Win a Date With Rafael Alencar

OK, before we get started on this I think it’s best to dispel a couple of insinuations one might have about a sexually active person who has an affinity for large-membered Latin men. First of all, my shit is tight bitches! I’m sure there are a lot of guys out there who can sit on a telephone pole in one fail swoop and not think twice about it, but I’m very physically active which ensures that the muscles in that area snap right back into that firm place that they’re supposed to be. The most recent encounter I’ve had back there was with a disappointing Dominican who was smaller than myself (which is saying something) and I still had to do my lamaz breathing to make sure I didn’t get hurt. So, in case you were wondering, it does make a noise when I fart. Now that we have that out of the way, we can continue…

When I was 19 years old I bought my first porn in Key West. It was called “Getting It Straight” and was about these four guys who had a bet going on who could make their straight friend bottom first. There was a cable guy, pool boy, mechanic and a boxer. Obviously the boxer (an actor who I’ve also seen in straight porn) was the big nelly bottom (motherfucker probably made a cool 10 grand for that scene) but the man I almost immediately fell in love with was the cable guy. He was built like a brick shit house, had skin the color of a mocha latte, and a baby’s arm sized dick that made the other 2 guys in his scene look like they had leprechaun penises and a butt that had I not eventually felt with my own two hands (hands not big enough to squeeze an entire cheek, mind you) would've thought was totally fake. He had a funny accent that I couldn't make out at the time (nine years of experience later I can peg that accent with sniper-like precision) and I think for the first couple of years that I had it I actually thought he was French, but eventually I deduced that he hailed from what would soon become my most favorite of countries, Brazil.  His name was Rafael Alencar and once I was in a position to download and stream more internet porn he quickly became a recurring character on my laptop screen and I even rented his “best of” video at a hotel in Baltimore one lonely night after I missed my connecting coming home from San Francisco.

Six years after purchasing “Getting It Straight” I was working out at an overly-homosexual Hell’s Kitchen gym when I saw him. Not that it was a big deal to see a porn star or escort at the particular gym, but there he was, one of my top 3 porn stars (star being the key word here) working out on the machine right next to me. Now, I have no problem showing my personality at the gym, especially when it’s filled with the same guys I see out at the bar every night anyway, so I’m sure that I was probably shaking my ass to whatever Lady GaGa remix was blaring in my headphones and glancing at him every once in a while to see if he would glance back. And although he did glance over a time or two, I didn’t take it as anything special and just considered it the usual gay man at the gym (to quote Family Guy) “three hours of crunches and extended eye contact with strangers.” I saw him there again a couple of times after that, and the same casual glances were exchanged but honestly I never thought anything of it.

A month or two passes (I mean, who really remembers that kind of shit. Honestly) and I found myself hanging out with friends at one of the only gay bars in the city I haven’t been fired from and believe it or not was surprisingly not drunk when I saw him again standing across the room. This time, however, there was a lot more than just a gym glance in my direction… This was a full-blown “I’m gonna split you in half” look (a look I have both given and received on many occasions besides this one) and before I even had time to turn to my friends and brag he was already walking towards me. Now obviously this man who must at this point be in his mid to late thirties at the youngest, has been having sex for a living since before I had even lost my anal virginity, so it was no surprise to me that he started with one of the smoothest lines I have ever heard in my life: “You go to my gym don’t you? Yeah, I remember you because every time I see your ass I almost drop a weight on my foot.” I mean, not exactly Shakespeare but just about any BLMJ could’ve walked up to me and said that and I would’ve been on my back within the hour.

It wasn’t long into our conversation before I realized that he was drunk which is always interesting to deal with when I’m sober with a normal person, let alone a guy I’d been jerking off to since the latter part of my adolescent years. I however decided it was best to keep my wits about me for what had the potential of being one of my greater endeavors in life, a decision not often made but one that looking back was one of the better choices I’ve made in terms of drinking. At one point I turned around to find him sitting on the bar with Manquida (obviously an alias used there) pouring shots down his mouth with his massive erection very clearly seen in his super tight jeans. Miss Manquida was under the impression that she was taking my succulent piece of South American baby-arm home with her, but I was quick to inform the bitch that I had already staked my claim and had no intention of sharing this one… yet. Not long after I placed myself between his legs in an attempt to secure my position over Gary (real name… oops) Raffe (yeah, we're on a nickname basis) put my hand on his rock hard penis and said “Can you take 10 inches?” to which I promptly replied “Oh, hell yes! So when the fuck are we getting out of here and going back to your place???”

I was pleasantly surprised to find that his apartment was only one block south of mine in between the same avenues. It was like I had this giant Brazilian guardian angel one exact New York City block south of me this entire time and I didn’t even know it. His apartment was pretty nice and aside from the saddest, dirtiest fish tank I’d ever seen it was pretty well maintained considering how old the building was. Almost immediately after we walked in he put a porno on and said “No big deal, just some friends.” We hadn’t actually discussed the fact that I knew who he was let alone the fact that I actually owned more than one of his movies but I guess he just figured I recognized him in some capacity. Getting down to business I found him to be much less aggressive than I was expecting. Don’t get me wrong, he was all the right kind of rough in all the right kind of places, but he had a kind of gentility about him that I definitely wasn’t expecting. I guess when sex is your job you “force” yourself to work it to perfection. At some point he decided to commandeer my phone and start taking pictures which I’m not a huge fan of, but he saved his contact in there for me complete with email address, Facebook and fan page so I wasn't mad at him for it.

The sex went on and off for about three hours. Let’s be honest, I’m a motha-fuckin trooper but even I need a break every once in a while! He made me a protein shake at one point (obviously we were a bit depleted towards the end) and also gave me some really nice chocolate he had picked up in Germany. It was one of the strangest hook-ups I’ve ever had not only because he was a massive-dicked porn star, but also because he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me whether it was put-on or not. Most guys spit their load and either kick you out immediately or force you into and awkward-armed cuddle position until morning when you wake up with one if not both arms asleep, a kink in your neck, and a guy who looked way better in the dim bar lighting the night before snoring a nose full of drool filled morning breath into your face, so it was a little different and somewhat refreshing to actually get to know the guy once every 20 minutes while physically recuperating from what most would consider punishment and/or a P90X2 Beach Body intensified workout.

As I crab walked my one short block around the corner home at 7am, I texted several friends in an effort to both inform and gloat, and fell asleep with a smile you could’ve seen from space. None of the guys at work believed me the next night until I was “forced” to show them the pictures he took (something I wasn’t too keen on mostly because I looked disgustingly pale and ghastly on that awful Droid camera) and the texts he had sent earlier that night planning for a future encounter. Unfortunately our schedules never permitted another 3 hours of bottom bliss and eventually the texts stopped all together. I did receive a text last Christmas that read “Merry Christmas to the sexiest Daniel I know!” but soon realized it was a group message when I got a reply from an unknown number saying “You too sexy!!!” Ah well, I guess when sex is your job group sexts just become another form of efficient time management.

Daddy

So recently I’ve found myself using Grindr much more than usual. Not that I’m actually hooking up with anyone (two in a span of three months which is good considering I know guys that have had three in the same day) but I recently came across a psycho Cuban Go-Go boy who reminded me of a fling a had a couple of years ago. Not psycho in the like Norman Bates or Buffalo Bill sense of the word, but psycho in that crazy possessive, jealous, “it always has to be about me” mentality that most Latin men suppress because they’d never be able to keep a man otherwise. Not-so-interesting story short he told me to stop texting him because it took me too long to answer a question, but not after he had sent me a full naked photo album and a couple of videos of him fucking some other guy (cause that’s a huge turn on). Not that all Latin guys are like that, but the culture does tend to ere on the side of (for lack of a better word) clingy. Honestly I blame the mothers… A good friend of mine dated this whack-job Brazilian off and on for years and they were constantly getting in full-blown physical fights because the whack-job always thought my friend was sleeping around (even with me once, which is only funny because he’s probably the one friend I've never slept with) when in reality the whack-job prostitution whore was the one fucking one of his coworkers the entire time. And that, my dear friends, is why we do not date bartenders or go-go boys.

Anyway, back to the story… I got invited to a drunk brunch one brisk Sunday morning in October because a guy I worked with was trying to hook me up with one of his friends. Consequentially I woke up still feeling the Patron shots from work the night before and was ready to keep the party going... like ya do. Those of you who have ever had the privilege of spending time with me at any bar (whether I’m working it, drinking at it, or both) will know that once I get past that second cocktail I turn into “Daddy Warshots” or “Shots McDuck” as I like to call myself. So I went to brunch with a giant gaggle of gays, mostly filled with guys I didn’t know and enjoyed my unlimited mimosas to the fullest extent with the thought that even though I had to work that night, nine o’clock was light-years away. After brunch we ended up going to a haunted house that was only not scary because we were for the most part wasted, and after we thoroughly pissed off the entire haunted house staff we decided that it was time for more drinks and headed to GYM Bar.

The next part is a bit fuzzy not because I had been drinking, but more because this was two years ago and mama’s gettin old so my memory isn’t what it used to be. All I can say for sure is that there was a lot of me being loud and obnoxious (nothing new there… But I definitely remember singing the Olympic theme song while putting the same tacky gold medal someone had around everyone’s neck for absolutely no reason whatsoever) and a big Latin daddy in the corner who told his friends that he was going to shut me up by shoving his dick in my mouth. I pretty much immediately named him Daddy and had no issues telling him that to his face because lesbi-honest… it’s the look he was going for. Next thing I know we’re making out in front of everyone and I can’t stop myself from feeling his half-erect 10 inch pinga (I’m learning Spanish with Rosetta Stone right now so get ready for more of that) through his white sweatpants (GYM Bar being quite obviously the only place in the world where you can walk in wearing white sweatpants and still get some). Subtlety was never my strongest trait, especially after a sensible 12 hours of alcohol consumption. Eventually the time came for me to head to work so I jumped in a cab and told Daddy to meet me there in a couple of hours.

What happened next I can’t admit to being proud of, however if I’m going to be completely honest with you, it’s not even the worst thing I did in that bathroom or even while on the clock in that bar. You know I’m not one for slander so I’ll go ahead and give it a nickname as well, but Shmartini Shmultra Shmounge wasn’t exactly known at the time for its ethics and class, especially back then. Once the show started I saw an opportunity and jumped on it (cue rim-shot), and as Shequida was screaming (literally screaming) some bullshit into the mic, I faked a bowel movement and met Daddy in the bathroom for a 10 minute beej. Ten minutes for 10 inches… seemed reasonable. I mentioned something about it a few weeks later to the guy I was working with and he said he didn’t even notice… I guess my subtlety is possible after all!

Over the next couple of weeks we went on a few dates. He lived in Jersey (puke) but had a car so he’d come pick me up and go on some trashy Jersey date complete with ice in the wine. I was shocked to find out that he was a hair dresser, but then less shocked once I realized that he was really a big lady on the inside. I guess this would be a prime example of how penis size is in no way a measurement of your masculinity (you hear that homos??? Having a big dick doesn’t mean you’re not still a big woman deep down inside). Even more of a shock was hearing that he was actually only 29 years old. I full-out accused him of lying until he finally showed me his driver’s license because I had pegged him for pushing 40 at a minimum. And that, my dear friends, is why we shouldn’t do drugs in our twenties! No one wants to look like an old Coach bag before they turn thirty, or worse… a Dooney and Burke!

Our final date was technical date number 4 I believe (I don’t count sex dates as real dates) and our only one in Manhattan because I was really just sick of going to Jersey. It was a quiet lunch at a typical little Chelsea café on 10th Avenue, complete with rusty musical instruments on the wall and Aunt Fern style floral seat cushions on the wicker furniture. The tables were close together and since there was maybe only 5 other people there it was pretty easy for everyone to hear everyone else’s conversations. At some point during the meal he asked me a question that I honestly don’t remember and in normal Daniel fashion I gave some sort of smart assed witty response which finally clicked him into that full-blown whack-job fiery Latina lady mode that I had seen him suppress so many times before. Now although it didn’t include a table flip, or some wine in the face, he did go a bit Jersey Housewife on me to the point that the woman next to us was full-blown staring, saying things like “Why are you such a little bitch all the time?!” and “I’m trying to get to know you here, you should be opening up to me!”

Well, I refuse to get heated in public (unless I catch you cheating on me, then I’ll deck you in the face outside the Duane Reade and not think twice about it… but that’s another story) so I kept very calm and informed him that I will open up to him and he will get to know me better when I am damn well ready and that it sure as hell won’t be in a café where everyone else in the room can hear our conversation. The lady beside me chuckled, the date was over, and Daddy blocked me on Facebook.

Sadly my fire for Latin men has only grown stronger since then, but I can take those 2 short weeks with Daddy and use them as a learning experience on how to deal with mentally unstable catholic men with mommy issues and a huge dick anywhere in the world from Mexico all the way down to Peru. When I finally settle down I can imagine myself being with a Latino of some denomination because let’s be honest, when it comes to husbands I actually want someone who holds me with an iron grip and knows that a perky butt and bright blue eyes are just chum for a swarm of Brazilian tourists and uses that fiery attitude to keep them at bay. Not saying that I won’t have a tour of South America before then, starting in Rio for Carnival, making a huge circle around the continent and ending up back in Rio for the 2016 Olympics, but not saying I will either.

Sex Party in the U.S.A.

Sorry it's been a while guys, but I gotta be honest with ya... 2012 was a bitch and I'm glad it's over. I know how much you guys like hearing about my escapades but sadly I didn't really have any this year so I'm once again resorting to writing about an old one. But believe me it's better this way... 2012 was mostly just a couple of fuck buddies, one emotionally unavailable prospective husband (you can guess why that didn't work out based on the description I'm sure), and a missed opportunity with one of Randy Blue's newest models because "I didn't wanna end up in your blog." Bitch please… what makes you think the sex would be good enough to end up here? ;-) There was the one guy on Fire Island who sent me a Grindr message just minutes after leaving my room and didn't even recognize me even though we had just hooked up (and you guys think I'm the whore), but in reality I spent the majority of my year auditioning my balls off and slinging just enough cocktails to get by. So here it is... my first and only experience at a sex party.

So I met this Brazilian guy (of course he was South American... I mean, if there's one thing you can gather from reading this public little black book of mine is that I have a type) out at a club with some friends. Of course I thought he was mad sexy and before you could say "gin and tonic" we were swapping saliva on the dance floor for all to see. Normally I'm not one for PDA but considering the crowd we were surrounded by I honestly didn't give a fat rat's ass. I mean, if the fat tranny with nipple tassels and ratty wig wants to judge me then she can go right ahead. Well, our making out turned into basically a group make-out session with him and the two friends I was with (at least that's how I think it went. To be honest it probably started with him sucking face with one of my friends but that's not important so let's just say I was the hot one of the three and keep moving, shall we?). This group kissing as we'll call it should have been a sign of things to come but I was still in my post-break-up let's fuck everything that doesn't speak English as a first language and doesn't get a period mode so I wasn't entirely bothered by nibbling on my friends' lips for a minute or two if it meant that I'd be doing the same to a nice piece of foreskin in the near future.

Now believe me, I'm not always one to get a guy’s name before dragging him into bed (or bathroom, dark corner, costume locker... whatever's available really), the last guy I was hooking up with and I admitted that we didn't even know each other's names until we became Facebook friends 2 days after our first rendezvous, but this Brazilian was one I planned on getting to know at least in the biblical sense so I made sure to ask. The thing is that as proficient as I am in the language of sex, Portuguese is still out of my realm of comprehension so even though he gave me his name a good 5 times, I still to this day over 3 and a half years later have no idea how to pronounce it so I just call him Tai-Bo cause that's kinda what it sounds like. Sadly, he's not super fond of this nickname (I guess Billy Blank wasn't as big in Brazil as he was here) but little did he understand that the more a trick hates his nickname the more likely I am to use it more often than his real name cause I'm kind of a twisted fuck like that.

As the night begins to wind down all of this face-sucking is starting to get kinda old so I began closing the deal. Sadly, Tai-Bo had to be at work early in the morning and was in no mood to continue our little encounter back at my place. AKA: he lived in Bushwick and had to leave with his friends cause he didn't wanna have to pay for the cab by himself. So we exchanged numbers and a few "can't wait to get you naked" texts and called it a night.

A few weeks pass, God only knows what kind of shenanigans I got myself into (pretty sure Pecan Sandy was born round about that time) and Tai-Bo and I exchange multiple dirty texts on a fairly regular basis. The only problem was that when it came time to hang a get down to bumpin pussies he never wanted to follow through. For whatever reason, he only wanted to have sex with me at a sex party. Well, I had kind of heard about these things through the internet and what-not but had never actually considered going to one myself. I prefer my performances be on a stage, not on my back (I've never been one for floor work). But I guess it was the combination of my own curiosity and the sexual frustration of these blue-ball inducing text messages that made me give in and send some half-naked pictures of myself to the party moderator so I could get myself on the list. Looking back I probably shouldn't have used the email address that has my full name in the title but I'm just gonna chalk that one up to youth.

Once my pictures were approved and I got on the list it just became a matter of growing the balls to actually show up to this thing. I got my shift at work switched but even as I was walking home to shave my balls I still wasn't sure if I was actually gonna go or not. It wasn't until I was pressing the buzzer at the front door of an old shitty looking building on a block filled with rats and homeless people somewhere in the west 30's that I could actually believe I was going through with it. Once I got to the top of some creaky-ass old stairs I had to confirm my email (oh THAT'S why I didn't want my full name in my email... I just shouted out my first, middle, and last to every horny old man in the city. Nice.) I had to lift up my shirt and show my abs to the big scary looking door man. I was a bit nervous cause I hadn't been working out much that week so I made sure I gave it the old "Mary-Kate-lean-back-and-twist" which has worked like a charm in almost every shirtless picture taken and luckily I passed the ab test and was let in.

As soon as I walked in I had to check everything I was wearing sans underwear. Thank the dear Lord sweet Jesus the first person I saw as I was taking my clothes off was Tai-Bo or I'm not sure I could’ve built up the courage to jump into all that and look for him. There was a couch, a couple of chairs, and wodden slab chained to the ceiling at its corners (I'm assuming this was some sort of poor man's sling) and disgusting looking mattress in the corner and a completely blacked-out section which I had absolutely no intention of wondering into. Believe you me, I was freaked out enough, so the last thing I needed was to be all up on some guy only to find out he was ugly enough to be a background actor in The Hobbit once he stepped into the light. I have to say that I was incredibly Makayla Meroni style unimpressed with the other men in this "exclusive" party. My ab anxiety from earlier seemed pretty pointless considering Tai-Bo and I were BY FAR two of the best looking guys there. Eventually he ran into a big hunky blond guy with his big hunky blond model friend from L.A. who he had fooled around with at one of these things before so the four of us found ourselves a little spot and pretty much immediately became the center of attention (I mean... not saying that I'm the hottest shit to walk the streets of HK, but it was like a mediocrity convention in there).

One of the main rules of this and most sex parties (as I understand it) is "No means No!" Makes sense, right? If a guy's not interested then just move on and find someone else... pretty fucking simple. Well, this one fat asshole didn't really seem to grasp that concept and would not leave me alone. Not that he was actually obese or anything, but he wasn’t in shape and he pissed me off so as far as I’m concerned he was the fattest fuck at the party.  All 4 of us had pushed him away at some point and it was to the point that Tai-Bo even had to yell at him to get away from me and the Jenny Craig before picture was still all up in my business. Now, I'm a pretty tolerant person. I've had a slew of shitty roommates in my life that have built up a level of bullshit acceptance to larger than normal proportions. But the next thing I know I'm down on my knees with one in each hand (like ya do) and I feel something dripping on my back and shoulders. My first thought was "is there a leaky air conditioner in here or something?" but just as I turned my head to look up and check on that phantom aircon I realized that this fat fuckwad just came all over my back... needless to say I was neither happy nor tolerant. The lardass sprinted out of there (I can only assume he was accompanied by a tuba solo) before I could get a chance to gather myself enough to bitch him a new one so I just angry stomped myself to the bathroom so I could wash this Taco Bell grease off my back and shoulders.

Sadly that little incident kind of ruined the entire experience for me and I wasn't even able to get my erection back because I was so pissed off. So I just helped Tai-Bo and the blondies get their business done and called it a night. On the walk home I treated myself to some 99 cent pizza and a Sprite because at that point I figured I deserved it. Tai-Bo and I never hooked up again. I used to run into him a lot but haven't seen him in a while actually. I think the longest conversation I've had with him since the sex party was at a friend's indoor pool birthday party (which you may have read about) where he kept getting really pissed that I wouldn't stop calling him Tai-Bo. I never went to another sex party even though I still get the emails. I guess I could take myself off the list but I like the pictures of the mega hotties that come in the emails... If the guys from the party looked a lot more like the ones in the emails I definitely would’ve made a second if not more trips by now. But I have no intention of spending half of my night pushing away a Lard Lad when I can sit in the comfort of my own room watching porn and the only semen I have to feel dripping down my back is my own. :-)

Extra Incentive: Last Chance!!!

Last chance today!!! I need 3 more donations of $100 or more by midnight tonight (Sunday June 10th) in order to write my most scandalous blog yet!!!

Another hint: he has a weakness for jock-straps :-)


Donate Here!

Broadway Bares: Extra Incentive!

So, as an extra incentive for my fundraising efforts, I have decided to give me readers the opportunity to read the blog I was going to avoid writing for political reasons... Let's just say that this person would be much less than happy to see me sharing the events and circumstances that surrounded the 2 times we have had sex.

If I get at least 4 donations of at least $100 or more this weekend only (between now, and 11:59pm on Sunday June 10th) I will write the blog about Mr. Just-the-Tip. (possibly the best one yet)

To give you an idea of just how juicy this post will be I've made sure I've blocked him from seeing any posts about this on Facebook for fear of... well, my life. Yeah, it's that good.

So if you like a good story (especially mine) and love giving back to the community then hurry up and get those donations in before midnight Sunday June 10th and consider yourself entertained. :-)

Donate Here!!!

Broadway Bares: Why I Do It

Yesterday morning I came into rehearsal for my Broadway Bares number excited to get started and scared of what this number is going to do to my hip flexors. Still not fully recovered from the shenanigans of the Fire Island show this weekend, we started with a brief meeting with some of the members of the BC/EFA staff and a letter was read that once again brought me to tears and reminded why I use my body to do what my wallet can't.


I want to share this letter with you. It was written by a gentleman who was a longtime volunteer for Broadway Cares who had also been a stage manager for Broadway Bares. When his health prevented his participation in Broadway Bares he wrote this letter to the company.
I found it so moving and inspiring. Stories like this are why I'm doing this fundraiser. If you donate you make stories like this possible.

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I want to thank you for all that you do for Broadway Cares. In the last two years I have been very sick. I spent several months in the hospital in the spring of 2007 and have been in one hospital or another for the last 6 months. Without Broadway Cares and The Actor’s Fund I would be pretty bad off.

Here is my story:

I have worked in the theater for the last 17 years. Theater is my life. I began to volunteer with Broadway Cares when I was 21. Last spring I was working my dream job in Chicago when I got very sick and went into a hospital there. Broadway Cares and The Actors Fund paid for my rent in Chicago so that my parents had somewhere to stay when they came to visit me. Broadway Cares made it possible for me to get from Chicago to New York so that I can be treated near my family -- something our health insurance did not cover and money that neither my family nor myself had to give. The Actor’s Fund continues to make my cobra insurance payments which is allowing me the physical therapy and medical care I need as I continue my long road to recovery.

I wanted you all to know that the work that you do helps so many people in this community and their families.

Your tireless efforts and your continuing help is the reason that I am still in this world.

I miss you all very much
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Sadly this gentleman passed less than a year later, but his memory and dedication to the community and Broadway Cares will stay in our hearts forever. It's stories like this that compel me to beg for your money and get as naked as possible in order to get you to do so.

Please donate as much or as little as you can and help make a huge difference in a life that deserves it.

Donate Here!

Broadway Bares: Stripopoly

I was pretty excited for my first year at Bares. Honestly I got started in it for the same reason everyone else does, gratuitous nudity and validating some repressed mommy issues and using charity as an excuse to release the inner attention loving go-go boy that lives deep inside us all. But once I attended the orientation meeting and heard the stories from the people and organizations that Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS helps I was moved more than I thought I could be and knew that this show was about so much more than what meets the eye. On top of that I was shocked and even more moved to see just how many of my friends were willing to donate for this wonderful cause.

When rehearsals finally started for Bares, I was still sort of seeing this guy who you may remember reading about known as Blue Moon Dick (BMD for short), named so because he penis resembles the handle on the beer tap that pours Blue Moon. In fact, I woke up in BMD's bed on the morning of my first rehearsal. We met one night when I was working at Posh where he informed me that he remembered seeing me at the Bares orientation meeting and a couple of short hours later we were making out on his couch with To Wong Foo playing on the tv (a movie which would later brcome a staple of our friendship). After a few more dates we both figured out that we were way to similar to date and despite a couple of awkward conversations on the day of the show, remain really close friends to this day. Since then his nickname has evolved to something far more fun and complicated which I probably shouldn't share but i doubt he cares: Broadway/Off-Broadway's Blue Moon Dick, Choreographer to the Stars: Live in Vegas!

Another guy that I had gone on a couple of dates with not long before the show was Mr. Tumnus. I could give you a long boring explanation of the origin of this nickname but that would be stupid since we only call him that because he kinda looks like a goat... but hot, if that makes any sense. Back at Stagedoor my roommates always said I looked like a wolf and people still think I'm hot so it can't be all that bad. Mr. Tumnus and I hung out a couple of times after meeting at a friend's birthday party earlier that year (click here to read all about that) and never really "clicked" in so many words but he was hot and I'm never one to turn down brunch, that's for damn sure. But sadly after 2 goat cheese omelets, a drunken viewing of Clash of the Titans 3D where we both fell asleep, and a myriad of dirty texts later, one night at Barracuda I watched him go home with another guy and that was just a major turn-off so I was pretty done with him.

When the day of the show came I was on cloud 9. Partially because I had been working 6 days a week while rehearsing, fundraising, and housing a friend visiting from England, and partially because I had been on a steady diet of sushi, sugar-free Redbull, protein shakes, and alcohol for the last two weeks. I was getting attention from guys I never thought would look twice at me probably because I had hiked my booty shorts so damn high you could see my colon, but damnit I wanted to be naked but somehow ended up in the only number where the boys didn't take their tops off. Not that I'm complaining because I loved my number, it being one of the only dancy ones in the show, but let's be honest we all want to see the goods.

So I made it through the day hot, sweaty, and sober. Even got invited for drinks on a friend's rooftop before the show and opted out to go to the gym instead (I mean, I wasn't drinking anyway and my arms look fierce in that picture with Lucy Lui so clearly I made the right choice). Took a lot of pictures that ended up being useless because my camera broke a week later before I got a chance to save any of them but luckily William got my post-coital shot with Cheyenne Jackson (not that we actually were post-coital, but that's what touching him felt like). Flirted with any and everyone who looked at me for more than 20 seconds at a time including of course Ivan and one of the choreographers who I'm pretty sure had and still has a boyfriend. Danced my number, shook my shit for Jesus, Mary, and all 12 apostles, threw my costume off and chugged a mini bottle of Jose Cuervo just in time for rotation. Now, I don't know how or why Jenn Cody's whipped cream can ended up in my hands but whoever handed it to me probably regretted it as soon as they saw me walking around the stage in that pink thong licking whipped cream off the face of every guy in the show I wanted to bang. It wasn't long after that that the effects of the Cuervo kicked in and I somehow ended up covered in glitter, sweat and whipped cream giving some random tourists the photoshoot of their lives. It was in this photo-op that the combination of a swollen sperm duct (which made my right testicle the size of a large tangerine), a thong I've had since I was 18, and an abundance of one dollar bills left not much room inside that tiny pink pouch and a picture was taken of my balls fully hanging out of the side of my thong. About a week after the show a drag queen from my hometown of Knoxville sent me a message with a link inquiring if those were, in fact, my balls on this mans blog and sadly they were. I emailed the guy informing him of how not cool that picture was and he promptly took it down. To this day I still chuckle every time I think of that "I think these are your balls" message.

Once the show was over we hit the after party across the street at some horrible ghetto club called Touch. The location was convenient, but the prices were out of control for a dancer's salary, especially 250 sweaty naked tired dancers who just devoted their entire weekend to charity. Two of the aerialists in the show were old friends from back in our Celebrity Cruise Line days and so I spent the majority of the night hanging out with them since we hadn't seen each other in 4 years. On top of that, it was Alyssa's birthday so my inner Daddy Warbucks usually comes out when that happens and I start buying everyone "birthday shots" of whatever tequila I'm in the mood for at the time. Eventually the party wound down and they started kicking us out but not before I got Ivan's number of course.

When we got to the sidewalk there was a group of friends who wanted to go to the diner and stuff faces with as much fat, grease, and calories as one person could stand and that sounded like the most amazing plan ever so I was totally in. Mr. Tumnus was a part of this group and the thought of finally getting to release after a day of staring at the hottest men in NYC was all of the convincing I needed to jump on that wagon. My straight, married aerialist friends wanted me to hang out with them in their hotel room where the plan was to order in as many bacon cheeseburgers as the legal limit would allow, however I explained to them that the trip to the diner came with the possibility of ass and that's not an opportunity anyone would be willing to pass up. So David (the straight one) turned to one of the other aerialists who pretty much everyone on and off stage had been lusting over for the last 2 days and said "Hey, will you have sex with Daniel?" He looked me up and down once and quickly responded "Yeah, sure." That was all of the convincing I needed so I turned to my other friends and shouted "BYE!" and headed back to the Marriot Marquis with the crazy hot aerialists and the three other guys he planned on banging.

Once we got back to the hotel beers were bought, food was ordered and it was almost like dive rolling down the hallways of the Celebrity Infinity like we had done at least 4 nights a week just four short summers before on the world's longest contract in Alaska, the most boring state in the union. The big sexy aerialist and his boys ended up passing out before the food got there, but David and I were more than happy to eat 100% of what they had ordered on top of our own food... which we did. They eventually snuggled in for a short nap before their flight back to Vegas in the morning and I stumbled out in to Times Square at 7am drunk, horny, covered in sweat and random old man make-up, and (the worst part of that trek home) NO SUNGLASSES!!! And to add insult to injury, when I took my phone out of my pocket I found about 5 missed text messages from Ivan trying to get me to come over and "finish the night" if you catch my drift. Damnit all to hell! My first Bares and the closest thing I got to a hook-up was Cheyenne Jackson's arm around my shoulder... Wah-wah!

A few hours later I woke up to a text reminding me that we had a flying trapeze class that afternoon. So still half-lit and ready to kill myself I met my friends at Bamboo 52, one of the 2 bars I was currently working at at the time, grabbed a drink with my friends before we left and informed the daytime bartender that I would not be showing up to my shift that night because I didn't care. During the trapeze class I ended up ripping 3/4ths of the surface area of the skin on my palms off attempting a new trick and ended up having to call-in anyway... Sadly the news of my sexual frustration driven rant from earlier in the day had already reached the owner and I was fired. Well, that coupled with the drunken screaming match I had the week before at the other bar where I threw my key to the office in the managers face and called the doorman a cross-eyed retard. Oops.

In all I had an amazing time, and I really got a feel for the sense of family that Bares really is. There's no shade, no drama, no negativity, no divas, and no bad apples in the entire bunch. Nothing but love for each other and what we're all doing and it's a feeling that I wouldn't trade in for all of the BMDs, Ivans, Mr. Tumnuses, or big sexy aerialists in all the world! :)

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