Homosexual Suspect

A blog addressing the trials and tribulations of a real-life (mostly) gay sex addict. Designed to raise awareness of the reality of this disease, the goal is not to glorify or make light of a terrible affliction, but rather to candidly illustrate what it's like from my perspective. For sex addicts, sexual compulsives, romantic obsessives and the friends and family thereof. Title derived from the title of Jenny Garp's bestseller Sexual Suspect in John Irving's classic The World According to Garp.

Monday, May 29, 2006


"Hot, 24 yo, Straight-acting masc vgl guy"... ahh words that are repeated over and over on Craigslist day after day...

As I mentioned earlier in a post that generated some response from Stolie, I certainly have an opinion on the use of the term "straight-acting" or "bisexual" in describing oneself to a potential fuck buddy. Now, I myself am not "ultra-feminine or queeny," but I wouldn't say that I exude masculinity and gruffness, either. However, I did write a term paper on this phenomenon in college. It is all based on one small theory-- why is it hot for a potential fuck buddy to appear straight to another guy when obviously the two would never date?

Now, I realize that the obvious answer is most gay men don't want a relationship, and would rather fuck all day long as many times as they can. But this answer is also so pre-Brokeback Mountain and all those other "it's cool to be gay like Jake Gyllenhall" fads. This is when it seems all gay couples in the New York area suddenly starting walking hand in hand and making it utterly apparent that they were happy with their life partner/boyfriend/fuck buddy/daddy/little bro/slave/bear/twink/Chelsea boy/power bottom.

Then again... I think it's symptomatic of something much worse: gay-bashing within the gay community. It's almost like gay men end up hating other gay men who are feminine or queeny. Does this make sense? Of course it does. There is this kind of "inner group" hatred in every demographic you can imagine: I'm white but I hate white trash; I'm Bill Cosby but I hate thugs; I'm from West Virginia but I hate the hicks from Eastern Kentucky; I'm Samantha Jones but I hate other sluts.

In the gay community, there is literally a book describing just that. Sissyphobia is an excellent resource that offers a more expert opinion on how this dynamic works in the gay community. for a good laugh, you should check out Straightacting.com. I just went back to it for the first time since I wrote my paper three years ago, and found that it looks cooler, but had crashed recently. It used to have a feature where you could look at pictures of other guys and rate how "straight acting" they appeared. Yeah. You read that right. But, they describe themselves as "Masculinely Politically Incorrect," but I think a better description would be "Gay Politically Incorrect." Because they aren't warping the idea of masculine. They are trying to warp the idea of gay. And that's all fine by me.

You may recall from some of my previous posts that I don't really think there's anything wrong with specifying the type of guy you'd like in your online dating profile. If you want to sleep with a black guy because you like black guys, then why not say that and save other unsuspecting guys the time? Similarly, if you like young guys, even if you're 50, why not say that up front and save the other oldies who might want to get with you some time?

However, if you like masculine guys, then say just that-- because saying you like straight-acting guys makes you sound fucking retarded.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Guilty Pleasure

So the movie Straight Talk starring Dolly Parton and James Woods is on HBO right now. The other day, HBO was showing Rhinestone with Sylvester Stallone and Dolly. Incidentally, I'm also eating Edy's slow-churned caramel ice cream. I also found some good porn earlier.

Thank God for guilty pleasures.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Cyber-sex? Seriously?

What was I thinking?

No, really, WTF?

I work in a profession where gay men are abundant. This is great for other gay men, except there's always the whole, "Dipping your nub in the office ink" bit to contend with.

We've already seen what terrible things can happen by hooking up with guys who END UP working with you (remember the guy who looked familiar to me, and then turned out to be a relatively bad anonymous hook up? DAMN!)

Currently, I've got two very fucked up work relationships going on. One is with a very young guy who found an ad I placed on Craigslist a while back. We'll call him Junior Boy. Well, for some reason, even though I knew he worked for the same company as I did, I just decided to lie and say I USED to work for the company, only now I've since moved on and I now work elsewhere. I thought it was going to be anonymous one-night so-so sex. I mean, really, what is it with this new, clingy generation of anonymous sex fiends? LET IT GO! First there are fucking psychos like Round Peg out there who want to jump me (not in a good, 1998 way), then there are guys that just get hired by your company, and then, there is Junior Boy.

JB is always texting me, asking to hook up. He always asks, "What do you want to do?" WTF kind of question is that? If we hooked once, you know what I want to do, and, Jesus, there really aren't all that many choices (well, at least not for JB; like all members of the oldest profession, I reserve for kink for special occasions). I always want to reply to that question with something like, "Get off, what the fuck else?" But I usually want to keep them coming over. Damn this addiction. It really has brought me in contact with some fucked up folks (note the irony that sentence-- I know, pot, kettle, both black...). Well, Oreo and Todd (my roommates) both work for my company as well and somehow I think Todd ran into JB. (This is due in part to that fact that I received a message from JB asking what my other roommate's name was-- "the gay one" I did, in fact, consider outing Oreo as a big old lesbian, for the record.) I'm not really sure, but I think JB would flip out if he found out we worked for the same company. He's just kind of weird-- in that way that he says he's bi but then really just wants to get off. (Don't even get me started on Straight-acting or bisexual men... I might flip out myself if I get going on that topic).

But then there is PAC man. PAC man is pretty much the exact opposite of JB. PAC man and I met almost a year ago and I totally thought he was hot as hell. He's my type of Latin man with hairy chest and goatee... tall and built. Perfect. But also taken and appeared to have no interest in a fling or two. Fine by me. I didn't see PAC man again until we started working together much more closely in January of 2006. I started to notice he was always checking me out, but it really felt like it always does when older guys look at me-- you know that weird, "Aww, isn't he cute?" look. (P.S. PAC man is like 31, I think, so don't worry about me sleeping with another member of the geriatric word just yet).

Of course, I did a little research on PAC man and found out he has a partner (they all do) and is going to school for some kind of degree (tell you how interested I really was). But then, last night, he responded to an email I had sent. That would have been all fine and good if I hadn't been drunk. I then responded to his email with a thank you for his quick response to mine and asked him how school was going. That would have been all well and good if he hadn't responded by telling me and then mentioning something that I took and ran with. Somehow he said he was glad I was "finally opening up and offering"... At which point, I asked him if we could take the conversation off company email. He have me his screen name and we switched venues rather quickly.

I should mention that up until this point, Oreo and I had been sitting on the sectional flipping between the Food Network and Beetlejuice. Incidentally, we were both marveling at our abilities to flirt so well over the Internet with men we really didn't have anything invested in.

Obviously, I knew when my conversation with PAC Man was going and I needed to get some privacy. As soon as PAC man got chatting, he asked for my email address and sent me a picture of his cock. It wasn't as big as I hoped or had imagined (Cock Shock). But he was proud of it. Somehow, I've managed to make it through the world of online dating without ever taking naked pictures of myself. (I did take a few shots on my camera phone once, come to think, and I also used someone else's pics for a while, but it was just an ass shot, and it's kind of hard to tell. White boys' asses all look the same, right? And, besides, I never got caught). Well PAC man and I started chatting and things seemed to be heading the way of cyber sex.

I know.

I know.

Cyber sex is so 1996. And I knew it. I really did. But the words just gushed. It was like I was going down memory lane. I mean, this is how I passed much of the time in middle school. (ahh... The days before Dateline was arresting all the guys who like dot talk to 12 year old boys... HS SARCASM ALERT: I do not condone being 12 and cyber-fucking with older men, nor do I condone being an older man and cyber-fucking with 12 year-olds. Gross.)

All was going pretty good with our chat session and we were going pretty strong when he drops the whole, "Well, I like and respect you, so I should tell you I have a partner. But he doesn't know about this and we have problems... it is what it is."

I ignored him and told him to sit on my face.

Insensitive is not the correct adjective to describe my cyber sex personality- horny is.

But you know, even after, like, a year's worth of fantasizing about PAC man, I couldn't finish with our cyber sex. I had to think about some past boys to get off just because I was too invested to just let it go and go to bed (without risking a huge case of blue balls). I suppose that means that I'm just not that into him.

It apparently doesn't much matter because he never really responded today and I think it was a one-off encounter. Please explain to me how it is possible that men you have cyber sex with are more capable of pulling one night stands than guys you actually meet!!!??? Whatever happened to manners?


In other news, I met some new friends tonight whilst out and about with Polly: Betty and Downtown. Great gals that will certainly provide more entertainment in Friday nights to come, I hope!

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Thoughts on Watersports

Perhaps it's the shock I feel from the busy work day I had today.

Maybe I'm still reeling from Chris Daughtry's absence from American Idol this week. (Oh, for the record, I still hate Katharine McPhee).

Whatever the reason, I just feel like telling a story of years gone by. This one involves urine, piss, water, Viagra, prostitution, and, well, bad things.

So there was a period in my life just after college when the new job, the new apartment, the new everything-- didn't really work. I ended up looking for alternative sources of income. In fact, I played to my strengths, and thought I'd see if I could make some money off of what I was good at. Of course, thanks to things like Craigslist and the dirty old men of Manhattan, I was able to make ends meet for a little while longer. (Truth be told, I was able to buy everyone on my Christmas list great presents to feed my shopping addiction as well, but I digress. Sexual addiction feeding shopping addiction-- is that the Circle of Life or what?). I ended up meeting a man we'll call Lumpy (he looked a little like what I would imagine an animatronic serving of mashed potatoes would resemble).

Lumpy lived just up the street from me on the Upper East Side, except he lived on Park Ave. and not First Ave., but I digress. From the first time I went to see him, I knew something was off. I'd walk by and wonder if the doorman knew I was just one of the "boys." I'd always count money in the elevator on the way down because I just felt it was rude to do it in front of Lumpy. Finally, I'd always wonder if the IRS would ever catch me for depositing unaccounted for income into my bank account (for those of you out there wondering, and I know you are, I went for like $160-$240 per event. Total, I think I made about $1600 before I finally decided that no amount of money was worth that kind of self-degradation.)

So anyway, Lumpy was one of the guys I saw the most. I probably went there 6-8 times in total. I even helped him put us his Christmas tree that year. Lumpy's story goes like this: He came over from England, met a woman in LA, fell in love, then moved to NYC and raised his family. His wife and he are business partners and may or may not have actually been divorced. Whatever the real story, Lumpy still had some weird fetishes. He was definitely a bottom. He owned this like toilet seat cover that you could sit on so he could rim you easier. Pretty gross if you ask me. But what made it particularly sick was that after each session he'd carve a notch into the little seat cover with my initials "HS". Gross.

I remember the first time Lumpy asked me to pee in his mouth. I was shocked. Appalled. A little turned on. I didn't have to pee either. But, I figured that even though I would never drink someone's piss myself, why deny him his pleasure? And Lumpy figured if I drank 3 glasses of water, I'd be good to go. (Incidentally, have you ever noticed that whenever you go to a stranger's house to hook up, they always offer you a drink first? It really is amazing how polite guys are eve when they know they'[re going to be cumming in your face in about 20 minutes-- if you're lucky!) If it makes you happy... BUT PISSING IN SOMEONE'S MOUTH IS REALLY HARD! Well, it's hard not to get hard. I mean, your dick is in his mouth and all, so it's hard to convince your dick that it's not getting a blowjob and is supposed to pony up as if it's back at a urinal. When it finally happens, he's all, "Don't go too fast." Well, it's so difficult to control the stream sometime.

I'll definitely be writing more about Lumpy and my time spent as a less-than-admirable man of the night.

Essentially-- it's gross. But sometimes you have to live by the mantra: Whatever floats your boat, just don't sink mine! (translation, I'll piss in your mouth, just don't piss in mine.)

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Disastrous Backsliding

It's kind of funny: when I first started writing this blog, I got the impression that it would actually be therapeutic for me "purge" all of my ridiculous sexual history. In the beginning, it really felt like "outing" my addiction would be the answer to so many problems and that things would finally start to work themselves out.

But you know that didn't happen. Since I started Homosexual Suspect, I ended up getting involved with psycho crazy Round Peg and all that shit, and then I went to Chicago. Really, I could have made a porn in my beautiful hotel room in Chicago. I put an ad on Craigslist there and the midwestern men, they came a-running. From 5:30 pm until about 9:00 I had 3 different men show up to my room for blowjobs. Let's give a quick rundown- first guy was creepy and kind of smelled bad, but had a nice enough dick and it was over pretty quick. Next guy had a nice body and a small dick, but that too was over quick enough. The third guy is the interesting one. He was younger than me (interesting plus!) and hot. He had a great body and one of those rare actual huge cocks. It was perfect and beautiful except it had a wicked bend in it so you know he could never actually have comfortable sex.

It bend downward so that, even when he was hard, it looked just like a monster limp dick. I'm not sure if I'm accurately describing this or not, but that's just how it was. He was one of those guys who just likes to be worshipped. Basically, I ended up giving him a one hour blowjob all through American Idol (but I still was able to write down the lines to text my votes in for Chris and Paris-- although we all know how far that got me)...

It was one of those blowjobs where you end up snotting and actually crying because it's gone on so long and you need tissue in order not to look totally disgusting. My favorite part of this encounter was that this guy's Chicago accent was just as thick as his cock. Literally, he was saying things like, "Suck my cock" that sounded more like "cack" and it just made laugh. I guess I'm just used to the NYC guys who have so many accents it's hard and actually rare to find a native.

Now, we could look at this obvious backsliding or return to sexual addiction as a simple case of lack of willpower. Maybe I need to go to some more meetings. Who knows. I think what happened was that I thought I was healing and I wanted to see instant results. But an addiction that's been growing for more than 10 years can't be cured in just 8 months of meetings. At work we went through this great training where we were learning listening and counseling skills. One of the things they focused on was the idea that people approach problems in their personal lives the same way they approach work problems. This of course is just plain wrong. At work, when a problem comes up, any good employee looks to quickly find the best solution and get it worked out ASAP to keep the boss happy. This ends up working its way into our personal lives, too and causes us to expect the same kind of quick fixes to make out personal lives better. In reality, we don't realize that our personal lives don't have deadlines, and that we should take our time to sort that shit out.

So, while I did backslide, it's probably better if I look at it as just part of the process and continue to figure out what triggers these "episodes". More to come on developments on this front.

In the meantime, I've been out a few times with some of the NYC Blogger-elite. If anything, this blog is therapeutic, but has also helped me to branch out and meet some amazing, albeit ridiculous, people-- Polly, Dolly, Stolie, and Pookalu, just to name a few! I am definitely enjoying these ridiculous women, and who the fuck knows what additional trouble I will end up in when I gallivant around NYC in the company of these ladies.

Sunday, May 07, 2006

You Might be a Sex Addict If...

In the spirit of the Kentucky Derby, my birthday, and all things redneck shabby chic, I offer Jeff Foxworthy-esque comical observations about sex addiction:

You Might be a Sex Addict If... even when you're sick, sunburned, or otherwise physically repulsive, you still look for ways to convince someone to get you off.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you file a grievance with your health insurance claiming that STI/STD/HIV testing is, in fact, preventive medicine and it should therefore be 100% covered.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you've ever been turned on or got off to the cooing of the pigeons outside your New York apartment window having mistaken the fowl noises for the rough grunting of your neighbor upstairs getting laid.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you check people out in church including, but not limited to, priests, pastors, deacons, nuns, members of the choir, eucharistic ministers, et. al (I'd include acolyes and altar boys/girls here, but that's just sick-- while most pedophiles probably are sex addicts, it is important to note that most sex addicts are NOT also pedophiles so this is just like one of those "a rectangle is a square, but a square is not a rectangle" things.)

You Might be a Sex Addict If... even though you're grossed out by them, you still wouldn't mind trying watersports, or bondage, or fisting.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you've ever had one of those moments during sex where you suddenly realize this position is just like one you saw in that porn you haven't seen in ages.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... if you linger way too long looking at the "escort" or "companion" parts of the yellow pages or the pink pages or one of those great alternative newspapers that offer lots of sex advertisements.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... when your parents let you look at the Sears catalog to pick out toys for Christmas, you always ended up flipping past the toys and looking at the underwear models instead.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... when there's no porn around and you need a little visual stimulation, you go dig up those catalog underwear models of yesteryear to push you over the edge.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... by the time you graduated high school you had had a sexual fantasy or, if you were lucky, a wet dream about almost your entire graduating class, and most of the faculty and underclassmen too (this includes the ones that weren't "classically" sexy-- the girl with the wolf shirts on in chemistry class, the teacher with the tuft of gray chest hair that somehow managed to work its way out of every shirt the guy worse, no matter what... you get the idea...)

You Might be a Sex Addict If... when your doctor tells you you've got gonorrhea you're secretly happy because it's one of the ones that you can treat and have it go away without it coming back every month or so (unlike that inconsiderate HPV).

You Might be a Sex Addict If... when you do test positive and the doctor/department of health ask you to contact your sexual partners, you aren't nervous about having the conversation with them at all because you don't even know their name, let alone contact information.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you start to recognize the writing styles of the Craigslist regulars.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you've ever masturbated to one of those late-night infomercials with the muscle-y guys and hot-ass chicks working out on the beach (Bowflex, Soloflex, 8 minute abs, whatever...).

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you live in perpetual fear of erectile disfunction or frigidity.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... after every unsafe/abnormal/otherwise fucked up sexual encounter you start to think of all the ways that you could lose your sex drive (smoke pot, take Zoloft, etc.)

You Might be a Sex Addict If... every time your friends talk to you about their sex lives you feel like it is a personal challenge for you to be able to solve their problem by offering advice about sex toys, cock rings, new positions, etc.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you are fluent in Online Dating lingo (PnP, ff, vgl, c/uc, jo, s2r, bb, parTy, and the list goes on and on).

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you've ever lied to someone about your age, weight, height, sexual preference, or position preference just to get them to sleep with you so that you can get off with someone else.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you feel like you've jacked off enough times to realize that it's not going to make you blind, but you still can't help but wonder if this next time will be "the one."

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you find yourself constantly disappointed by all of the sexual amateurs out there who just don't seem to be nearly as experiences as you are.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you pretty much lie to everyone you know about the full extent of your sex life thinking that, really, it's your business and it should be private.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you rationalize all of your sex partners as just a necessary part of the "hunt" to find the right mate.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you would bring someone to fuck with back to your place even if your parents, your roommate's parents, or your boyfriend/girlfriend's parents were staying there too; but you're always sure to use another room.

You Might be a Sex Addict If... you got the end of this posting and thought, "Hey HS, you forgot this one..."

Please help me add to this list! Submit a comment!

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

What I Thought About "I am a Sex Addict"

Friday night, after Oreo and I went out and about with some of the choicest New York Bloggers, we headed over to the West Village to catch "I am a Sex Addict" which was showing at the IFC Center.

I should preface this story by letting you all know that I technically discovered "I am a Sex Addict" after I stumbled upon the director's (a man named Caveh) blog on the google during a quick search for blogs about sex addiction. I glanced around the blog but didn't really pay too much attention to it, because I was just glancing around. Well, then, of course, Craigslist intervened. Oreo was once again scouring the "Men Seeking Women" ads and found a most peculiar ad. It seems there was this gentleman who was looking for someone to go spend the afternoon with him at a showing of "I am a Sex Addict." Is it just me, or is that, without a doubt, the worst date movie in the history of the world? I mean, really. That would be a bad date in the first place, but to go on a blind date to that movie just seems too funny even for my blog.

I went to the movie for all of the obvious reasons, and Oreo went, because, well we were dressed really cute and she likes to be seen with a handsome man in his best spring Seersucker jacket.

This movie is funny. It's even funny to people who don't like to hear about sex. I think this is because Caveh is not an attractive man. In fact, I think part of the ultimate irony is that this man is a sex addict, but you just can't imagine who would ever want to have sex with him in the first place. In fact, Caveh is actually a sex addict with a prostitute fetish. I would venture to say that "prostitute fetish" is really just code for "If ugly guys are sex addicts, then since they can't get anyone to have sex with the for free willingly, then they either wind up as sexual predators or people with prostitute fetishes."

Caveh and I don't have a lot in common, short of a penis. He's from Connecticut and into film and the indie scene (hell, for like 90% of the movie, he is in this outfit of black pants, a white shirt and this heinous black vest). I'm just not either of those things. But, we definitely have a similar sense of humor about our sex lives. As he progresses deeper and deeper into sexual addiction, he makes light of the situation and talks just as matter-of-factly as yours truly. That was how I was able to recognize that the movie was certainly based on reality-- it definitely struck a cord.

The whole movie focuses around Caveh's three major relationships throughout his adult life and how he struggles the whole time to deal with sexual addiction as the relationships crumble. In the end, he realizes that he might have and addiction, and goes to a Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting to cry, testify, and presumably go through a 12-step program, all in the last 10 minutes. Then, of course, the movie ends with Caveh in a church getting married to someone.

You might have noticed that I seemed to really enjoy the movie but still hate the ending. That's because it felt like a cop-out. It's so easy to make the process of sexual addiction funny. It's easy to make light of all the ridiculous decisions the brain of a sex addict deems wise and judicious. In the end, it would be great to see a movie that really shows the difficulty of recovering from this addiction. (By the way, I realize that at the moment, my blog is all about focusing on the funny parts of the addiction, but I know that over time, things will bounce in and out of serious. Yeah, I'm mostly a hypocrite, but just bear with me.)

In the meantime, I'll settle for "I am a Sex Addict" just because I know that at least between the creepy AA sponsor on Desperate Housewives and this new film that long over-due recognition of this addiction.

Round Peg update: Nothing new. Things are quiet... too quiet. I did discuss the situation with Annelle (my friend in LA) and we talked about how funny it would be if he took posted the flyers around and pasted my face onto the body of a naked guy. See, I never took naked pictures, ever, so all he has is a face pic and the subject of my post "Get Your Dick Sucked." Really, I see his plan as just basically free publicity. And even bad publicity is still publicity, right?