Dear diary, please explain me what are bears

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Set objectives first - then execute with precision

I decided today was going to be a bit different than my normal day. I started with a long hot shower and mud exfoliation, whilst my conditioner did its work with my hair. I had a good breakfast at my terrace and went unto my wardrobe to select my “happy-go-lucky –clothes.”

I honestly think people should express more about themselves and how they feel with what they wear… come to think of it; if most people already do they must hate themselves! 

The problem with dressing up is that you need to make a choice. This choice is terribly important. This choice will define the rest of your day and how it will unfold - choice about what to wear and why. One should always pay attention to day’s objectives. When it comes to objective setting I am the master of objective setting. When I set objectives I hardly ever miss them. For example:
 

1.  Blue lightly washed straight cut jeans, white top with short sleeves, white socks, white, blue or red trainers, a black wrist strap and a back-bag equals = 99% probability of getting laid.

2. Black skinny-fit jeans, black Loubutin shoes, black tightly-cut John Galliano vest and a hat pushed on right side and a black Versace leather bag with gold stripes equals = sitting alone in any café reading your sad paper with a 45% probability that someone will come to talk to you – to bum for a cigarette or cash.

Life is hard, it really is.

I have recently tried to cross-dress. And no, I do not mean I would wear a single piece of women’s clothing. This new type of cross-dressing is objective-oriented. Selection of clothes to wear based on objectives. Say, feeling extremely good about yourself and still getting laid in the end or in-between.

This might sometimes mean you need to layer clothes based on your two very conflicting objectives. Wane off hot guys who idealize to have “straight looking boys” and you have narrowed down your interest-based-fuck –agenda for the day.

Now, is there a balance between Abercrombie & Fitch oversized t-shirt and baggy shorts and say,  cat-walk “okayed” -look? Maybe.

I’ve performed few trials to test my theory. The easiest to go wrong is with shoes, bags, belts and other accessories. Patsy, we do love you still :) You could strip off all of it but the sad thing is those are the pimping elements of your outfit - the fun part. The simpler your outfit gets - the more likely it is that you can, when opportunity arises, strip off all of it in a split second with a hot guy – when and where-ever.

Complex buttons and laces are definitely a "no-no" for getting laid on-the-go, but might give you that extra time to think about your strategy if you arrive home with a hottie.

Objective-oriented dressing up has to come with a strict and set agenda. One needs to know exactly what one wants. "Maybe’s" and "If’s" are not allowed. Objectives must be set and then plan put in place and executed with precision.

Sun was shining outside and I felt terribly good. Once I opened the front door my cleaner exited the lift. “Goooood morning!”  We chatted a bit and off I ran. The dust will be gone today – no rock will be left unturned! My cleaner is a miracle worker and does an excellent job at the house. She is worth her weight in gold! (She is, luckily for me, a very skinny girl)

Evidence

My objective of today: Get laid with at least two guys, go to the gym and then dinner afterwards without detour home in-between.

My outfit: Black slim-fit t-shirt, black cap, black skinny-fit jeans, white Converse’s, black Merino-wool cardigan and a waiting in the black rug-sack.

Results: First guy winked his eyes at me on the street – leading to a slow-moving cat-and-mouse -follow to his house, Check! Second guy at the café terrace, started chatting with him leading to amazing oral sex at the back, Check. Ready for gym at 15:30 and ready for dinner at 18:00.

Objective setting matrix:  Objectives met? Check!

Cheerio! :)

Dating in London

Setting up a date and time for a date isn’t as easy as one would imagine. I know it should be a pretty simple task. Set a date. Set a time. And be there. But hey, that’s almost impossible here. And when you land on blind dates - it’s even worse. Why is it so hard to be at a certain place on a certain time per pre-arranged schedule?

I described the Grindr –app I newly discovered few posts back. On that post I referred some men - to the saner ones - that aren’t all but nut cases. The one’s you could actually have a dialogue with including full sentences and at least some content other than the easiest but still quite uncommon greetings “Hi” and “Fuck now?”

I have never claimed to be a sleuth or incredibly good at analyzing online profiles. However, I have always thought to have at least some sense and understanding on the makings of fake profiles. You know, murky pics or none at all, absolutely no content in the profile (read also: lazy as fucks = not worth it) or copy and pasted nonsense about absolute love and happiness – you know, Dalai Lama scripts. If profile holds at least one clear face pic without shades and looks reasonably sane it’s a good start.

So, there I was chatting to a one “saner one”. Half Swiss half Namibian white male living in London aged 29. Now that doesn’t sound bad at the outset. Hey, he even speaks English! It does make it easier to have a conversation don’t you think?

Well I suggested a nice place in the old town part of the area I love in London. We set a date on the restaurant terrace. I have to say I didn’t expect much – after all it was a blind date. I was observing guys passing by. Some of them really handsome and hunky. Damn, I knew I wasn’t expecting any of them! Nah, weren’t my dates, no.

Then I saw him, walking towards my table. I was the only one sitting alone so that wasn’t hard – and yes, my profile pics actually resemble me quite well. And yes, they are less than 2months old. His however was not I quickly figured out. When he opened his mouth I already knew this wasn’t going to take long.  I mean honestly, he could have at least washed his teeth before coming on a date. I am not overly judgmental. At least that’s what I think of myself. My good friends might disagree but that’s their prerogative. I judge only what I can see, hear, taste or sense. And now I used all my senses to find something positive about this guy. His trashy looks wasn’t among the great finds, his accent was directly from East-Enders and he started conversation by mumbling about his day on a fashion shoot. I inquired what was he doing on that fashion shoot. He explained to me they were shooting him – pictures for his new portfolio. As it turned out he had paid 800 pounds for a portfolio of pics to become a model. I didn’t want to chatter his unrealistic dreams but being 175, average looking, not exactly in a great shape and having teeth like briskly dog having no bones to chew in its sad life – and the face, well nothing special about the face, honestly.

He went on and on about his parents in Switzerland, about their beautiful home there and – well, you’ve get the pic – talking big. I found the guy more uninteresting every minute. How the fuck to get out of the situation…

Finally the bottle of wine we ordered run out. Yaiaiaia!

• “Should we ask for the bill?”

• “Yea mate, yea, that’s cool”

I visited the bathroom to wash my hands. I took my bag with me. Didn’t trust this guy a bit. When I came back the bill was waiting on our table.

• “Should we halve it?” I asked

• “Oh you know, I forgot my card home. I don’t think I have much money with me,” the prick started.

• “Sorry, you came on a date in to a restaurant without any money?”

• “Yes, I totally forgot it. But I will invite you to a dinner next I promise”

• “Babes, there won’t be another one”, I snorted. “I will pay mine and you can sort out your bill with the restaurant. I am not going to pay your bill.”

I left 2/3 of the bill amount to the table and walked out. Now, don’t take me wrong, if that guy would have been honest he would have just said sorry and apologized, but he didn’t. Instead, he suggested a second date, which we both knew was never going to take place. These are the types of pricks that make you either laugh or be very sorry for the ill-spent wasted time.

The thing is people like this guy obviously has gotten away with this kind of behavior before. Maybe this teaches him a lesson. The sad thing is I didn’t get laid – whattafuck! J

Why do gay men look like prostitutes?

I remember when I was young and gorgeous men looked more, well how should I put it, more dressed up and civil.

It seems London of today is infested with either fat and hairy gays boozing all-day-long calling themselves “bears” instead of old, hairy and fat, or guys looking like prostitutes half the arse hanging out, tattooed head-to-toe and with hairstyles more commonly found in Berlin produced gay porn movies. Of course you still have the accidental “stereotypical” gays with

tight, too short tank-tops and jeans with piss-colored hair and the “suit-men” looking for only “discreet” fun – whatever that is. I asked few questions from myself just to test the idea in my head:

1. Do men like their sex partners to be, or look like prostitutes?
2. Is there a reason for gay men wanting to look slutty?
3. Does the London drug scene have something to do with the fact men look slutty?

I do think that overly imposed with sex and porno, gay-scene has changed to be more accepting of prostitution and its caricatures. In effect, looking like stereotypical gay porn star straight from the scene filming isn’t actually a bad thing but this slutty look is seen as somewhat hot and desirable – that is, for quick sex and encounters. Would anyone actually want to date with one is a questions which still needs some further research.

So, if the case is that the sluttier you look the more chances you have to get laid should I dress-up as one?

I went to the notorious “gay-clothing” stores on Old Compton street in Soho to find out what it had in store for me. Well then. I had no idea that one could buy briefs where the ass is left bare while cock is positioned in a cup like enlargement - sewed into the frontal part. Ah, I think I am getting the point; “Ass out and dick up!” I thought rather not to wear that piece. I also tried a wrestler-suit; you know a one-piece Lycra clothing where speedos are combined with braces. I looked rather funny in them. Made me giggle, but not really tempted to buy. I also saw a long row of socks, footballer socks I thought, on one of the walls. I had no idea how they are related to the slutty look so I asked the guy at the store. “Well, some people have football player fetish, some like socks and some like to have an image of an athlete,” he explained. “Now wait a minute, are you saying people get kicks out of the image of an athlete only by wearing the gear?” “Yeah mate and some like to smell the socks and sports clothing too,” he continued.

I imagined what would a 120kg, 156cm, 56yo hairy guy in a wrestler suit wearing white socks and trainers look like … What a ghastly thought! I thanked guys in the store and exited. I guess I am more a Prada-boy.

Now how about drugs then?

Drugs have been around us as long as the prostitution as a profession. Whether its cause and effect I cannot tell. But what I can tell is that no sober minded would act like the gays in the gay clubs of London. I have been questionably privileged to witness the ghastly atmosphere in the clubs in this town. The clubs are like birthday cakes. They look wonderful, colorful and fun at the outset but once you open your eyes, like cutting the cake, you see all sorts of weird zombie-looking people waving their bodies and cocks around hundreds of like-wired. I witnessed a really hunky and sexy guy on his early 30’s nearly awake totally wasted with a line of guys behind him wanting to test his asshole with their fingers. Now I do love sex but quite honestly being fingered by tens of men on a dancefloor, and those fingers been in god knows where before, isn’t sexy. Quite far from it.

These places and people are most probably swarming with STD’s (=Sexually transmitted deceases)! When I turned around on the dance floor I saw bunch of hormone-stuffed beefs snorting something up-their-nose. Given that this took place on a dance floor I suspected it wasn’t cocaine but instead ketamine - you know the infamous horse-tranquilizer. In the toilets I saw people smoking crystal meth – the life sucker. Now, I am not an angel myself but what I witnessed here was an absolute horror of an evening. I got an entirely new meaning to an expression “H&H” (high and horny) on that night – and no, it wasn’t an uplifting experience.  

 

More from classy London again in my next post.

Cheerio J

Quality apps for meeting the right one...

I had a really bizarre encounter on the first day I arrived here in London. I got a following message on Grindr:

"Bb Raw now? H&H!!!” accompanied with a picture of an anus sperm pushing out.

I was quite astonished. Firstly, because I knew none of the words / acronyms or their meaning. Secondly, I am more accustomed to talk to faces rather than asses, or arse holes. What makes a person to send a message like that to another stranger? And what was the purpose of the spermy anus in all of it? As I later found out these acronyms actually did hold some secretive meanings:

• RAW BB = Bareback sex = Sex without condoms
• H&H = High and horny = Being completely fucked-up and drugged and wanting to have sex while being fucked-up and drugged.

I am still kinda wondering the meaning of the spermy anus picture, but let's forget that for a second. It was quite a disturbing image.

Messages like that kept pushing in like snowflakes on a snowy January afternoon in Lapland. They were all suggesting on first sentences quickies and encounters spiced up with some form of a drug. I learned by glancing through the profiles that a "well-dressed" in this context was having no more than a thong on. In most cases even that was "an excess of garments".

The application indicated in its description field that it was built for gays to find other gays around the area. I.e.: GPS -position enabled service bringing local guys on to your fingertips. In this case, as I learned it helps boys to land on your cock very quickly - or so I thought. After completing few discussions with profile holders I deemed saner that most I learned that the app is actually for weirdos who have no intention what-so-ever in meeting you or anyone else in the real world. Chitchatting naughty and probably wanking away rest assured was the objective for the most. I managed to uninstall this messaging service of disgust by accident - and the inflow of dirt stopped coming in.

Well, I thought, this is the internet of the 21st century; apps of all sorts for "specific interests". My friends told me of some other apps I might enjoy a bit more. I’ll elaborate my experiences about them in following postings.

Cheerio J

 

I totally forgot I had a blog!

It has been two years or so since the last blog posting ... There is of course a reason for this. Firstly, I forgot I had this blog and secondly, it took a bit of effort to find out how to log-in back to edit my dear blog! But hey, I am in and quite a few stories in mind ready for publishing :)

Stay tuned! :)
Cheerio! :D