New York City… it’s lively, it’s chic, it’s sexy, and it’s dirty. Beyond the heaps of trash lining most the sidewalk, beyond the soot on every sill, there’s an energy that can seduce you to do things you never thought you would. It turned a monogamist into a slut, and a light drinker into an occasional T smoker. This is not the gay version of Sex and the City. I don’t have 100 pairs of shoes, I don’t have a great job (or a job at all), I don’t have 3 friends I spend every day with, I don’t have my own apartment, and I don’t have a date every night… but I do have lots and lots of sex.
I lost count earlier this year…but I think I’m around 150 or so now. I’m not particularly attractive, but attractive enough that the guys I don’t want to call me do, and the ones I do want to call me don’t.
Besides the men and financial struggle, I do have some good friends here, though all of them have jobs. It’s through them I get to experience an occasional taste of the fabulousness NYC has to offer. They’ve taken me to roof top parties, Broadway shoes, table service at the chicest of bars (while skipping the velvet rope line), fashion shows, and even D list events (which is all rather glamorous given my humble up bringing).
It’s been 18 months since I made New York City my home. I’ve lived several places including Hawaii, Wisconsin, Indiana, and Massachusetts, but New York is the first place that feels like home – but the type of home that’s constantly threatening condemnation, eviction, repossession, and collapse.
This blog is to help me remember my adventures here in the city. I have forgotten much. Besides, an unemployed gay boy needs something to do besides troll around the internet hunting for sex. :-)
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