss men's lips but no way am I a fag.

I'm hoping to find a man who's the love of my life but I'm far from queer.

So what am I? Why, that's easy. I am simply a man who is certifiably Jock Crazy.

Where Is the Love?

When's the last time you heard someone say, "I just need to find the right black gay guy with HIV/AIDS to settle down with?"

When's the last time you saw a black gay guy being the object of anyone's affection in the media?

Do I even exist in people's minds?

Will I ever exist in people's hearts?

I'm dreaming of it on this funky little blog with the hope that someday, the world will follow.

Horrified to Happy

In 1985, I was horrified to find out I was living with HIV/AIDS.

There was no cure. No medicine. No hope. Just a lot of fear and panic.

Nearly 26 years later, some people are horrified to find out I'm living with HIV/AIDS.

There is no cure. Way more medicine. More hope. But still a lot of fear. But not within my AIDS-infected body.

In 2011, I'm happy to be living with HIV/AIDS.

Sexy Poz Only

Behold the new fragrance for men living with HIV/AIDS.

Let's face it: neg dudes can act like insensitive jerks with their "clean and disease-free-UB2" attitudes.

Why, it's almost enough to make a poz dude feel unworthy and less special. Almost.

Don't inhale the negative thinking of neg dudes. Take a big honking whiff of yourself and realize: sexy is all in your head, not theirs.

Be U. Be sexy poz.

Funky Slideshow

Hey, you ... wanna see some pics of a hot sweaty black man? Click here.

Why Be Funky?

Brad Pitt. David Duchovony. Tyrese. Keith Urban. Men whose nude photos have been gold for Playgirl Magazine. Ditto for footballers Dan Pastorini and Jim Brown.

Levi Johnston is famous for knocking up a politician's daughter and now, posing for Playgirl.

Other men who have posed nude or semi-nude for Playgirl include Big Daddy Kane, Lyle Waggoner, Scott Bakula and Fabian.

Point: If the world can celebrate a man and his body, then the world can celebrate this man and his body. Or at least, I can on my funky little blog.

No Grapefruit Needed

Why do most, so-called heterosexual men have a hard time looking at a naked guy? Why do they run for the hills when hearing descriptions of man on man sex?

Because they're not comfortable with their sexuality.

Does a gay man have a hard time looking at a woman's naked body or breeder sex, or 2 chicks sexing up? Generally speaking, no.

When it comes to men having sex with men, most so-called straight guys seem stuck in some adolescent age where their sexual brains never grew up.

Deep down, most men know they're capable of fucking a grapefruit, if the moment is right and their dick hard enough.

And let's face it, a human body is way more sexy than a grapefruit no matter the human's gender. Ergo, if a man can fuck a grapefruit ...

I'd rather fuck a man or woman than a grapefruit, which makes me certifiably comfortable with my sexuality. How about you?