5 Things I Learned From a 5-Way With My Boyfriend

Discerning Daddy

This past weekend Layne and I had our first 5-Way together as a couple. We’ve had three-ways and one experience with another couple, but never a five-way.

I get nervous sometimes. Insecure. Jealous. I want to go fuck a bunch of guys with Layne. But I also want him to be all mine, to only want me: basically I want to go fuck a bunch of guys while Layne stands by and cheers me on, which is totally unrealistic as fuck.

So I have to learn to manage my feelings. Manage my insecurities and jealousies and basic cave-man-mentality.

Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I don’t. Life is one big learning curve and I am all over the place.

The guys we were meeting were safe, they were friends, so we knew the situation would be comfortable. We knew no one was going to be super fucked up on drugs or assholes. We met at our friend Dan’s house in Venice. He had two friends visiting from out of town.

We all stood around the kitchen talking. In those initial moments I wanted to leave. I suddenly had thoughts like, “What if I can’t get hard? What if my breath smells? What if no one likes me or I’m fat or…” on and on the thoughts went, all the ways my head starts to tear me down. I even indicated to Layne that I might want to leave.

We all started to make out. Everyone was hard but me. My head had brought about the curse of the limp dick.

I was on the bed naked. Dan was sucking my dick and Carlos was making out with me. I was semi-hard, but I knew: it wasn’t going to work. I looked over at Layne who was sucking Pete’s dick. He saw me and he smiled. I indicated that I thought maybe this wasn’t going to work out and then he was there kissing me, telling me he loved me, playing with my dick while the others were all making out with each other and I learned the most important lesson of them all…

1. Lean in on your partner: This might be the most important of the five lessons. You’re there together. As a team. To have an adventure. This was Jeff and Layne’s great adventure, and when the adventure starts to go bad, find your partner and let them get you back on track. Just taking a few moments to connect with Layne, to feel him and to kiss him, got my dick hard and my head in the game.

If you’re having a sexy adventure with your partner being connected is one way to guarantee you’re going to have a good time. Make eye contact, no matter who else you’re fucking, make sure to check in, touch, kiss, fuck each other: this is about the two of you having an experience together.

So go out there and fuck the world together if you want. There’s nothing hotter than seeing your dude (or whoever you’re out there fucking the world with) making out with some sexy daddy, sucking some dick, getting fucked.

And I really love that moment when he looks over at me, his dick buried deep in some ass, and he mouths, “I love you so much,” or he smiles at me, or reaches out for me.: connecting with me.

I love watching my man be a stud. And I love going home with him, knowing that he’s going to fuck me so good, and then we get to cuddle up on the couch and watch Sabrina together.

2. You Can Leave If You Really Want To: This one is also important. And doesn’t need a lot of discussion. It’s one of the most basic rules Layne and I have: if either of us isn’t feeling comfortable and nothing we do gets us back in the game we get to call it quits. If, on Sunday, I had really wanted to go home, Layne would have supported that. He probably would have been disappointed, but I know he would have totally supported me, and we still would have had a great afternoon together. Sometimes these things just don’t work out and it’s ok to say you don’t want to play anymore. Our rule is clear: if, for any reason, one of us wants to leave, we both leave. We try to be polite, we try to be kind, but the priority is each other, and making sure we are comfortable.

3. Jealousy is Normal: I’ve written about this a lot: being jealousy is normal. And sometimes, watching your man take another dick, or fuck another dude, or just making out, is going to kick in that cave man attitude. This is where lesson 1 comes in handy again. When I’m feeling jealous, or insecure, connecting with my man, touching him, making eye contact, whatever, seems to dispel those feelings, reminding me that I am his and he is mine, and I don’t have to be afraid. If you find yourself getting jealous don’t beat yourself up. It really is normal. Just try to remember: you guys are in this together. It’s your adventure. And you’re the one he’s going home with.

4. The Whole Point is To Suck a New Dick So Enjoy It and Let Your Man Enjoy it Too: Yes jealousy is normal, yes being connected is essential, but also, remember: the whole point here is to experience different dick and ass. And to do it together.

I love getting fucked by some sexy top, making out with the guy next to me who is getting fucked by Layne. I love sharing a hot ass with Layne. I love watching my man suck another dick. One of the hottest experiences I’ve had with Layne was me making out with this sexy daddy while Layne jerked off on our faces. Cus that’s why you’re here: to fuck someone new. To have a new experience. So if your man seems really into the dick he’s sucking, or is really getting off on that dude fucking him: remember: that’s why you’re here. To enjoy it. To get drunk on new dick.

I always try to make sure Layne feels safe, to know he can explore new things with the guys we are with, to have fun. We aren’t the same people with everyone, and my dude might not be the same sexual being he is with me as he is with someone else: and that’s ok. It’s even hot.

As long as you guys are strong, and connected, and trust each other, then you should both feel free to explore and to have fun. Enjoy that new dick and ass, and watch your man be a total slutty stud: it’s the best porn I know.

5. It’s an Extension of Our Sex Life and Not a Replacement of Our Sex Life: I’ll say it again: Layne and I fuck. A lot. Sunday morning, hours before we went to our first 5-way, Layne woke me up with his dick in my ass. We fucked three times before we ever met those guys. When we go on adventures it’s to enhance our sex, to show off for each other, to connect in new ways: even in the middle of an orgy together it’s about us: our sexuality, witnessing and sharing in each other. Sexy adventures can be a way of keeping things fresh, of opening new doors, of exploring your sexuality and fantasies together.

After we got home on Sunday Layne took me into the bedroom and fucked me again: I had Pete and Dan’s loads in me. Layne held me down, talking in my ear, getting off on knowing that my ass was full of two other guys, until he added his own: claiming me for what I am: his.

And honestly: that’s it. Fucking other guys together, watching Layne with someone else, showing off for him, just makes me want him more. It adds to our sex life. Expands it. And connects us even deeper to each other.

I really encourage you and your partner (s) to go out and explore together and have fun together. I’d love to hear your stories. And remember: it’s ok to be scared, it’s ok to be jealous: just look to your dude to help you, be honest with each other and try to keep growing. Because that’s the whole point!

CHICAGO: REFELCTIONS ON LIFE, DEATH, SEX, AND LOVE

Discerning Daddy

When I was 15 I fell madly in love with a boy named Eric. His father lived in the Dakota, Eric’s bedroom windows looking out over Central Park West, and Strawberry Fields. I would spend weekends at Eric’s place. We would lie in bed jerking off, kissing and fucking. During the day, when Eric would lock himself in his bedroom and paint, I would go across the street to the park, and cruise the Rambles.

I would spend hours wandering those trails, trying to see how many guys I could get to touch me, to let me fuck them, how many different guys I could make cum by sucking them off.

And then I would return to Eric. We would get high on opium laced joints and he would tell me about what he had created: Eric believed his work was inspired by beings who lived in other dimensions. Eric believed that there were worlds within worlds, and if we closed our eyes we could see past the thin veil of our existence: we could see into the endless expanse.

Eric would wake me up late at night. He would be crying. He would tell me that he had to get out. He had to get away. I knew he was falling under the spell of whatever madness ate at him. And maybe a part of me understood it: understood the burning in his brain, the voices.

We would go for long walks, down Central Park West to 59th, meeting Broadway, through Times Square, and into the Village. He would sit in Thompkins Square Park, listening to the drums play, listening to the drunks and the conspiracy theorists yelling at the sky, and I would wander down 7th street to the stoop where the dope dealers stood.

A bag of dope for each of us. Enough to quiet our screaming heads. And we would sit on benches, waiting for the sun to come up, telling each other wild dreams of who we would be, of love and adventure. I was going to be a poet, a writer, Eric was going to be an artist, he was going to be a cult leader: and one day, when we were older, we would find each other again, and we would spend the rest of our lives in love somewhere in the desert, or in Paris, or Tunisia, or maybe in an apartment in Chelsea.

When Eric moved to Sedona to live with his mother I thought my whole world would fall apart. I had never known pain like that in my life. Eric is the first man I ever really loved.

And the loss of him ripped through me, tore at me, like losing a part of myself.

I didn’t know then what I know now: that even though it felt like dying, it wouldn’t kill me. I didn’t know then that I am strong, and that love, even the loss of love, will just make me stronger.

My mother, Beverly, used to talk about the fires that burned in her head. How they would burn bright and then dark. How life was an endless battle between those fires. Beautiful and destructive and consuming.

“We are like that, you and me. We burn bright. And that burning can make life feel endlessly magical, but if you aren’t careful those fires will consume you and everyone you have loved.”

She’s right of course. Those fires have consumed me over and over. Like heroin. Like the screaming thoughts in my head.

The first time I kissed Eric was in Madison New Jersey, where my father was living, where his mother lived before moving to Sedona. We were on the golf course, it was three in the morning, and Eric was sure that the night sky was full of alien crafts, that the shadows were hiding whispering men, we were tripping on mushrooms and I think I kissed him because I wanted to shut him up as much as I actually wanted to kiss him.

He held me. He was so warm. I was high enough to feel us becoming one. I was high enough to believe we could stay like that forever, breathing in the night.

Layne likes to ask me when I knew I was in love with him, and I never want to tell him, because what if I fell in love with him first? Because I resist him, I don’t want him to think I love him as much as I do: I’m afraid of falling in love with Layne: I’m afraid of losing him. I’m so afraid of losing some battle that is a self-made construct: I am so afraid of giving in, and yet here is a secret: when I give in I win. Every time. When I give in I no longer even care about winning: I’m just happy.

But lately I’ve been thinking about it a lot too. When did I fall in love with Layne? Was it the night he showed up alone at Ostbahnhoff, a warehouse party in Downtown LA, where I was with my boyfriend, Noah, who was visiting from Berlin with friends of ours? Layne stood there, on the dance floor, watching me, something about his eyes, the way he looked at me: I wanted to walk up to him, to kiss him: I wanted the whole world to stop so it could be just the two of us. He smiled: maybe I fell in love with him the first time I ever saw him smile because Layne has one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen: because even though he wouldn’t agree with me, I know it is true: Layne’s smile that night was so full of hope and dreams and life , or maybe it was the first time I realized he was just as scared as I was, or the night, driving home from another warehouse party and we pulled over on the side of the road and he fell asleep, because I wouldn’t let him sleep over yet, because I was still refusing to give in, and his head was on my shoulder and I listened to him breath: listened to him live.

When did I fall in love with you, Layne?

Was it the time you asked me to come to the Eagle and watch you dance, and I did. I got dressed and drove to the Eagle and you danced for me. And I knew: this was important. It was important that I did that.

My mother would tell me we had been in love forever. Before we even met: that our love was just waiting for us to find it.

I come from the kind of women who believe in magic and love and destiny: the kind of women who have spent their lives refusing to be anything other than who they are.

Maybe I have loved you forever, Layne. Sometimes that is exactly how it feels.

Layne and I fuck. A lot. And we fight. And we burn as bright as we can: and we do everything we can not to be consumed, even when all I want is to be consumed.

When I got sober the thing I was most afraid of was losing what made me special, of becoming like everyone else: a man who goes to work, who grows old, who loses his dreams. What I didn’t realize was that the drugs were the things that were holding me back, the things that were robbing me of my real fire, of my true dreams.

Sobriety is a challenge for me. The voices in my head, the anger, the jealousy, the obsessive thoughts. I struggle with quieting my head so I can hear who I really am: that little voice underneath it all.

This is amplified in my relationship. I am slowly realizing that when I am mad at Layne, or jealous, or scared, it rarely has anything to do with him, or us, but with all the stories I have built from that very first kiss with Eric, through all the men I have loved, through all the loss and all the dreams that didn’t come true and all the fear: sometimes I have to step away from Layne and realize: this isn’t about us . It’s about me.

Because, like anyone who has made it 51 years, I am damaged, and that’s ok. It’s actually kind of beautiful. If I let it be. We are all these amazing, damaged survivors: we are the ones who get to tell the stories.

Layne grew up in Nebraska. He moved to Chicago when he was 27 to be an actor and an artist: to be the man he really always was. So going for a three day trip to Chicago was going home for Layne.

The most amazing thing about going home with someone, going back to where they were creating the dreams that would define them, is you get to meet all the people who loved them. You get to see them outside of the context of the life you have together: you get to see Them.

Maybe you fall in love with someone many times: maybe it isn’t one time. Maybe I fell in love with Layne listening to stories his friends told me of the actor, of the young man, of the crazy man: of my man. Or maybe it was the night we stood in the middle of a sex party at Jackhammer and Layne wouldn’t let me go, whispering in my ear, “Mine,” or when he walked me around Sidetrack in Boys Town excited to show me his world.

Or maybe it was when he showed me all the places he had fucked, or sucked dick, the dark rooms and the guys he had met there. Or walking all the way from Downtown to Edgewater where we were staying because he wanted me to see everything: the theatres he had performed in and the apartments he had lived in: he wanted me to love Chicago as much as he did: he wanted me to catch the dream.

This is what it means to get to get to know someone: to learn them: to see them. There were those moments in Chicago where I realized: This is Layne. This is a Layne I’ve never met before. This is a whole new Layne for me to fall in love with.

And we got to fuck some really hot dudes together, and I got jealous, and we fought, but mostly we walked and we talked and we grew: and we fed the fires so they could feed us.

My mother had a friend, David. David was gay. He would spend summer weekends on fire Island, he bartended at a gay bar in New Hope. David would spend weeks with us, sleeping in our guest room, telling my brother and I wildly inappropriate stories about all his adventures. Stories I would jerk off to, hungry for life.

David was the first man I ever knew who died of AIDS. I remember being at his funeral, all the men crying: it was the early years, the years we were still able to cry: before all the funerals my mother would make me go to: “Because we owe it to them. We owe it to all of them.” After the funeral we went to Washington Square Park and someone played a pop song I can’t remember on a big black radio and we all danced and I remember the way the sun burned against the buildings, the way the clouds rolled over the City, and the way a summer rain fell, and we still danced.

And I remember my mother saying, when I asked her why we were dancing: “Because what else are you going to do? It’s either dance or die, baby boy. So we’re gonna dance.”

When I found out I was HIV positive I was terrified to tell my mother. Because she had lost everyone, all those men who had helped raise me, because there came a time when we no longer danced, when we no longer cried: a time when we just knew: eventually they would all be dead.

I remember calling her. I couldn’t stop crying. I kept saying, “I’m so sorry, mom, I’m so sorry.”

And she said to me, “Baby. I love you more than anything in the whole world. This is just a thing. Just one more thing. It will not take you down.”

And of course she was right. I sero-converted in the age of undetectable viral loads and PreP and TASP, in the age where this would not kill me. But I felt guilty. I felt ashamed. Like I had let her down.

“You will make this something important,” she said to me. “You will use this to change your life.”

Maybe I fell in love with Layne when his dick was buried deep inside this little muscle dude we met in Chicago, when he reached out for me, his eyes connecting with mine: and I saw him there, I saw him loving me as he fucked that guy, or maybe it was when the three of us were kissing and I felt Layne’s hand taking mine in his, his fingers interlocking with mine…

…because this is what life is, isn’t it? All the dreams and all the love and all the loss and all the living…the burning as bright as we can without being consumed…

We fight and we fuck and we dream and we burn bright…and we love…and I wonder if Eric is the leader of his own cult in the desert, or if he is in Paris, or Tunisia, in some studio making brilliant art, or maybe he is a banker, or a homeless man, or maybe he’s dead, and I wonder who David would have been if he hadn’t have died of AIDS, or all those men who we could have loved, but instead, we turned our backs on, who as a nation we allowed to die alone from a disease that for me, in 2019 is totally manageable, and I can make their deaths matter: I can make David, who was so beautiful and funny and vibrant: I can make him matter…by loving Layne, by following my dreams all the way to the end, even the ones that never manifest: just by living and not giving in…

And maybe the first time I fell in love with you Layne was when…

Art work by Layne Manzer.

The LA List: My Favorite Places to Fuck, Dance, Eat and Play in LA.

Discerning Daddy

(Picture provided by Jack Faulkner, House, Disco’s Revenge)

Los Angeles is a sprawling Mega-City of almost 14 million people. It is home to the second largest LGBTQ population in the United States.

Everything people say about LA is true: the traffic is shit, it is an overcrowded, sprawling, expensive, and often times chaotic City.

But it is also stunningly beautiful, and full of magic: LA is the kind of City that changes you, like a fairy tale kingdom that only really reveals itself to you once it decides you are worthy.

It is a wild City of artists and philosophers, a City where people come to leave behind the rules and expectations they were raised with: to be born again, to redefine their existence.

It’s not for everyone. It can devour you, leave you broken and alone, but for those of us who love this City, it will forever be one of the most amazing places in the world.

It is also one of the best places I know of to eat, fuck and dance, and lose yourself in abandonment.

Here’s a list of a few of my favorite Queer places in LA.

1.House, Disco’s Revenge: This is by far one of my favorite parties happening in LA right now. Jack Faulkner has created a fun, uplifting, amazing space to come together and dance and feel like you are part of a community. It has that underground, high as fuck, deep beats kinda vibe. The crowd is friendly and sexy: every time I’m there I feel like I’m surrounded by friends and some of the best music I’ve heard out in a while.

“I’ve been building House, Disco’s Revenge for a few years now at one of my favorite dive bars in Silverlake – Akbar. I believe that people want to be taken on a journey. This is what I was always looking for on the dance floor: a place to escape to. Monstrous beats, deep grooves, souful vocals that you can dance hard to, and that take you on a deep journey leaving you feeling uplifted. This is what my party is all about. An all-inclusive, safe space where people lose themselves in the music and feel the collective love of our underground community on the dance floor.” – Jack Faulkner.

House, Disco’s Revenge, takes place at Akbar, 4356 West Sunset Blvd, in Silverlake. The next House, Disco’s Revenge will be: Saturday November 16, 10pm – 2am.

2. Por Detroit, LA: Por Detroit, a party based out of Mexico City, and brought to LA by legendary DJ Victor Rodriquez, is one of my favorite warehouse parties happening in LA. You’ll have to keep checking their Facebook and Instagram pages to see when the next one is happening. What I love about this party, besides the amazing music and vibe, is that while it’s still a full-on warehouse party, it’s also small enough to feel intimate. And it has one of my favorite dark rooms. Layne fucked me so good one night at this party while a bunch of guys stood around watching and jerking off. What more do you want from a party? Great music. Great People. Great Vibes. And all the dicks and asses (or whatever it is you want) you can handle.

3. The Party By Ostbahnhof: I’ve written a lot about this party. And it still remains my favorite warehouse party in a City that is full of amazing after hours and warehouse parties. I have danced, I have partied, I have lost myself in the lights and the music, and I have been so well fucked and had some of the sexiest adventures with Layne at this party. It is pure artistic hedonism at its best. Thrown by Black Charmed and Victor Rodriquez, it is still my favorite warehouse party. If you’re planning a trip to LA or live here, check out this amazing experience, happening the 3rd Saturday of every month. You can find more info on Instagram.

4. Casita Del Campo: Ok. This has to make the list. It’s one of Layne’s favorite restaurants in LA, and still holds its old school gay run vibe. Great Mexican food, fun campy shows weekly in their theatre, still super gay, friendly, and well worth every penny. This place isn’t just about the food: it’s about the whole experience. It’s a throw-back to an older, gayer Silverlake. 1920 Hyperion Avenue, LA, CA, 90027.

5. The Eagle LA: Full disclosure, I work the door at the Eagle (so feel free to come show me your ass or bring me cupcakes anytime you plan on visiting), so maybe I’m biased, but I still think it’s one of the best bars in LA. The Eagle is more than a leather bar, or “Dude” bar. It’s one of the most open and diverse bars in LA. With parties like MeatRack, CubScout , and Vaseline Alley, it plays to a wide and diverse crowd. While on weekends it can get busy, it still has that neighborhood gay bar vibe to it. 4219 Santa Monica Blvd, LA, CA, 90029.

6. Gold’s Gym Hollywood: Ok, I get it. You’re all rolling your eyes. But let’s be real: Gold’s Gym Hollywood is a classic gay-influenced LA gym. Every time my friend Reiner is visiting from Berlin he makes me take him to Gold’s. While it’s a big LA gym, it still has a local, neighborhood feel to it. Staff and members are all friendly. And come on, there are some of the hottest guys to watch at this place: every time I work out here I’m inspired, and my dick is hard. What more do you want? 1016 Cole Ave, LA, CA 90038.

7.Runyon Canyon: Runyon is one of those hikes you have to experience to understand. LA’s bod- perfect, shirtless, sun-worshipping devotees flock here to be seen and to see. Go for a hike, get healthy, and see plenty of super-hot, sometimes famous, people showing off. Also, you never know, I once got a blow job by this muscle daddy in the bushes one late afternoon. Life’s all about adventure. Go have one.

So those are a few of my favorite places in LA. I could keep the list going but I’ll save some for my part two! I’d love to hear your thoughts and your favorite places.

FUCK DONALD TRUMP

Discerning Daddy

I won’t lie. I’m scared. The thing I’m scared most of is that it won’t matter how pissed off we get, how scared we are, none of it will matter because Donald Trump will still probably win in 2020.

And I don’t know what that means for my community.

I’m not talking about rich gay white men. Ultimately, most of us will be fine. I’m talking about those parts of our community who can’t blend in, can’t hide. The trans men and women, the gender queer people, the cis-women, the people of color, the Muslims and Jews. The ones who are never really safe, even when there is a democrat in office.

Sometimes I sit and watch the news and I wonder, when did it all become so mean? Was the world always like that and I just didn’t notice?

And when did Republicans become willing to sell us all out? As if the idea of being an American only really matters if you are a rich white heterosexual man.

I’m not absolving my community either. Many of us, me included, are sitting by and watching it all happen. I know lots of gay men who don’t read the news, who have given up. Waiting it out. Which is a luxury. A privilege.

We live in a world where everything is beginning to feel hopeless. A world that is on fire, a world that is slowly becoming unlivable. We are willingly walking into self-annihilation.

And I keep wondering: what can we do? A lot of us are just trying to survive, stay afloat in a world that is becoming harder and harder.

But there are things we can do. Small things, things that won’t take much of our time, but can mean the world to someone else.

I think that visibility in the face of fascism is radical and political. Holding hands in public, kissing openly, refusing to deny who we are. This matters. It lets the world know we are here.

Standing up for everyone in our community, not just the ones who look like us, or the ones we want to fuck. Refusing to objectify each other. To take care of each other. To not take advantage of those of us who are struggling, but instead to try to be compassionate and loving.

It all starts with us. With the way we treat each other, as a community, as humans.

I always thought that if we just made choices that were based on being kind to each other, and taking care of each other, helping each other, then we wouldn’t have ended up where we are now.

There’s still a lot of hope out there. And it’s in each of us. We have the ability to love each other, to forgive each other, to be kind to each other. Imagine how strong we would be as a community if we took care of each other, and refused to back down to intolerance or homophobia, transphobia, racism, if we stood up for each other, included each other.

We would be unstoppable.

I’m not trying to preach, or be moralistic, I just want to remember there is hope. That we get to decide the fate of our future, our community, and ourselves.

Fuck who you want. Fuck how you want. Refuse to deny who you are. And take care of each other.

Because honestly, looking out at the world, we might be all we have.

Thanks for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts. And follow me on Instagram if you want!

How a Three-Way Taught Me To Feel Safe in My Relationship

Discerning Daddy

I struggle a lot with trust. I’m also territorial. I don’t like sharing what’s mine.

Like all of us, I can feel insecure, not good enough: afraid that I will lose something valuable.

I can create stories in my head where I will be betrayed and abandoned.

The thing about these fears is that they are contrary to what is real. I am not alone. I’m surrounded by people who love me. I have friends. I have an amazing boyfriend. And to be honest, I have bunch of ex-boyfriends who are still some of my best friends.

Layne and I have had a bunch of really successful three-ways, and some group sex experiences, but it wasn’t until recently that I learned something valuable:

I go into a lot of these scenarios treating the other guy(s) as a potential threat, and my boyfriend as something that belongs to me. And really, neither of those things are true.

Layne and I both agree: we want to be able to fuck other guys. We want to be able to explore and have adventures. But for now, we choose to do that together. It’s our form of monogamy. I’ve talked about this a lot so I won’t go deep, but one of the things I like about our arrangement is we get to experience something new, while also experiencing each other as something new.

Recently we decided to meet up with Trent. Both Layne and I have fucked Trent in the past. He’s someone we are both comfortable with.

And yet I found myself getting insecure, worried that maybe I wouldn’t be good enough, all the things my head can do to tell me that I won’t be enough. I began to view Trent as the threat and Layne as the possession that would be stolen from me.

While Layne and I were waiting for Trent to show up he looked at me and asked,

“Will it bother you if I kiss him? He and I…we have a history. It can get kind of passionate.”

For a second something like fury burst through me, but I saw it for what it was: fear. And then I thought: What’s the point of having some other dude over if we can’t kiss them, or be passionate: what’s the point of any of this if we have to censor who we are?

The truth is, if I thought about it: the idea of Layne making out with some other guy was hot as fuck. The thought of Layne holding me, touching me, while I made out with another guy makes my dick hard right now writing this.

The only thing holding me back from really enjoying these experiences, from fully realizing my sexuality and my partners sexuality, is myself.

My fear.

Trent was coming over to be with us. Not Jeff. Not Layne. But Us. There is something beautiful about that. And then I thought: it’s our job to make Trent feel special, to make him feel desired: we were inviting him into our world, and he deserved the best welcome we could give.

Watching Layne make out with Trent was breathtaking in how hot it was. The two of us kissing Trent, exploring him, taking turns fucking him, making him the center of our world, was one of the hottest experiences I’ve had in a long time.

And if I ever doubted how safe I was with Layne, how secure I am, he taught me, in those moments, how loved I am. He would check in with me, touch me, kiss me, make sure I knew that we were together in this. That this was our adventure.

We can be filthy pigs. I loved licking Layne’s cum out of Trent, filling Trent with two of my own loads, making out with Trent while Layne fucked him, and watching the two of them make out while I fucked Trent, but more than that there was a shared intimacy between the three of us, something that connected us, for those brief moments we were all together.

And I found myself falling deeper in love with my man. Trusting him. Desiring him. There is nothing hotter than watching my dude with another guy, being able to connect with him in a whole knew way.

After Trent left Layne and I went on a date, the two of us, to dinner. Then we came home and curled up on the couch and watched scary movies. Then we fucked and fell asleep holding each other.

I’ll still get jealous. It’s part of who I am. But I think I learned that even in those moments all I have to do is remember the truth: I am loved. And I am safe.

I encourage you to go out and explore. To challenge yourself: to find a way past your fear. And to take care of each other. And to be kind. It was the kindness that helped me the most: to remember that Trent was a good man, not my enemy, and that Layne was my partner, not my possession. To be kind and loving to them both in those moments, no matter how filthy or piggy we got: because we can be all of it: filthy, dirty, nasty, loving, kind pigs.

I’d love to hear your stories. And adventures. And the ways you challenge yourself!

Thanks so much for reading. Without you none of this matters.

Intoxicated: How Not to Lose Yourself In That Good Dick

Discerning Daddy

Layne and I fuck. A lot. We also experiment a lot with sex, with our roles, with who we are, we use fantasy and play and exploration as doorways into who we are.

And we just really like to fuck each other.

Sex is important to me. Sex with my partner is really important to me. I’m not the kind of man who is able to accept the idea that maybe one day we won’t fuck anymore, that we will be life partners who have outside sex partners.

Because sex is about intimacy. And sharing. It’s about closeness. Even when it’s nasty and piss and cum filled, even when he is spitting in my mouth and pissing on my face, there is still the connection, the love. And that is essential to me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying sex is the most important part of a relationship, but it is up there. Along with trust, and love, and friendship, and loyalty, and kindness, and respect.

I think sometimes it’s too easy to say, well, we don’t fuck anymore but we are still partners. It’s too easy to open things up and fuck other guys, and then there’s no more incentive to do the work it takes to still feel sexy toward your partner. Because sometimes it takes work. And creativity. (I want to be really clear…this is just my take on what I want out of my relationship. I think if you find love and partnership and someone you want to share your life with…then fuck anyone else’s opinions. There’s a million ways of doing this. This is just my way.)

Layne and I aren’t open. I say we are monogamous. Layne tells me that is ridiculous. We can fuck anyone we want as long as we do it together. That’s our rule right now. Maybe Layne is right and that isn’t strict monogamy, but I think for me it’s the closest to monogamy I can imagine getting.

It allows us the freedom to explore our sexuality, to have adventures, but to also share in them together. Other guys become a way of enhancing our sexuality as a couple.

I love watching my man fucking another dude. I love watching him make out with another guy. I love sharing a bottom with him, or getting fucked by him and another top. I love watching him suck dick. And then I love going home and cuddling up in bed and just being us: Layne and Jeff.

I use those moments to jerk off to. I think I’m lucky that jerking off to my man is still one of the hottest things I can think of.

Recently Layne blindfolded me and restrained my hands behind my back with his belt and he fucked me stupid, till I couldn’t think any longer, he fucked me into oblivion and he kept on going. At one point he used the belt to spank me. Forcing me into submission.

It was incredibly hot. But it also scared me. Not because of anything Layne did, but because I felt new desires opening in me. New hungers. And it scared me because it meant I was going to have to trust Layne. To really open up to him.

It isn’t easy for me to be vulnerable. To allow people to see my weaknesses and my insecurities. I have built giant walls to protect me.

As a kid I used to tell elaborate lies to hide myself in. I would create vast and epic stories about myself. As an adult I still have this capacity. I’m a writer. A story teller.

It’s hard for me to be honest. It’s hard for me to let you see who I really am. Because what if who I really am is boring, or unloveable, or ugly? What if who I really am is worthless?

Which is funny, because I spend so much of my time writing about my personal life for all of you. But even that is obfuscation. Character building. Using the truth as a way of shielding who I am.

But relationships, if I want them to work, are the one place I can’t hide who I am. I have to find a way to be honest. To trust. I have to find a way to let him in. To allow him to love the ugliest parts of me, not just the good parts.

A few nights ago, Layne had me on my back, my legs up, he was deep inside me, moving really slow, kissing me, his face pressed up against mine. My eyes were closed. I was shut away, losing myself in the sensation of him. When I opened my eyes I saw him, eyes open, watching me.

He smiled at me and said, “Hey.”

And for that one moment everything fell away. For that one moment I felt seen. I tried to keep my eyes open, I tried to not disappear, to be present with him.

Relationships are hard as fuck. For me, a sober alcoholic drug addict who is probably codependent as hell, the hardest part is finding my own space. Allowing myself time to breathe and to be aware. To be my own man. To not turn my dude into a drug. To not get lost in the intoxication of our sex. To not drown in someone else.

Even when all I want to do is drown. To get fucked so far out of my head I never come back. To get lost in him, to save him, to forget myself.

I am a man who has always been hungry for a certain kind of self-annihilation.

So I walk this balance every day, between allowing for truth, and vulnerability, and making space for myself but also allowing for him, for being my own man, and for being the man who loves to worship Layne’s fat dick (I mean seriously, I scored when it comes to this dude’s dick. Just saying.).

And here’s the thing I really want, the thing I am working toward with all my heart: I don’t have to lie to get anyone to love me, I don’t need anyone to tell me my I have worth, I do not need to pretend I am someone else just to prove I am not ugly. I, all of us, not matter how fucked up we might be, are beautiful.

It’s just really hard to remember that. When all we want is to be loved perfectly, and to be safe, to be made whole.

Layne can’t do that for me. No matter how much I want him to. And I can’t do it for him. And the longer we try, the more we try to be everything for each other, the more we will just hurt each other.

So I am trying to support him, and to love him, even when he is flawed and human. And I am trying to remember that even when I lie, or do something ugly, I am still worthy, I am still beautiful.

It’s funny. I didn’t think this piece was going to turn into a new age go love yourself post. I was planning to write about this amazing adventure we had in Palm Springs where we fucked a bunch of guys and had a really romantic date, and swam in a pool and became best friends. I mean, I still plan to write that piece. But I guess I needed to say all this first.

MANIFESTO OF AN IMPERFECT MAN

Discerning Daddy

I am a narcissist and a liar. I am a deeply flawed man. I am insecure and jealous. I am not always good to the men I love.

Because I am afraid.

I want to be good. I want to be loving and kind. I want to feel safe and I want to make you feel safe.

But I fall short.

I am a man of illusions. Peter Pan in Wonderland believing in my wounded poetic idolatry.

A thief and a cheat. I will fuck all your exes and then accuse you of looking at the wrong man. I will use our “open” status to excuse all my possessive outrageous behaviors.

But I will love you. I will try so hard to be everything you want me to be until one day I am no longer there. Just a wreckage of the man I once was: shivering and pathetic and devastated.

And then, in the darkest moments, when I am finally alone, sobbing on the floor, like when I was a junky, an alcoholic, when I have lost everything once again, this time to love, to my toxic behavior, to this new manifestation of my illness of self-obsession: I will turn to the only place I know: and I will stand, forever trembling before the only god I have known: a god who loves us all: flawed and monstrous and ugly in our abject beauty.

And I will try to find a way to love you like that: not just the good and the beautiful, but the ugly and the bad.

So when you find yourself there, alone in the most horrifying way, full of shame and regret, remember this and know: I am right there with you.

Forever human. Forever flawed.

THE IMPORTANCE OF QUEER VISIBILITY: WHY I WRITE ABOUT SEX, BEING HIV POSITIVE, KINK, RELATIONSHIPS AND BEING QUEER AS FUCK

Discerning Daddy

I met Ivan in Berlin a year ago. We had been chatting on Scruff for a few days and finally decided to meet at Populus Cafe on the canal in Kreuzberg.

At the time Ivan was in Berlin studying Political Science for a year, before returning home to Russia.

Ivan was 22 years old. He had come out when he got to Berlin. But he was still careful on social media, didn’t show his face on the apps, never sent out any sex pics with his face in them.

Because he was afraid.

Being gay in Berlin was a lot different than being gay in Russia.

“It would destroy my mother.” He said to me. We were sitting at one of the tables outside. People rode bikes, they walked hand in hand, drinking beers and flat whites, laughing. The City was alive with summer. “My brothers would kill me.”

“When do you go back?”

“Three Weeks. I’ve been looking for a job here, but it isn’t easy. My Visa ends. I’m not an EU Citizen.”

We walked along the canal and made out on one of the many bridges. He held me tight. He ran his hand down my back and grabbed onto my ass.

“I wonder if I’ll ever be able to do this again.”

“Make out with a guy?”

“Like this. Out in the open. Not caring what anyone thinks. Not being afraid.”

We spent the rest of the day at his apartment in Mitte. We fucked and made food and watched bad horror movies and fucked some more.

A week later I returned to Los Angeles. Another city where you can make out and hold hands and love whoever you want.

In May, right around the time of my birthday, Ivan messaged me on Instagram.

“I am in Amsterdam visiting a friend for a few days. I tested HIV Positive. I am afraid. I don’t know what will happen if I go back. I am afraid to go to the doctors. I am afraid to tell my family. I keep reading your stories about being HIV Positive and they give me hope. You make me feel less alone.”

A few weeks ago I was with my boyfriend, Layne, in Hollywood. We were picking up movie tickets on Hollywood and Highland. Swarms of tourists. Families from all over the country taking pictures with Spider Man and Darth Vader and Michael Jackson.

We were holding hands. A father gave us a look of disapproval and he said something to his little boy. The boy laughed. For a moment I thought about pulling my hand away, avoiding any conflict or embarrassment.

Instead I held on tighter. I got on my tippy toes (Layne is six feet to my five five so I have to reach high for kisses!) and kissed him.

Because this is my city. My world. And no one gets to tell me I can’t hold my boyfriend’s hand on the street.

And who the fuck knows? Maybe that little boy will grow up into a big ole queer teenager and he will remember the two guys making out right there, in the middle of the street, not giving a fuck what his dad or anyone else thought.

And that’s the point. That’s why. Every time we hold hands in public. Every time we kiss those we love (or just like or want to fuck) on the street. Every time we say I love you or show intimacy and affection, we are making a statement to the world: That we are here. And you are not alone.

I got an email a while back regarding a story of mine:

“I read your blog piece, “Getting Pissed on Taught me the Secret to Being Free”. You and your partner should be ashamed. I am a gay man. I do not live in liberal California. I believe in Jesus and in restraint and monogamy. It is gay men like you, sexual deviants and predators, who are teaching the straight-normal world that we are all amoral perverts. We will make America Great Again, and there will be no place for men like you.”

He’s absolutely right. I am a sexual deviant and a pervert, and I do not give a fuck what straight, normal, gay, or anyone else thinks about that. This is my life. My sexuality. My relationship. And I live according to my values.

To be kind and loving. To be honest (or as honest as I can be). To be open. To try to grow. To be tolerant. To have compassion for myself and those around me.

And to be visible so those who can’t be will know they aren’t alone.

I write about getting pissed on and group sex and getting fucked in public. I write about falling in love. I write about my struggles with jealousy and fear and intimacy, about getting sober and being HIV Positive. I try to explore all of who I am openly and honestly because I can. Because I will not be jailed, I will not be beaten, my family will not turn their backs on me.

I think those of us living in places like LA and New York, San Francisco and Chicago, have an obligation to be visible. Whether you’re two dads or two moms raising a family, trans or gender fluid, a slut or asexual, open or monogamous, we need to be seen: all of us. The whole spectrum.

Because there are people out there like my friend Ivan who are afraid that they will die if they express their truth.

So for them, I’m gonna keep screaming it as loud and as graphically as I can.

And I’m not gonna back down for anyone.

If you’d like to read more of my writing check out the stories on my blog or my book, Accidental Warlocks, on Amazon.

Your support means everything to me. We are in this together.

ON JEALOUSY AND FUCKING AND BEING TRUE TO WHO I AM: EVEN WHEN I DON’T ALWAYS LOVE WHO I AM

Discerning Daddy

Sometimes I am jealous as fuck. And I don’t even always have my shit together about it.

There is this expectation that we are supposed to be super chill about our partners fucking other dudes, making out with them at the bars, flirting with them on the dating apps. There’s this constant, hidden message: If you aren’t open and cool with it than there is something inherently wrong with you. And if you have any inclination toward monogamy you must be incredibly unenlightened.

So I’m just going to say it: I’m an incredibly unenlightened fucking cave man who can’t stand the idea of my man with another man. Except, when suddenly, I think it’s the hottest thing in the world.

Because sex, and love, and relationships are complicated as fuck, and I don’t believe there is any one way, and to be honest, I think maybe the closest thing I can get to is being fluid with my sexuality and the openness in my relationship.

Sometimes I love to watch my dude fuck another man. Sometimes my favorite thing to do is go to an afterhours or a sex club and watch my man suck a bunch of dicks. I love when he fucks me when a bunch of guys stand around and watch, jerking off. One of my favorite fantasies is me and another bottom totally spoiling him.

And I get to do all those things with him.

But there are other times when I lie in bed driving myself insane with the exact same scenarios. Imagining him falling in love, leaving me, or being bored with me and only being able to get off with another guy.

Because not only am I jealous as fuck, I can be insecure, and afraid: that I’m not enough, or good enough, or that I will be left alone, and that ultimately I will die alone.

Sometimes I want to be the only man he wants to fuck. And it hurts to know that I will never be the only man he wants to fuck.

But if I were honest, he is not the only man I want to fuck either.

My jealousy and insecurities aren’t even based in rational thought. They are these deep down wells of emotion that come from nowhere, screaming at me and causing me to do and say stupid, mean, petty things.

I want to be one of those guys who doesn’t care what my man is doing when I’m not around. Totally fine sitting in the living room watching Rachel Maddow while some trick comes over so my boyfriend can fuck him on our bed.

But I’m not that guy. I don’t even know how to be that guy. And really, maybe that guy isn’t even that guy. At least not the way I’m imagining him.

So I have to find a way to be myself.

And I have to be honest about my desires, and what I want. Because let’s get real. I want us both to fuck other guys. I want to share them with my man and I want them all to myself. I want to get nasty piggy and do dirty slutty shit. Sometimes I want to do a lot of nasty piggy dirty slutty shit.

The hardest thing for me to accept is that I am powerless over what my partner does. Just as he is powerless over what I do.

I have been manipulative, I have tried to control him, I’ve started fights because I caught him looking at an ex, or any number of things I’m super ashamed of. Things that I don’t think are true to my nature, but they are. They are just as much a part of me as the good and kind and generous and loving things are. I just have to figure out how to accept them without nurturing them.

And then I have to be honest. And tell him I’m scared. To be vulnerable. And to try to grow. To try to be the man I want to be. To be deserving of the man he is.

Because that’s the point, right? To find a way, even if that way is messy and scary and sometimes makes me look bad, to be real and vulnerable, to rise above my pride and my shame to become the Jeff I know I can be.

Right now I’m working on a middle ground. I’m not ready for 100% open and I don’t think monogamy is the right path for me either. So we are monogamy-ish. We can do whatever we want together. We can fuck, go to sex parties, put on shows, have threeways and fourways and group sex. We can do whatever we want.

Together.

And what I’m learning is to say, hey, I don’t want to do that right now. I’m not feeling comfortable. I’m sorry.

Because that’s also about being vulnerable. Admitting that sometimes I don’t feel safe. And not making that about him. Because it’s never really about him.

And trusting that he will have my back. Because he always does.

It’s not easy for me to say no. To say I’m not comfortable, especially when it comes to sex. I think I should always be ready, always hard, always horny, always down to fuck and get fucked.

But I’m not.

Sometimes I’m emo. Sometimes I just want him, his dick inside me, his kisses. Sometimes I’m just not in that head space.

And that’s ok.

Here’s the deal, here’s the reason I’m sharing this not so sexy side of myself: Because it is ok. And the more we accept that side of us, the more we stop feeling ashamed and get honest, the more we will be true to who we are. The easier it’ll be to be vulnerable when the jealousy arises, instead of angry. The easier it will be to approach him and myself with love, and compassion, and not insecurity and fear.

I am ok. And if I’m ok, considering the things I’ve done, I’m pretty fucking sure you are ok too.

Feel free to reach out to me if you have things related to this you want to share. It makes me feel less alone if we are all in this together. Or if you just want to ask me questions. Or to tell me that you get it. Or that you think I’m crazy as fuck (you’d be right, I am.).

Also, it’d be a big deal if you’d check out my book, Accidental Warlocks, on Amazon. Your support makes it possible for me to keep writing. Without you there is no point. We are in this together!

Getting Pissed on Taught Me The Secret to Being Free

Discerning Daddy

“What are you doing?” Layne Texts me.

It’s Monday. 6:30pm.

“I’m being lazy. What about you?”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

“If I were you I’d take off all my clothes and sit in the shower with the water off.”

I feel my dick get hard.

“I’ll go do that now.” I text back.

“Good boy. Wait for me.”

I strip naked and get on my knees in the shower. I hear Paco start to bark, then the front door opens.

I close my eyes and breathe in deep.

The bathroom door opens and I am overwhelmed by how handsome he is. He is dressed in a blue button-down oxford, dark pants. He has just come from work.

He smiles when he sees me. The way he smiles makes me feel proud.

I watch as he unzips his pants and pulls his cock out. I brush my face against it, my cock hard in anticipation, and then he is pissing.

I lean my head back, letting it run over my face, into my mouth: I drink it and let it run over my head and down my back.

He must have been saving it for me. He likes to spoil me.

When he is done I take his cock in my mouth: it is hard too. I kiss it, stroking it. Then I stand.

Layne kisses me, tasting his piss on my mouth.

“Shower. I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.”

He leaves me to wash off.

In the bedroom he fucks me like he owns me. He holds me down, teasing my hole then pounding it, kissing the back of my neck, biting at my ear lobes, he holds me tight as he grinds into me, saying my name, reminding me that I am his, to use, to do what he wants with.

When he cums he rams it in deep, pinning me to my bed, his weight heavy on me.

When I jerk off his fingers are deep in my hole, and he talks me through, working me to that place where he is in total control.

When I cum it shoots far, and then he is kissing me, wrapping his arms around me, and I am laughing.

I always laugh when he makes me cum.

Some people might call me a sexual deviant. Or a slut. Or kinky, or into fetishes, or a bottom or a sub, or a top, a bear, a daddy, queer, gay, masculine, feminine, but I’m done with these labels. With the ways we divide and separate each other. The ways we try to make ourselves feel special or elevated, above someone else. I am done with the idea that being kinky, or deviant, or open or poly, or monogamous, or vanilla, or into leather, or any word we use to somehow establish an elitist idea of how someone should behave or be are the things that define who I am.

I like when Layne pisses on me. Not because I am into piss play but because I am into Layne. I am into exploring the boundaries of sex and dominance, the limits of who I am and who he is.

But I also like to cuddle and watch Schitt’s Creek.

I also really love “vanilla” boyfriend sex. The kind of sex where we are both just chasing our nut. Sometimes that is my favorite kind of sex.

What makes something a kink or a fetish? One person piggy and another not? Why can’t we just like what we like without labeling it? Without using it to divide ourselves?

I’m not saying I don’t think communities aren’t valuable. I think finding like-minded people who share your preferences is essential to no longer feeling like a deviant, an outcast, alone. I think celebrating our sexual identities, our desires, celebrating who and how we love, is the way we become visible: the way to acceptance from ourselves and others.

By being visible we normalize what can sometimes seem foreign or threatening.

I like trying on different labels, different fetishes, exploring the ways in which my sexuality expands and grows, but I do not want to be defined or limited by these desires.

Just because I loved that moment when Layne was pissing in my mouth and all over my face doesn’t mean I don’t also love when he holds me tight and whispers that he loves me, looks into my eyes, the moments when we are vulnerable, when I am jealous and scared and he reminds me of who I am.

The minute I allowed myself to stop thinking of myself as a label I was able to discover a vast landscape of possibilities.

I think this is what it means to be sex-positive. To be aware of the ways in which we limit ourselves and each other. To stop viewing our sexuality as something transactional.

There is a whole world of experiences out there just waiting. I want to be free to explore them, to be open to them, I want to feel secure enough and happy enough to trust that I can move outside the boundaries I have created for myself and try something new.

So I’m gonna keep writing about them. Keep trying to make sense of who I am and who I am becoming. And maybe it’s arrogant to think this, but I can’t help but believe that by doing this, by being as open and honest as I can be, maybe I am helping to light a path, to let others know they are safe too, that we get to be as big and as vast as we want to be.

To be pissed on and fucked, to dominate and submit, to follow all our desires and fetishes without shame or stigma.

But to also be more than those desires and fetishes.

I’d love to hear your stories. To hear some of your adventures.

If you’d like to read more of my writing check out the stories on my blog or my book, Accidental Warlocks, on Amazon.

Your support means everything to me. We are in this together.