Hello and welcome once again to another installment of “Dirk Mancuso, Big Gay Personal Shopper,” a holiday feature designed to help you find the perfect gift for those hard to please assholes on your gift giving list. This week we’ll be focusing on the oversexed and filling their stockings with treasures guaranteed to elicit moans of pleasure and joy. Let’s get started…

First up, for the latex/rubber fetishist with a taste for water sports we have The Complete Enema Rubber Piss Pants. According to the item description, “the enema bag can hold 4 liters, so your mistress or master can keep you for a long time and let you experience the sensations of the warm piss as it squishes around your collection bag that is attached to your leg.” Maybe it’s me, but I just don’t get it. 

For the role player on your holiday list, the Glow-In-The-Dark-Speculum is perfect for a rousing session of “Casper, the Friendly Specteral Gynecologist.” 

We all know exercise is a necessary evil and rumor has it nothing tightens your ass muscles like one of those big exercise balls. And in addition to killer glutes, they help you improve balance and overall coordination. But if you’ve ever been on one, you know how difficult they can be to master. Well fret no more! Now you can work those glutes and your hole at the same time courtesy of the EZ Rider Ball with Butt Plug:

For the total slut who needs his or her hole stretched to the max, there’s The Cannon dildo. I’m not really sure who would use this (or would be able to walk afterwards), but they say there’s a market for everything…

What would the holidays be without a sweet something in that stocking come Christmas morning? For the rug muncher with a sweet tooth may I suggest a milk chocolate Large Pussy On A Stick?

And finally, our friends over at Divine Interventions bring us a litany of religious sex toys including God’s Immaculate Rod, Buddha’s Delight, Jackhammer Jesus, and my personal “favorite” the Baby Jesus Butt Plug. 

Let the shopping begin!

Cumming Soon: More one of a kind gifts to delight!

Since we’re all friends here, let’s share something naughty we’ve tried in the bedroom (or back of a pick-up truck for those of you into vehicular sex) that we thought would be fun/exciting (or we did because our partner is just sooooo fucking cute and made puppy dog eyes and a sad face when we blanched at the idea) but which turned out to be either not so much fun or just plain horrible.

And because I’m such a good sport, I’ll give you two:  whipped cream (trust me — the fantasy is waaaay better than the actual act) and shrimping (and that is ALL I am saying on the latter).

Okay — your turn…

icleanupgood: Hi. Great pic.
dirk mancuso: thanks. sorry about your poor eyesight.
icleanupgood: Love the beard and hair you have and the preppy, nerdy look with the glasses. All HOT.
dirk mancuso: …
icleanupgood: Another hot feature on you is your masculiine square jaw line.
dirk mancuso: are you sure you’re looking at the correct profile? ’cause my pic is the 204 lb weakling…
icleanupgood: I am. So are you into Discipline?
dirk mancuso: …annnnnnnnnnnnnd there we go!
icleanupgood: I am into Headmaster/Pupil spanking. I love humiliating a boi and being humiliated while dressed in my Suits and Ties. I have a big fetish for formal wear.
dirk mancuso: so an evening at Seno’s is like major foreplay for you…?
icleanupgood: You would look so HOT in a Suit and Tie.
dirk mancuso: and a leather hood and ballgag, right?
icleanupgood: Oh yeah! I would love to tie you down with one of my neck ties. Bondage fascinates me.
dirk mancuso: you and every other man i meet
icleanupgood: I could so see me spanking you. How have you had it done before? What implements were used?
dirk mancuso: did you read my profile at all? i’m not looking for a hook-up.
icleanupgood: Have you ever had the Cane? WOW is it hot. Leaves great marks too!
dirk mancuso: i’ll make a note of that the next time hot sex takes a turn toward corporal punishment
icleanupgood: How about straps or belts? I will never forget when my Father came home and was pissed off at me and told me to meet him out in the barn. He also wanted me to stay dressed up in my Suit and Tie.
dirk mancuso: sounds like you had a real “walton’s mountain” upbringing there, stud…
________
***Author’s note: Neither screen-name is real. Mine is close, but no cigar; the other gentleman’s is a complete fabrication.

So there I was laying in bed, talking to this hypnokink guy from gay.com around 4:40am this morning when I thought I heard the headboard start to rattle ever so slightly.

That’s weird, I thought — that usually doesn’t happen with a guy until we’re both in the same room and one of us is getting his ass pounded.

Suddenly the whole bed began to shake ever so slightly and I could hear the house creaking.

“Damn!” I cried, “I think the whole house just shook!”

“Shut up! I was just going to say the same thing!”

We were both silent as a brief second wave came and went, car alarms sounding in the distance.

“That was amazing,” Hypnokink said a few moments later. “Now are you convinced you need to be sucking my cock? I mean seriously dude, if I can make the earth move for you over the phone imagine what I could do for you when we’re in the same room…”

The adorable and oh-so-kinky Mr. Stephen Rader has tagged me for “The Smut Meme” created by Isabella Snow. The rules are pretty simple: Link to Ms. Snow (done), link to the individual tagging you (done), and then tag two others.

While I know none of my answers will top Mr. Rader’s (hee-hee…I said top Mr. Rader) nor will I be providing photographic evidence of my exploits like him (and yes, Ed, such photos DO exist), let’s give it go shall we?

1. Chocolate or Whipped Cream? I’ve never had a really good experience involving food and sex (allow me to take a moment to once more urge all of you to NEVER wrap fruit roll-ups around your boyfriend’s cock), but I will say it’s hard to go wrong with whipped cream.

2. Leather or PVC? Leather all the way, baby!

3. Outdoor Sex or Indoor Sex? Let’s face it, they both have their time and place. And their appeal.

4. In the Jacuzzi or In Bed? If we’re talking bondage, definitely the bed (water and leather don’t mix). Otherwise, I love getting busy in the jacuzzi. And the pool. And the shower.

5. Bad Sex or No Sex? Since I am currently in the midst of the latter, I’ll have to go with the former. Unless by bad, you mean dirty ass and poor oral hygiene — in which case, I’m gonna have to pass.

6. Dominate or Be Dominated? I’ve done both, but prefer to be dominated.

7. Thigh highs or Bodystocking? Cross dressing? No thanks — I’ll pass. The closest I’ve come to a body stocking was the time I was wrapped in industrial plastic wrap…

8. Fast or Slow? Slow if we’re making love, like a locomotive if we’re just going for hot, sweaty animal sex.

9. Rough or Gentle? I like it all — surprise me. Better yet, just give me a hot, sweaty couple of hours of both.

10. Bite or Suck? Well, it all depends were those actions are taking place. Suffice it say I’m a huge fan of both all over — especially in the nippular region — and I give as good as I receive. (Yep, I love to bite…)

11. Role play or Reality? Why can’t I have it all? Reality has its place, but so does “Escaped Convict and the Warden’s Son.”

12. Dirty Talking or Dirty Talking To? Depending on what we’re doing, I enjoy both — though I will admit it’s harder to talk dirty with a mouthful of cock.

13. Edible panties or No Panties? I have gone the edible underwear route once and let me tell you it isn’t pretty. Or tasty. Besides, why keep your junk covered with extra layers when we both know its not doing to stay that way for long?

14. Spanking paddle or Bare-handed? I’d have to give the edge to the paddle. Drill a few holes in it for extra pleasure…and don’t forget the flogger!

15. Landing Strip or Kojak? I honestly am not sure what this is referring to (although methinks it is in reference to a shave job on a hoo-hoo chute — UGH), but I will say that while I loves me a furry man, I also think bald is beautiful…unless it’s in reference to his junk. Yeah, I’m a fickle bitch.

16. Multiple Sessions or One Good Fuck? Since I am currently in a sexual desert, I would find either to be an oasis. That said, I prefer mulitple sessions — especially if I am being edged.

17. Moaning or Screaming? Yes, I do…sometimes to the point where I’ve had underwear shoved in my mouth.

18. Older Men or Young Men? I gotta say I prefer the older guys — they know what they want and are less likely to play games. Plus, there’s something about a Daddy…

19. Threeway or No Way? I’m a one man man and if we got all of the above going on, why do we need anyone else?

20. Swing or No Swinging? See previous answer.

And now for the tagging…which I have never done before. Soooooooo, I’m going to tag Kyle over at atomicpop! and cb at The Mangina Monologues. C’mon guys — show us how they like it in Minnesota.

Like most blogs on my blogroll, I can’t recall how I stumbled upon THE MANGINA MONOLOGUES, but I can tell you that once I read it, I was hooked. Sure, it didn’t hurt that the author — cb — is one hell of a sexy man, but it was his sense of humor and writing style that brought me back. From batshit crazy weddings to pouty pissing pups to masturbation sessions witnessed by the neighbors, there’s a lil something for everyone over at cb’s place. (Not to mention some incredibly *schwing!* inducing pics of the author’s gorgeous mug from time to time…)

I’ve decided that I want to get into bondage… sir.

I’ve been into leather for years– although much more for the “playing dress up” aspect than the actual lifestyle. Remember those cotton commercials from years ago ‘the look, the feel of cotton– the fabric of our lives”? That’s how I feel about leather– only add to that list “the smell”. And insert the word “sex” before “lives”.

Heh,heh… I said ‘insert’!

There’s just something about guys in leather that is hot. I propose a ‘man-law’ that everyone looks sexier in leather gear, just like everyone looks better wet. Perhaps its playing on the whole gladiator/slave fantasy look. Perhaps its because society tells us that men in leather are more masculine. Maybe its the danger/taboo/kinky aspect. I don’t know, but me likey!

One caveat– twink boys in leather. While they DO look hotter, I’m still not into them.

Anyway– I started collecting leather items and various accoutrement (can one actually USE the word accoutrement when describing bondage gear?) many years ago. For a long time, my collection merely included leather hot shorts, leather pants, combat boots, motorcycle boots, a cock ring, and a dog collar. The leather shorts, alas, no longer fit. But by golly they sure were fun when they did!

More recently (two years ago) I acquired a leather 5-point harness… from eBay no less! Even if it IS used, it still fits decently, and I probably saved 150 bucks. If anything, I’m a thrifty ‘ho. I also got a leather jock/pouch thingy online, too.

But it wasn’t until last weekend that I started expanding into bondage.

A guy that I’m seeing (we’ll call him “master” or “sir”) occasionally spills some details about his past– most of which include hot times spent tying guys up. These stories intrigue and, dare I say, titillate me just a bit? They got me thinking much more about the whole “being tied up and dominated” aspect of sex… and I must say that I found myself surprisingly up for it.

So I went shopping for more bondage gear at “The Cockpit Project” and “The Smitten Kitten”.

I purchased wrist cuffs and a blindfold and a ball stretcher (yikes!). “Sir” already has ankle cuffs, a paddle, and a gag of sorts. Oh, and he has the rope and nylon straps to effectively “secure” me. So far, only the harness, blindfold, and cockrings have come into play. I have tried on the ball stretcher, and- let me tell you- its a fucking workout just to get the thing snapped. But it is kind of fun to wear, and I look forward to wearing it ‘during’.

We have also discussed whether we will be using my 4-poster bed for the bondage, or whether the ropes will be run under the mattress instead in order to protect the wood. My master is nothing if not thoughtful. In addition, we have discussed the topic of a “safe word”. (Safe word??? Jebus, who IS this guy?) He seems to think my safe word should be “pussyboy” or something equally degrading.

I was thinking more along the lines of “OW-Bitch-Fuck-You-That-HURTS!!!”

Or “puppies”.

Regardless, I think Saturday is B-Day. The stage has been set, and the costumes are ready. I hope I survive and still have the ability to blog about it.

Sir.

SCARY PERSONALS GUY: hello
DIRK MANCUSO: hey

***Dirk reads Scary Personals Guy’s profile***

DIRK MANCUSO: curious here about something in your profile
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: go for it
DIRK MANCUSO: you mention you are into saline injections…i’ve never heard of that
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: yes, saline injections and you can call me Mr.
DIRK MANCUSO: injections where, Mister?
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: that’s Master, not mister
DIRK MANCUSO: so noted. so where do you give these injections?
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: you can easily fill your testicle sac (scrotum) with 500cc of sodium chloride (.9% normal saline) and you can inject 5-6 cc into each testicle
DIRK MANCUSO: doesn’t that hurt?
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: you need to address me as Master
DIRK MANCUSO: doesn’t that hurt, master?
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: I have seen the guys happy that I have injected. I have done my scrotum and I liked it
DIRK MANCUSO: i’ll pass, thanks
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: I was a surgical assistant for 13 years. I have held a heart in my hand so I think your nuts would be safe with Me
DIRK MANCUSO: that’s all very special, but i am a bit squeamish around needles
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: well, if you submit to me, you will not even be seeing what is going on
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: you would have a leather or rubber hood on
DIRK MANCUSO: i would still feel it
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: you would just feel pressure and a stick
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: your not a fuckin baby are you?
DIRK MANCUSO: i’m not going to lie — when it comes to needles i am a huge fucking baby
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: well, that is something to push your limits
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: like having your cock pinned to a board with 20 needles
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: just through the skin
DIRK MANCUSO: i’d be screaming my ass off if you even looked at pin cushion and then turned my way
SCARY PERSONALS GUY: good. you can have a ball gag and bite it
DIRK MANCUSO: shhhhh…you had me at “easily fill your testicle sac (scrotum) with 500cc of sodium chloride”

8 o’clock on a Saturday night and the age old question: what’s a gurl to wear?

Whilst Dr. Sparky immediately threw together an ensemble (and pressed it!) in a matter of minutes, I was torn. Jeans, black tee, and ebony Sketchers aside, there were bigger questions: collar or no collar? Cuffs or no cuffs? These are important fashion matters at IML, people — what you wear says a lot and may determine whether or not you wake up the next morning chained to a radiator with jumper cables attached to your nipples. Eventually I decided to go sans leather and we were off to meet the third member of our party.

Upon arriving, the first stop of the evening was the event sponsored by The Pup Zone. For those of youwho have not heard of this phenomenon, “puppies” are adults who get some sort of sexual satisfaction from taking on the role of a dog. They wear collars and led around on leashes by their owners. The advanced “pups” don leather mitts which effectively turn their hands into paws and rubber or leather dog hoods which make them resemble their canine counterparts. To complete their transformation, many insert a butt plug with a dog tail to wag.

The “event” is really nothing more than a room full of Masters and their pups putting on a show for onlookers. They bark, they yip, they sit up and beg, they roll over and let you scratch their tummies, they play with dog toys. And yes, they sniff your crotch. It’s really one of those things where once you’ve seen about 5 minutes of it, you seen about all there is to see. I am a firm believer in the whole “whatever trips your trigger as long as it is between two consenting adults, it’s legal, and no one gets hurt” thing, but I have to say that the whole puppy trip has an undercurrent of creepiness that leaves me feeling a little dirty. I can’t really say why (maybe because I am reminded of the freaky guy in the dog mask in THE SHINING — the book, not the Stanley Kubrick travesty), but for my money the whole thing has a very limited appeal.

Please note that the following photos are very dark because the lights were low in the room for some reason. The first shot is of the puppies playing in the center of the room. The second is of a pup wearing a “BOOT SLUT” tee on his back waiting for me to scratch his tummy. For all I know he is still waiting.

In my attempts to get a better photo of the festivities for my faithful readers, I slowly began making my way counterclockwise around the room. As I reached the midway point, I found myself beside a large pillar with a fellow slightly taller than me blocking my view. Undaunted, I stepped around the pole and found myself standing behind Michael.

Give me a fucking break!

Seriously, in a city the size of Chicago, at a venue with literally thousands of people in attendance, what were the odds I would find myself within spitting distance of my ex? (In all honesty, I have to admit, I’d had a feeling I’d run into him at some point during the weekend, but I thought maybe that was just extreme paranoia.)

Faced with the choice between getting you guys more pics or bolting like a little bitch, I said “screw the readers” and dashed out of the room like the sissy boy I am. As chance would have it, my friends had already had their fill of the show as well and so it was onto other things. They went down the hall to the Onyx Dance while I went downstairs to the main ballroom to mix and mingle and drink.

A few beers later, I was sufficiently over my near run-in with Michael and began wandering about. I witnessed some hot men making out on the stairs, a trailer trash sub and his dominatrix wife putting on a flogging display for a crowd of onlookers, and 2 really cute guys dressed like BMX bikers with their hands down each others’ pants. And then there was the guy running around in a diaper all night. (Again, no complaints about the pic — the lights were down low to help facilitate hook-ups I think. Men like me need all the fucking help we can get.)

Deciding that the ex had probably moved on, I made my way back to the Dance to see how things were going. Let me state for the record that I do not dance. I am the whitest white boy in the history of ever and I possess nary a move. Unable to spot the rest of my party, I wandered down the hall to the bathroom. Upon exiting, I passed by the pup room and stepped back in to see how the show would end (the presentation was over at midnight).

While I was watching the final minutes of pomp and pageantry that would not be leaving the AKC without sleep, I heard a baritone “hello.”

Turning, I saw a distinguished gentleman in his mid 40s beside me dressed as some sort of commandant (I’m guessing German or British).

“What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?”

Oy. What’s a sexy man like you doing uttering corny shit like that?

He introduced himself as David and asked if I had ever engaged in puppy play (no), if I had any interest (no, again), and if I knew anything about the pup movement (no, and don’t really care to.) David explained that it was one of the fastest growing aspects of the leather community and that it had really exploded in the last couple of years. Fascinating.

With things beginning to wrap up, I think David made what might constitute a “move.”

“Buy you a beer?” he asked.

Never one to turn down a free beer, I said sure.

“First, you’ll need to eat a treat from my hand,” he replied, taking a graham cracker Scooby Doo brand “Scooby Snack” from a bowl on the table behind us.

I looked at him.

“Kneel, boy,” he said, holding the treat in his black leather gloved hand.

Short on pride and long on thirst, I knelt and accepted the stale treat.

“Good boy!” David smiled. It really was a shame he was such a freak, because the man was conjuring up some serious comparisons to Ben Stein and that had me hard. (What?!?!?! I’m not ashamed to say I’ve always secretly thought he was hot — I imagine a salt and pepper furred chest and the heart of a wild man beats beneath that 3-piece suit of his. And that voice! Yummy.)

True to his word, he bought me a beer. Well, 3 beers to be exact. Or I think it was 3 — I sort of lost track after a while. And after he went out for a smoke, I lost track of him, too. And so I wandered amidst the hairy harnessed hunks until 2-ish and then we caught a cab back back to the apartment.

3 hours later I was heading for the train station.

It seemed like a pretty decent weekend until I arrived home and found the body.

To Be Concluded…

***WARNING: Today’s post may not be work appropriate!***

One of the highlights of IML is the sea of kinky consumerism on display at the infamous Leather market. For the minimal fee of $3 (which goes to support the Leather Archives — I have no idea so don’t ask), one has the luxury of wandering through three floors of vendors offering a variety of items you’ll likely never see at your neighborhood Target. After paying our moneys and being outfitted with jazzy wristbands to gain entrance, we were off to shop.

As we entered the gallery of vendors, we were met with the sight of an upright cage and a sub/puppy crate. The latter was occupied by an adorable fellow who seemed pretty darn happy to be there. Which was good, since his head was locked in a collar built into the door. (By the way, this little play thing will only set you back a mere $645.)

From there, there we toured a sideroom where you could not only get your head shaved, but also purchase gas masks, stocks, padded spanking benches, monkey rockers, and portable slings. For the record, I tried out a couple of the latter and found them to be quite comfortable — I can definitely see the appeal more and more each time.

Making our way through the crowd, we were greeted with a bevy of sights: videos of men being fisted; penis shaped candles; a wide selection of blindfolds, gags, hoods, and various other restraints. There were cd’s of synthesized soundtracks to score your next bondage/fist fucking/role-play session; porn stars signing pics and posing with fans (?!?!?); massage demonstrations. “Boy Butter” was there with both their fantastic original product as well as the awesome new “You Won’t Believe It’s Not Boy Butter.” Free samples? Yes, please.

One of the more intriguing booths featured a middle aged woman extolling the virtues of electro play. Armed with her violet wand and various attachments, she made a compelling argument for putting a little spark into your love life. The best part is for only $625.99 the deluxe violet wand kit can be yours.

She also turned on the hard sell for a set of brass wheel attachments. “Gentlemen, imagine having this running up and down the underside of your erect cock — pure heaven. And the rounded nubs make it perfect for navigating the uneven terrain of your balls and along the anus,” she explained, holding the small tool between her thumb and index finger and running it over each potential buyer’s forearm. “Ladies, imagine this travelling up and down your engorged clit. I assure you you will be writhing in pleasure in no time.” As I looked over at the middle aged 40 miles of bad road in her platform heels, fishnet pantyhose, and baby doll dress beside me drolling over the sales pitch, I sort of lost interest and wandered on.

Dr. Sparky found a lovely rubber woman’s foot, the exact use for which escapes me.

We also saw a wide variety of dildos and butt plugs, many of which make an elephant squeal. Among the more disturbing ones were the Ream and Scream Anatomically Correct Horse Cock and the Yam. The latter’s name made me think of Old Boy. Not a good selling point for anyone who’s seen his unit.

The magazine BOUND AND GAGGED had a booth, adjacent to which was an inflatable bondage bed with built-in restraints. As I was testing their strength, a camouflage clad man approached.

“Lay down and we’ll see how well those hold…”

“Okay,” I kidded, “just let me tell my friends I’m going to be a while.”

“We better not,” he replied, his good eye trained on me, the lazy one looking across the room, “I’d have to figure out what to do with you once I had you like that and I might get thrown out of here.”

Dr. Sparky later wondered just exactly what one could do that would actually get himself thrown out of that venue. It was a good question.

Moving onward, we saw a St. Andrew’s cross and witnessed a public flogging. Hawt. The gentleman being flogged quickly went into the zone as the suede straps began turning his back red and another fellow stepped up to work his nipples. (For you squeamish types, I’ve been flogged and it’s really not painful — it’s more like a very intense work-out or massage. I was very relaxed afterward and had nary a welt or bruise a half hour later.)

Before leaving, we took a chance to spin the Interactive Male wheel of fortune. Dr. Sparky won 2 free music downloads and I won a disco sperm cum towel (“Stayin’ Alive” — get it?). I also picked up a variety of freebies such as condoms, stickers, lube — even “A Man’s Guide to Safer Leather Sex” brochure! Let it be known here and now that Dirk Mancuso loves him some free shit.

We also lucked out securing some handy wallet sized Hankie Code cards — very helpful when getting dressed for a night at the Leather Ball! (And for the record, ix-nay on the ed-ray and ark-day ed-ray ankies-hay) as well as brochures on the “right way” to eat ass (whatever, ugh).

Our shopping complete, we took the el back to the apartment to gear up for the evening ahead.
_________

Tomorrow: the epic conclusion…Puppies! Dancing! A Commandant! …And Michael.

As long time readers know, after my unceremonious dumping by Gregg there was a long dry spell (10 years and counting) with no hot sweaty man on man lovin’ until Michael.

But I forgot to mention the one that got away. (No, not Donald.)

His name was Evan. 46 with salt and pepper hair and matching goatee, intense green eyes, and this incredibly wild bush of black hair that crawled out of the collar of every shirt he wore, he was the physical embodiment of every college professor fantasy I’d ever had.

We met innocently enough at the comic shop while waiting in line. He jokingly dissed my choice of superhero — Spidey and the Flash — while I sniffed at his obvious devotion to all things X-Men. After making our purchases, he invited me to join him for cocoa at the coffee shop around the corner. We sat there totally fan-boy geeking out: which heroes would we like to see added to the Avengers roster; who who be the ideal writer/artist team for WONDER WOMAN; who was the perfect woman for Peter Parker. (Um, hello — Gwen Stacy! Dead or not, sis-tuh got it going on on…)

But I digress.

Evan was handsome. Evan was smart. Evan was funny. Evan loved all things pop culture. Evan was too good to be true.

“I had a really good time,” he said as the conversation was winding down to its natural conclusion. “Any chance you’d want to get together again?”

Let’s see: smart, sexy, funny man who likes superheroes and wants to hang out with an uber-nerd? That was a no-brainer. I tried to act all cool and shit, crying “yes, yes, a thousand times yes, you gorgeous piece of furry man candy!” (Actually it was closer to a mumbled “yeah, whatever…sure…that’d be okay…”)

And so began our brief courtship. We enjoyed a couple of dinners, a movie, several enjoyable conversations about the Buffy universe, and a dvd at his place, culminating in a kiss.

Yes, indeedy, things seemed to be moving along just fine at long last for Mr. Dirk Mancuso.

Cue ominous music.

It was a Friday and we had plans to stay in. Evan would be making his “famous” lasagna and salad and afterwards we would watch BATMAN RETURNS, a mutual favorite. But Mother Nature, ever the vengeful bitch, had other plans. By mid morning, the January sky darkened and soon rain began to fall. By noon, it was mixed with sleet turning to ice.

Since Evan lived about 35 minutes away, we both agreed decided to postpone dinner and a movie.

“I’ll be online after 6,” he told me. “so at least we won’t have to forego the conversation.”

* * * * *

I logged on that evening and sure enough, Evan’s name appeared on my messenger amongst my online contacts.

Hi.

Seconds later, he responded.

Hi! Glad you could make it.

Something about the greeting struck me odd, impersonal. It’s hard to put my finger on even now, but having talked with the man for hours at a time, it just didn’t sound like Evan.

How were the roads going home? I asked.

No response for several minutes.

Evan?

Sorry, Dirk — I was changing my clothes.

No prob. How were the roads going home?

Again, silence.

And then, it appeared.

A tiny box in the upper left hand screen. ******** has invited you to view his webcam. Do you accept?

Having only had my cam for a couple of weeks and still not having taken it out for a test drive, I quickly clicked on “yes.” It looked like we could spend the evening together, even if we were several miles apart.

The box appeared and my jaw dropped.

Evan sat at his monitor, shirtless. Fur covered every square inch of his chest, creeping up over his shoulders and clearly onto his back. Hubba hubba.

I could think of nothing to say, so I reached into my bag of stupid fucking comments and pulled out this one: Hi.

Hi. I need a drink. BRB

I watched as Evan stood, revealing his totally nude form. As I suspected, his back was indeed furry, and he was also in possession of a firm, delectable furry ass. And in the cock department, let’s just say deep throating would not be an option — it would be mandatory. He left the room and returned shortly with a glass.

An empty glass.

He sat back down, a weird grin plastered on his face. That’s when I noticed his eyes. They were darting all over the place as he stared at his monitor. I sat there, unsure what he was doing. I watched as he typed frantically, but nothing appeared in my IM box. He laughed. He stood up and cupped his balls in one hand as he grabbed his cock with the other for the camera. He sat back down, grinning from ear to ear.

A minute or so passed and then once again, Evan stood. This time he tweaked his nipples savagely, biting his lip in discomfort. He took his seat and entered more text. I was about to ask what he was doing when he looked at the camera and gave the thumbs up sign and raised the glass.

Rolling back in his chair, Evan stood up. Confident both his face and cock could be seen at the same time, Evan lowered the glass and proceeded to piss in it.

I sat there dumbfounded.

I continued to watch as Evan took his seat again, the glass still in hand. His eyes darted about — obviously reading the multiple messages he was receiving — and that loopy grin appeared once more.

And that’s when it happened.

Evan raised the glass in a toast, then placed it to his lips…and drank his own piss. In one continuous gulp.

My stomach sank. My smart, funny, sexy would be suitor was guzzling his own waste on camera — apparently at the request of others. And while that was disturbing in and of itself, the only thing I could focus on was the fact that I had kissed him. God only knows what else he’d imbibed or eaten for his viewers.

I sat there, unmoving. Evan leaned into the camera and stuck out his tongue, then lifted an arm and licked a very hairy armpit. I closed the box.

* * * * *

The phone rang about 9 that night.

“Hey, Dirk.”

“I saw you on cam. What was that, Evan?”

Complete silence.

Finally, he issued an exasperated sigh was followed by an obviously annoyed explanation about having an “open cam show” of sorts where regular viewers could instant message him requests and he would perform various activities. It was all harmless fun, he went on, a way to connect with others and make a little money on the side.

I’ll be honest — I’m no angel, but I can say without hesitation I’ve never partaken of my own wastes either on or off camera for financial numeration. I sat there, quietly trying to process what he was telling me. Before I could form a response, he blew up.

“Who the fuck are you to judge me, anyway? You were watching like everyone else!”

“I thought the invite was to talk…”

“Give me a break, Dirk! I know you aren’t that stupid — what do you think people do on cam?”

I felt so stupid at that moment. I should’ve known that a guy like Evan would only show any interest in someone like me if he were either a ruthless puppy fucker or the host of his own internet show (“where the you the viewer calls the shots! You decide what happens! Where urine you’re in control!”)

“Evan — I honestly never imagined anything like what I saw this evening…”

“Yeah, right. Tell you what — don’t call me anymore! I don’t need you judging me with your altar boy bullshit! Fuck you, Dirk.”

And so, as quickly as it began, my whirlwind romance with a urine guzzling stud came to a crashing halt. But deep down, I had known it was destined for failure from the get go.

A man who loves Spiderman in a relationship with an X-Men fan? Puh-lease. Everyone knows mixed marriages never work out.