Archive for June, 2007

Ethel Miller opened Miller’s Family Diner in 1954. The population of Three Springs was nearing 400. Even in a town that small, there are always mouths to feed and women who are too lazy to cook. She lived upstairs. Going to work was convenient, but there were always more potatoes to peel. Her son Jim and his wife Grace worked there too, but they had their own home, just a few yards away, down the only road that runs through Three Springs.

The place was opened for ‘dinner’ only, which in Three Springs is high noon. The kitchen stayed cool on Mondays and Tuesdays– those were Ethel’s days for reading her newspapers on a fold- up chair that she sat on outside, just under a white awning. The menu was always basic. Folks got whatever she felt like whipping up. Usually there were two selections– a beef or pork dish and chicken was alternated with either a turkey platter or a fish plate. There were always mashed potatoes; real ones, boiled in water, drenched in butter and softened with milk. Salt and pepper with a touch of onion and garlic salts made Miller’s Dinner a popular place to dine, in a town with just one traffic light that did not change colors.

Hungry mouths came from all ends of Southern Huntingdon County when taste buds needed a good meal for a great price. Ethel’s hand-rolled pastry was stuffed with fresh fruits and sealed with fluted edges. Cherries were pitted by hand, doused with sugar and cornstarch then baked to a golden brown hue for anyone willing to pay seventy-five cents for a slice.

Jim made the hoagies. They were popular in the summer when the kids were out of school and their mothers were too tired to cook. All the children in town were boys. There were no girls. Nobody ever questioned why but Ethel. She found it strange that in the little town of Three Springs, there were no little girls…

Continued Here…


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 A thunderstorm encased with tropical moisture scraped the summit of Stone Creek Ridge. Rain was falling in sheets, not drops. Thunder rocked my grandmother’s pink mobile home. She turned off the television and rolled her windows closed, despite the fact that we were hot from pulling weeds in the vegetable garden.

“Stay away from everything electrical,” she warned.

“What’s electrical?”

“You are, Charlie.”

My grandmother knew that many homes in the Appalachian Mountains are struck by lightning and are burned to the ground. Living at the top of the tallest ridge north of Virginia was peaceful, but at times inconvenient.

“I don’t even know if they can get a fire truck up the lane,” she once told me. “We have to be very careful with fires. Now stop playing with those matches.”

Because the storm was really brewing, grandma unplugged her toaster and an egg incubator that was on top of the television. She purchased the egg hatching hut with a lightbulb inside from the same garden catalog from which she ordered her blue potato tubers. The eggs were special ones, from ‘South African’ chickens, grandma explained. She showed me a map inside the Gurney’s catalog and before entering kindergarten I knew where Brazil was and where chickens that lay green eggs originate.

We placed the tiny eggs that were delivered to our house in a special carton under the warm bulb of the machine, hoping that we would have chickens with cut-off tails to add to the ones we already had on our farm.

“Come over here, I want you to see something.”

Thunder rocked our home.

“What makes that sound, grandma?”

“It’s God bowling in heaven,” she explained. “Do you see that? It’s coming out of its shell.”

A flash of lightning lit up the sky and the darkness of the trailer.

I rubbed my tongue in the space where I had lost my two front teeth as thunder rolled again.

I learned the nature of the heavens from my grandmother and those eggs–

The world is a giant incubator.


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Fuck Buddies

I haven’t been into the on-line dating scene since AOL had chatrooms of 23 members and places like blackguyz4whtguyz to hang out in. I’ve been through too many ‘hook-ups’ in life to be bothered coordinating a meeting with my dear blog friend, R_Toady…


We have read each other, almost every day, for almost a year now. He was already a well known blogger when I arrived in the Hotel California.

He is in New York this week.

I’ve seen the darkness of a world where individuals hide behind computer screens. I’m almost afraid to keep our date. While on AOL, we did full screenings, blogging is no comparison to the days of ‘pic 4 trade’ and ‘yours gets mine.’

“Is that a recent photograph?”


“How big is your cock.”

“9.5 cut.”

All I know is that he’s straight, there will be not sex, and for the first time in life I’m meeting a man for ‘business.’ He is ‘interested in my work’.

Meeting face to face with anyone from on-line is frightening. Chatters are nothing like their profiles or their claimed hobbies, I have learned the hard way.

“Look, I’m really not into this. Can I go?”

“Yes, whatever….”

“Was it the poppers?”

“No, my dick will not get hard, sorry,” I have said, time and again, chasing dreams of an instant message.

On line, we as man, are given the tools to be everything we have ever dreamed of….spell check, word count, you tube and digital cameras make the modern internet community like a delusional world. I’ve showed up on too many doorsteps to be disappointed by the person who sits at the other end of the wire.

I’ve learned that ‘members’ play a big game, writing on line and hiding behind keyboards but I have a hunch Toady is different.

He’s like all my New York friends even though he’s from Portland. He’s always so busy, with so much to do and so little time.

“Friday at 3:00 p.m.?” I suggested.

“I’ll be in Park Slope,” he e-mailed back.

“Thursday at 1:00 p.m?”

“That may work,” he insists.

I’m so nervous.


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Buy The Blook

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If Shawn and I had known it was his last birthday, we would have gone someplace other than South Beach, Florida. San Juan, Puerto Rico has always been my favorite vacation spot, but the unbeatable ticket prices at lowestfare.com persuaded me to make the reservations for the sunshine state. He was so excited that his loverwas taking him away for his birthday.Were not married. I dont belong to anyone,I often said when I noticed he was getting too attached.

Then what are we?I dont knowyou tell me. I have explained to you time and again that I dont want to be locked inside another relationship.Then I would sing an old country song that I remembered my mother humming when I was just a little boy– I dont want to play house…”

I felt guilty about a lot of things that I had done that hurt his feelings and I wanted to show him that despite the fact that I enjoyed sleeping around, that he was the closest one to my heart.We awoke at 5 a.m. at my place in Harlem. I placed a load of laundry that I had washed the evening before in the dryer and waited for my favorite pairs of Calvin Klein underwear to finish drying. Our carry- on bags were packed with the exception on my underwear. Shawn bought me two new pairs of swimming trunks, even though our plans involved exploring the nude beach just north of the trendy tourist town.

Shawn had spent weeks researching South Beach on-line. He loved nude beaches. I accused him of being a big show off—”You just love it when white people stare at your big cock, dont you?No sexy,he said. I just love feeling free.“”

Do you want a cup of coffee?I asked. He never drank coffee and hated it as much as I despised marijuana, but he had a cup that morning, probably because he was in a good mood. We were headed off to our first and only formal vacation together. He wanted to be wide awake.We both got stoned that morning. There is nothing better than mixing caffeine with bud. For the first time, we combined our addictions and learned that it was a habit that we should have picked- up a long time ago.

Damn,Shawn said. Now thats different. Shit, my head is spinning.You like that Samatra blend do you?I asked. Just because coffee is legal does not make it any less of an enjoyable substance than this shit,I said while blowing smoke out my nose.You got a point.

Shawn carefully strapped a large bag of pot around his dick by using one of his plastic cock rings to secure it in place.Dont they have dogs that can smell that at the airport?I asked. Pot wasnt my thing, but I knew that Shawn couldnt get through a day without it. Neither of us had been to the popular gay resort town and he didnt want to take any chances of not having any our first night there.

If they find it on you, do me a favor, pretend you dont know me,I said.I always have to pretend I dont know you and love you,he said with his puppy dog eyes.
LookI got you some thing for my birthday,he said.Shawn always bought me things he couldn

t afford— terry cloth robes, watches, shoes, underwear, swimming trunks. I couldnt imagine what the surprise was this time. I hoped it wasnt a ring. Shawn had often asked me to marry him. I just laughed.He held a little glass container stuffed with at least eight little white pills.

Oh, Shawn, I love you,I said just as I swallowed my last drop of coffee.The dryer buzzed.

Do you think you can hide these in my treasure chest?He asked.What do you thinkI asked while walking across the hardwood floors while spreading my ass cheeks, just to tempt him a little more and to show him that I appreciated my engagement rings.


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I no longer pretend it never happened when I see the men on the train or in passing on the streets of New York City. They are just as guilty as I am for taking part in the ceremony of the flesh that occurred inside of Mt. Morris Bath House in Harlem four years ago. I was so high at the time that I did not care about how foolish we were. Condoms? Hell no, that would have slowed them down. The light- skinned dude with shaved head was my favorite. He came inside me three times, I think. The night was perfect. I spent two hours at the gym earlier that day and didnt eat a thing. My diet for the past two days consisted of seedless green grapes and apples. I was clean as a whistle by 11 p.m. and ready to just lay out and get done. I started rolling twenty minutes after popping the pill and knew that it was going to be one of those nights in Harlem.It was the usual early crowd inside the musty corridors when I arrived. I have seen their faces so many times. Some of them I’ve had, others were just in my waythe bottoms. They were all out for the same thing I wasthe closeted straight men who came to the secluded bathhouse to let out their repressed desires. Thats what all the bottoms lived for, at least thats all my life was about at the timethe thugs, the rough trade, the guys with the big black and latino dicks who liked to do the fucking. Some of them were so much in denial that they called my ass pussywhen they thrust hard in me. Thats what I enjoyed the most. It was like a silent revenge to me when their legs quivered as I bounced down hard upon all that they had.

Dats it, dats it, throw me dat pussy.

I thought about pretty women and how good they have it in a world where its acceptable to be openly lusted after by masculine men. But that was my night and none of the men who payed $20 to enter the baths were there for fish. When I worked out at New York Sports Club, I spent 30 minutes a day just doing squats. Craving black rods like I do takes the proper tools of the trade and thanks to my dedication to fitness, I gave all sistas a run for their money makers when it came to having a bottie-lishous backside. I deserved what I got that night, there is no doubt about it. I only feel bad for the strangers I see on the train who I had in that rape. They have no idea that I loved every moment of it. I was only pretending that I couldnt take any more. If they only knew the blood on the white sheets meant nothing to me, perhaps they wouldnt look away and pretend that they do not know me. It must have been a real turn- on to see the burgundy fluid on my bright white ass cheeks as they took turns. It was for many of them, the ultimate fantasyto fuck a white boy until he bled.I still came, numerous times simply because it was a dream for me too. There is no reason they should be afraid of me when they notice me on the train four years later. I was just as much a part of the scandal that happened inside that little room and in the open hallways of Mount Morris as they were. I let the guy with the dread locks crack the thin wooden door and turn on the light. I could have stopped him and made him close the door but he saw that I liked it. He noticed that it turned me on to allow others watch as I took all eleven inches of him. I stood against the wall, slightly bent my knees and stuck out my ass so he could get in deep. The men were standing outside in the hallway already. We must have been making quite a commotion and that’s why they were all there outside the door. He talked so loud.

You like that do you? Thats some good boy-pussy. Can you take two dicks?

Hell, I can take fifty,I said. He was a little more hesitant than I was and seemed a bit nervous as the guys outside started playing with themselves. I just stood there and relaxed my insides as he went to it. I looked away from them. I didnt want them to see my face. I wanted them to wonder what the face looked like that was attached to my pretty ass.A lot of the guys who went there did time in jail. That is likely where they picked up their addiction to bootie. It was what I always wanted though– to feel like a woman with a vagina and experience the ultimate thrill of being the bitch. They made their moves slowly by rubbing themselves against my thigh as I braced myself against the wall until my friend with the dreads got his first nut. I was rolling. I didnt care. The next guy went in easy. He was only half the size. Then the bald guy got in me too. Then he took over. By then I was on the bed, face down. I could tell when it was the bald guy. He was the best. The fit just seemed perfect. The others were just there as intermissions it seemed. I kept wanting the light- skinned dude in me again and could always tell when he was back. I never looked up from the pillow. I just took them, one after the other, but I saw their faces when they came in me. I always looked up when I felt them shoot their wad. I smiled at them one at a time. All twelve of them.


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