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Sunday, August 03, 2008


I met someone when I was in New York last month. Sweet, funny, and with a wicked laugh: I liked him instantly. Not to mention, of course, his boyish good looks, sparkly eyes and forest-like chest hair; they also had an effect on me. I’ve been known to be shallow at times, and god was he handsome; he oozed sexiness from his every pore. But even given his sex appeal, it was his warmth, charm and bubbly personality that made the biggest impression.

On the first night he dragged me off to a local bar, Schiller's, on Rivington, where we sat on high stools that swivelled, and sipped Manhattans (when in Rome…) and I got very drunk, perhaps accentuated by the fact I was jetlagged. Whatever, I was happy, and being happily warmed by the alcohol flowing down to my belly combined with the fine conversation we were having.

Earlier, he learned I had written a book with graphic sexual content, and, like most New Yorkers I’ve met, high-fived me with “You go Girl!” applause, rather than the red-faced, mumbled, “Oh, what, it’s about your sex life, is it?” that I usually get from Brits. With his relaxed attitude I immediately felt at ease; how could I not? So of course I let my guard down: I was only midway through my first drink when I disclosed my man-on-man fantasy

Pleasingly, he was not uncomfortable with the idea at all; in fact he asked me to explain it in detail, which I happily did. (Me underneath, boy on top, another boy behind him.) He seemed excited by the concept, especially when I told him about my theory that the only difference between a straight man and a bisexual one is about five pints. By that I don’t mean to say that men can (and definitely shouldn’t, actually) be coerced into non-heterosexual sex, just that with some alcohol in them, the homophobic machismo and bravado that surrounds many straight men tends to dissipate, and with it, their sexual inhibitions. Which means…boy/boy cock sucking. Hopefully.

Ever the sexual conspirator, he laughed and toasted my perfect sandwich (allow me one pun, at least). We then proceeded to scope out the bar, ogling all the hot men – of which there were many – before finishing off our drinks and drunkenly heading back to his beautiful apartment to crash out in our rooms.

I never did get my MFM threesome whilst I was staying with him, but I’m hoping that my new gay-best-friend (as he puts it) might add in a good word for me with some boys that swing both ways, next time I’m in town. Regardless, I’ll certainly be lodging with him again, because he made me feel safe, and comfortable, and at home, and in a city of more than eight million people, that’s pretty important.

So if you’re looking for somewhere to stay in New York that’s cheaper than a hotel, brilliantly located, informal, gay and geek friendly, with free Wifi and AC, not to mention an awesomely cool flatmate, drop him a line – and tell him I sent you.

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