R.I.P.

laura is hibernating folks. the reason? leslie took over.

basically, i am more concerned with seeing than writing. being a photographer can do that to you.

i'm fine. but i'm obsessed with what images i can produce. i am rapidly expanding my portfolio.

so what does this mean? basically, there will be no more updates or posts. no, this blog won't be taken down. it stays up, as a testament to laura and what she was. but she's retired now.

does this mean i no longer love gay male porn? on the contrary. i have noticed that if i write about gay porn, it's like venting: i get my rocks off a bit, and i never achieve what i really want, which is to produce, direct, write, and edit a top notch gay porn film. you talk about it and you never get around to doing it. great! i was sick and tired of never achieving my dreams. for too long, this blog sort of took my eye of the ball. so instead of talking and writing about my gay porno movie, i'll just MAKE it. doing and making is a whole lot better than talking and writing about it.

so for those who are expecting new posts, i am sorry for boring you. i am obsessed. i must pursue this until the end. i cannot stop thinking about it.

so long, it was a decent run. now i have to pursue my destiny.

green with envy

i hate this man. i really do. but not for the reasons you think.

he flirts with controversy without much effort. he is also one of the most expensive photographers in the world. the price for his prints reached stratospheric heights (one sold for 500k!) when it was revealed he was dying of aids. i wondered if my photos would rise in price if people thought i was dying from leukemia.

i still have a lot of shooting to do. i've done a few lately, but of course i haven't stopped. also, i am now a professional.

new model!

if you know the address to my online portfolio, CHECK IT OUT NOW. you need to see my work.

the opportunitistic anorexic

hi there. you never knew this about me, so i am telling you now. i am anorexic. yes, it's true. i have problems with eating.

you see, i need a prescription for medical marijuana, and they require "evidence" in the form of empty medicine bottles in order to give me the coveted prescription. i suffer from insomnia, anxiety, and asthma, but there is no recorded medical evidence that i do indeed suffer from these afflictions. i seem to be at the end of my line.

then i look in the mirror, and i see that my ribs are more visible. friends, family, and coworkers alike have asked me if i lost weight. they ask if i am eating. of course, i generally brush them aside and insist that i merely have a fast metabolism and i work out alot, so of course i'd be very thin.

then yesterday, after speaking to the customer service representative of the "organic" clinic over the phone, i realized i was merely in denial of the obvious. the damage was obvious to everyone but me...until now. it was clear that i DO have an eating disorder. i was an anorexic and just didn't know it. at 5 feet 4 inches and 105 pounds, it was crystal clear that i was underweight, and that my size could not be achieved by natural means...unless you call self imposed starvation natural.

i take this opportunity to thank my family, friends, and coworkers for caring about me enough to verify my eating habits. also, this clinic insists on verifying my condition, and i believe that the supporting testimony of said family and friends will help the diagnosing doctor see that i need help in the worst way. thank you all for your support and understanding.

hot...for all the wrong reasons

i want to make a gay porn movie. but it will be really dark...basically, the protagonist will be a macho high school football player white guy who gets gang raped by 3 buff black guys while serving a stint in jail for school vandalism. the experience leaves him scarred, turning him into a political conservative as he gets older. except that even as he marries and has children with his beautiful cheerleader wife, he secretly cheats on her with handsome black male prostitutes who "re-enact" his trauma from his brief stint in jail during his teenage years.

he hates gay people. he thinks black people should sit in the back of the bus. yet he wants to be penetrated by them over and over again. how will he reconcile the fact that what he hates the most, turns him on the most?

one day, he cruises for anonymous sex in a bathroom in some big coastal city. he follows a handsome black man into the restroom, not realizing that the object of his lust is a vice undercover cop. he is arrested and sent to jail, where he realizes his worst nightmare and the wet dream of his life happening all over again...will he embrace his true inner slut, or will he retreat into his shell and repudiate everything he ever masturbated to in the last 15 years?

bullet hole

my boss is a mobster. there's a bullethole in the window. he's a brooklyn italian who relocated to los angeles, california.

i'm his morning bartender, and so far, he hasn't complained about me. i get the heebie jeebies whenever i see him and his wife. he's actually not that bad...but i still avoid him whenever i can. he's grabbed me a few times, so i had to serve him food and drinks right on the spot.

the other employees avoid him like the plague. last night, he sat in another employee's section...except that employee refused to come near his section. stupid old me thought that since it wasn't my section, i could walk by and i'd be ok. that was a dumb assumption. next thing i knew, he yanked my arm and started ordering food. i had to grab my pen in a hurry just to write everything down.

it's not that i think he'll ever physically hurt anyone in his employ. ok, maybe it's because i think he would. the telltale bullethole in the window really has me feeling unsettled.

he smiles at me a few times. i think it's because he wants me to believe that he won't shoot me on the spot for making a mistake. i get flashes of that one scene in goodfellas, where joe pesci shoots michael imperioli's character in the foot for making a mistake. eventually, pesci shoots imperioli to death. i wonder if i will meet the same fate.

i've never been the subservient kind of a person. but at the same time, i don't want to sleep with the fishes.

i see his daughter come in all the time. she's only 18, but she dresses somewhat provocatively. it's not that i'm some kind of prude, but she's a very pretty girl, and i figured that her daddy wouldn't want all the male help eyeballing his little girl. one of the servers remarked that she's "gorgeous, but dresses like a hooker". i wouldn't put it like that, but there are times when the clothes are a little too tight. i just chalk it up to hoochie youth culture more than anything.

i spilled some ice tea on the floor and didn't bother cleaning it up. i shrugged my shoulders thinking that someone will eventually mop it up later. namely the busser, i hoped. well wouldn't you know it, my boss walked right into the spill. he yelled about the spill, and wiped it up himself. then he turned around and asked me "bartender, what's the soup of the day?"

"i...uh..."

"i uh what?!" he barked.

"cream of tomato?" i managed to squeak.

"pasta fajulli! you better get it right the next time!"

i get the feeling he knew i was behind the spill. he gave me a dirty look as he was wiping the spill himself. he actually looked at me twice. i ducked under the bar, as if to pick something up. i just didn't want him to call me on my carelessness.

the first time i met him, he was talking a mile a minute. he called me into the private dining room to adjust the tv channels. he muttered about how old age was taking away his eyesight and such. one of the servers introduced me to him, telling him i was to be the new morning bartender. i shook his hand, and my grip was really firm, as usual. his hand was very very hot. "wow, your hand's really hot!" i said.

"hot hand, cold heart!" he declared. "i find that the harder i work the luckier i get." his accent is so thick and cartoonish. he sounds like he's straight out of a mobster movie. his new york italian transplant friends are always at the restaurant. they always sit at the bar, so i have to serve them all the time. they're not mean to me, but i'm still afraid that they'll hurt me physically if i screw up.

the manager assured me that "they" would like me. so far, i guess they haven't complained.

it's actually kind of funny. how all the employees automatically disperse when he comes in. i normally run for the nearest bus station so i can escape. lately, i haven't been very good at escaping. every time i'm there, he's been around to yank my arm. the other employees just laugh. it must be how all new employees are hazed. maybe if i'm there long enough, i'll perfect my escape tactics and he'll never be able to yank me and force me to serve him on the spot.

it's not as if he ever really yelled at me. but i look at that bullethole, and all those nasty images of italian mobsters just send chills down my spine. according to the manager, that bullet hole has been there for the last 5 years.

his wife is especially scary. she grills me every chance she gets. she hasn't yelled at me, but has scolded me a few times.

there are a lot of things my boss doesn't know about me. i'm afraid he'd never be able to handle it. it's one thing for my parents to know i used to domme, but they're not a violent people. they're conservative jerks, for sure. but they have no choice but to accept me. my mobster boss probably packs heat, so i know better then to even let him on about my pot habit. imagine if my macho goodfella boss knew about my gay porn collection? jesus! he's a huge laker fan (as am i) and let me tell you...if he ever knew that i wrote some gay erotica piece about larry bird and magic johnson 69'ing each other, i'd be wearing cement shoes at the bottom of the pacific.

my boss sees me, and thinks i am some kind of delicate chinese girl who is innocent in the ways of the world. he thinks i'm 21, but i'm really 31. i let the age mistake slide. what's important is that he thinks i'm old enough to sell alcohol.

he's never been mean to me. he always says, "thank you sweetheart" or "thank you my dear" in that brooklyn accent of his. but he always gives a look where he's narrowing his eyes. and i see that he's always narrowing his eyes when he looks at me. like he's looking for a mistake i'm about to commit. he smiles at me sure, but again...his eyes are always narrowing. i don't want to sign my death warrant just yet.

prolapse

if i do go through with my egg donation, i'll be able to be a parent, with minimal physical discomfort. sure, the procedure still hurts, but it's nothing like pregnancy and childbirth. i mean, the chances for a vaginal prolapse are next to nil with egg donation.

don't get me wrong--there are women who are fine after giving birth. but i really don't want to take chances with my vagina.

what makes vaginal prolapses so scary? why does it scare some women into choosing a ceasarean section instead?

i've never seen a vagina sag right out of a woman's cunt. but that's exactly what happens to some mothers right after birth. with some women, it's their uterus that gets pushed out after birth...like a sock turned inside out, i hear.

i'm a very small person. aside from my fear of turning into a fatass, i don't want to push a kid that will rip my pussy to shreds either. and that's just the tip of the iceberg. you know what else can happen during and after childbirth? rectal prolapse. you read that right. that's when the inside of your rectum sags right out of your asshole.

and you thought weight gain and a shredded pussy was bad. dying doesn't sound so bad compared to a collapsed asshole. i mean, how the fuck do you live after something like that? how the hell do you function?

these are my reasons for being steadfastly prochoice. the way i see it, how the hell can anybody compel anybody to live with a prolapsed asshole or vagina just because they got pregnant? oh sure, abortion takes away a life, but what about pregnancies where twins start out, but the stronger twin cannibalizes the weaker twin, like what occurs in fetus in fetu? let me tell you--nature is very messy. it's pretty brutal. many singleton births started out as twin pregnancies...but in the womb, the greedy fetus will kill their twin and absorb him or her to monopolize the resources in the woman's womb. that's murder at the most basic, most intimate level.

remember the indian man who was pregnant with his brother for 30 years? his brother was human, with an apparent will to live. you see, he cannibalized his twin in utero. only the twin refused to die. the twin tenaciously clung to life by stowing away in his brother's stomach for the next 30 years, until he grew too big to go unnoticed.

this just goes to show you that anyone who tells you that all life is sacred has their head seriously up their ass.

going to new jersey!

for what, you may ask? to sell my eggs silly! a couple wants my eggs, and they shall have it, for a price of course.

i'm really excited. i know i have a food and travel stipend coming my way, and i'll be using it to pay for a rental car to drive to new york. i've never been in new york, so i'm pretty excited. i definitely want to visit some of the hole in the wall restaurants, see if the food is worth all the fuss.

i really should say that i'm going to new york instead. i'm just using jersey as a stopover, really. all the fuss about the people who want my eggs living there and such.

hall of fame

first things first...i just turned 31 yesterday. it was nice, believe it or not. what sucks is the heartburn.

i am getting slammed with work, so posting has been very spotty, as if you guys haven't noticed. it's all about establishing the groundwork for my career. basically, i want to write, act, direct, edit, and photograph. that's a lot, isn't it? but that's what i want. i won't stop until i get it.

in the meantime, here's some of my best posts, with a little commentary.

men who lactate: my newest obsession
men you can literally milk really fascinate me.

the beginning of brokeback basketball
i flex my skill in writing gay sports themed erotica.

yao ming and dirk nowitzki: the forbidden encounter
i remember feeling gloriously alive when i wrote this post. after i wrote this, i thought to myself: i think i just fucking climbed mount everest. you know how proud i was to have written this piece of sports themed gay smut? let me tell you, after writing this post, i just HAD to take out my magic wand. the giddiness was so infectuous...i was so sweet to everyone around me for a whole week. i mas emailed this post to friends and family...i was so dizzy with pride. bar none the best post i have ever written.

the political female
why gender is just social bullshit.

objectification: is it always wrong?
why wanting to be treated like an object is neither a feminie nor masculine character trait. i make my case that dominance and submission are not tied to gender or biology, but to individual personality and preference. i also make the contention that dominance and submission is a false binary.

a fantasy
what happens when i get the power to achieve my goals?

dear matt sanchez
i ask a melanin rich, man loving, latino conservative republican male where i can purchase his gay porn movies.

respect and fear
this is why i will always be more in awe of viruses and insects than i ever will be of any human being.

a hot dream
i scare even more readers with this piece

the lockerroom voyeur
the comment section contains some nice accounts.

the militant feminist
why feminism is not "anti-fun" or anti-male.

content ownership: this is where the talent really takes it up the ass (and not in the good way either)
this stirred up alot of controversy. there were some people who mistook my demand for reform and regulation as "antisex" and antiporn. fucking idiots.

gender blender
more on the plasticity of gender

my personal ban on straight porn
i make the case that buying gay porn is the ethical choice.

unjured
i suffer a temporary illness that prevents me from typing the letter i.

something a friend needs to accept
non negotioable things you need to accept if we can remain friends

the unmarriagable one
this is why i'll make a shitty wife.

old. very old.

i am recovering from massive heartburn from an eating binge yesterday. i puked about an hour ago, and i only feel a smidgen better. there was too much lobster, too much lamb chops. where has all the fun gone in my life? well, i couldn't burn the candle at both ends any longer, could i?

yes, i know. how boring. no more tales that make me interesting. my pegging and fisting days are over, and frankly, i don't miss them.

you could say that my outlook has really changed. right now, i am most worried about my eyesight. i've accepted that i'm an old fogie when it comes to my sex drive nowadays. but my bad vision is really starting to scare me. for years, i didn't care that i was practically blind without my contacts. now that i'm a photographer, i worry that my eyesight will dwindle away to nothing. no offense to happy blind people, but i'd rather die than go blind. i'm not kidding.

i hate that i'm getting so morbid. that i worry about my physical capabilities. but that's what old age does to you. i think about the nasty things that could happen to me, and loss of eyesight would definitely kill any will to live for me.

if this downer post doesn't kill my readership, i don't know what will.