Monday, June 27, 2011

The (Unofficial) White Party of 2011!

Saturday marked the date for what was supposed to be the White Party celebration here in Manila, but the night before had a storm named Falcon (warning, NSFW link here) showing up and drowning many parts of the city under almost half a meter of water.  In what seems to slowly becoming a growing tradition for me and Rocky, we decided to come up with cool shirts we can wear for the event.  As I mentioned in my previous post, I wanted to find a design which celebrated both our geekiness and our gayness at the same time!

But sadly, thanks to the porn-studio-named typhoon, the official White Party was declared cancelled and was to be rescheduled on a different day.  Rocky and I, however, found ourselves still wanting to celebrate that night due to many reasons:  New York just legalized Gay Marriage, The Stonewall Riots were still an event to be remembered and celebrated, and our friend was still going to our favorite haunt, O bar, to introduce us to her partner.

So yeah, we pushed through with our "unofficial" White Party and wore our lovely shirts.  Here they are!

Blurry pic care of the elevator mirror.
For those who were curious, or aren't geek enough to grasp it, yes, the shirt designs were inspired by the PlayStation Portable game called Patapon.

Rocky's shirt.

And mine.
The best part?  The quote in the back of the shirt is an actual quote from the game!   To make the design, I actually had to dig around the net for two things:  high resolution images of the Patapons, and a font typeface of the font they actually use in the game.   The Patapons I was able to find, but not in the size I actually needed.  So to make it work for the design, I had to redraw the figures in Photoshop.   The font was more interesting.  There were files of the letters, but no actual font that I could find.  Many sites suggested directions on how to convert the file to a font, but I couldn't make any sense of it.  So what did I do?

I actually had to find ways to push the size of the text images to a high resolution and keep sharpening it for the design.  Thankfully, I got it to work!

Spank Them Bottoms!
Horror of horrors though, I worked on the Patapons too much to realize the big mistake that was present in the shirt designs.  The mistake?  Well, I used the WRONG RAINBOW.  The rainbow I had used was actually the traditional rainbow with all seven colors.  Ironic that I'd overlook that detail considering I had to actually redo the rainbow as well as the bisexual triangle icon for the high resolution needs of the design.

Proud to be Geeky and Gay!
Still, I feel pretty proud of our White Party shirts.  They weren't as big a hit with the people present as our Katamari Damacy inspired shirts before, but what mattered most was we loved wearing them.   In a celebration of being proud of who you are, wearing a shirt that you didn't just buy off the rack feels fantastic.

Hmm must start working out again.  I don't fill shirts like I used to.
It does make me wonder... come next Pride, what do we wear next!
Suggestions are always welcome :-P

Happy White Party!
Happy Gay Pride!

Thursday, June 23, 2011

I think I just... uh.. made a mess.

OMG now THIS is the kind of porn (I wish it WAS porn!) I'd be willing to pay to see.    Still, to have these two men in a single show would be AWESOME.  But somehow, I think this was more an immersion thing for Jakey who I hear might play Bear Grylls in an upcoming movie.

Still, sighs, to have them both "crossing rivers" and handling the arctic.
Oh if only.

And just in case you didn't get what I meant by river crossing and arctic survival....


Tuesday, June 21, 2011

A host of messages I wish I could say

In this era of social networking, one can easily get a glimpse of the lives of one's friends through their newsfeeds and updates.   While this is mostly good and cool in keeping in touch, it does also at times place one in the strange zone of knowing more than one wanted to know.  Or worse, feeling the urge to offer unsolicited advice for friends who clearly are doing things the wrong way.

But since unsolicited advice is never welcomed, I decided to just write this open blog post and dedicate them to the many people who will probably NEVER read this page anyway since they are absorbed right now by what they believe to be insurmountable problems of their own.

So yeah, let's begin:

If you think the relationship is that fucked up, then by all that is right and holy, end it.  You do deserve better.  And guess what, so does your partner.

Stop looking for love by going to a gay club and flirting with strangers.  You'll have a better chance meeting new people through friends at parties, or contacting someone online with a clear declaration of wanting to get to know each other and not sleep together as a first intention.

If you caused your own damned problem, stop whining about it on the social network, then getting angry when people point out it is your fault.

No, we're not talking about you.  But yes, it is amusing to know you still read everything I post as about you.

Don't worry too much.  Your work will always be as successful.  You have true talent.  And an innate ability to reach out and touch people's lives.

I'm sorry you're in your situation.  But I'm no longer in any position to help you have a better life.  You had your chance.

Seriously, look in the mirror.  Keep your eyes open this time.

It ain't escape when its leaving someplace that keeps you from being happy and taking steps towards taking back responsibility for your own life.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

2011 White Party Shirt Rejects

So, Rocky and I are now ready with our White Party T-shirts!  I was worried about this some days ago, uncertain as to what design we would find to celebrate both our geekiness and our gayness in one go.  Last year, Katamari Damacy was our theme and while the quality of the shirts were less than what we had hoped for, they were still a joy to have.

This year, I decided to try to come up with a few new designs for our shirts.  The first design I toyed around with was based on this quirky game on both the PSP and the PS3 which Rocky and I simply adore.  The game is Loco Roco, and for those unfamiliar, it is a game where you try to nudge, influence and guide a bunch of colored cutesy blobs from one place to another, to wake up others of their kind, to hit switches, and to defeat dark mojas that are out to eat them.    The game as a host of odd yet awesome characters of varying colors, which seemed apt to have for our shirt designs.  Wanting to have a slightly naughty touch to reflect the gay side, I came up with these shirts:

As you can probably see, the shirts are quite cute actually, with just enough subliminal touches to be naughty.  Even better, there were blue and green Loco Rocos to use to represent... uh... Rocky and Me. 

Another shirt design I toyed around with was one which incorporated George Takei.   After Tennessee's "Don't Say Gay" bill came to light, George was witty enough to offer his own name as a good replacement for the word Gay in places where it may be frowned upon.  Check out his hilariously cool video below:

At first Rocky and I were thinking of ordering from his official merchandise.  A tad pricey, but well worth the geek cred and fun.   Unfortunately, stocks were out and we were forced to reconsider making our own.  A group of friends of ours who DO fun geek shirts weren't too keen to "taking from Takei's sales" by making their own spin, so Rocky and I decided to try coming up with our own spin on things.  This is what we came up with:

Ultimately, while cool, we decided it was kind of too simple.
So yeah, I went back to the drawing board and tried to think of what else nicely captures our geek-gay life and even better, would be fun enough to wear.  Then it hit me.  The visuals were striking enough to be uniquely geek, yet not too strange.  And their catch-phrase was PERFECT for the White Party.

What will our final White Party shirts be?
Find out soon!

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Still no shirts for the 25th

I'm sure Rocky would love to be your shirt.

The White Party is fast approaching and Rocky and I have been fast trying to think of what kind of shirt to wear this year.  Previously we wore some Katamari Damacy inspired Gay Pride shirts we cooked up, with the Royal Rainbow proudly being our slogan.  This year, we were originally hoping to go for It's Okay To Be, Takei shirts but as it turns out the beloved shirts are sold out.

So now we have to come up with something uniquely geeky and yet rainbow-y gay enough to represent our two worlds.  

I've been trying to find inspiration in many other sites, weighing the idea of just having interesting witty words that state something against having something iconic and colorful to be our design.  So far I haven't really finalized a decision that I particularly like.

So far a lot of the inspirations I am getting are from video games we both love.
I also thought of coming up with our own spin of the It's Okay to be Takei shirts.

I'll let Rocky have a first glance at them before I post any of them here.

Oh I'd so want to be YOUR shirt.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Thursday, 5p.m.

I tucked you in so you could catch up on sleep.  We tend to abuse our time like this, staying up longer than we should since we enjoy each other's company so much.    You once told me I have an addictive personality.  While I know you meant I tend to get very attached to something I like, I sometimes wonder if you meant I can be quite addictive to have as well.

Questions.  Sometimes, I find myself surrounded with such questions.  They come and go and they sometimes appear out of nowhere, but when they do manifest they latch on to my head like a latex condom on a hard prick.

Okay.  That analogy was a tad out of place.  Or was it?  Sometimes I can't tell anymore.   I'm older than most expect for someone with raging hormones and an almost insatiable libido.  Someone of my age shouldn't be wanting seconds as often as I  do.   Someone of my age shouldn't still be jerking off at an almost nightly basis.  But is it really that bad to enjoy such a self-serving habit?  Or is it just long ingrained Catholic Guilt still whispering in our ears?

Again, the questions.  

They really come and go quite quickly.  They emerge when you least expect and snuggle between the folds of your brain.  Sometimes the questions are delicious, like warm lubricated fingers that gently slip past your inner ring, and find that sweet spot that makes your body all electric.  These questions are thick and heady and almost always excite you to the point of wanting to share it to others.  Second cousins to rumors.  Bedmates to scandals.   But sometimes, questions are rough, painful and distracting.  They bite hard against your thoughts and you find yourself inwardly squealing like a false masochist tied in the bed of a true sadist.   You strain against the bonds and hear the incomplete answers like the jingle of chains and struggle to find sleep or release.  But all you can do is hear them jingle on and on like a non-stop last song syndrome stuck in reverse.   

There.  I lost it. 
The heat is gone.  The rudely straining erection has relaxed. 
My white boxer briefs will live to see another day.
Or night.
And you will get your sleep.
What was the point of this story?

Now that is a question, isn't it?

by Tobie

Monday, June 6, 2011

Another Webcam Night

"So are you going to jerk that off for me?"

I glanced away from the screen and stared at my own body.  Sweat traced the arcs of my chest, sliding down the curves of my slightly defined abs.  Some clung to the tangle of hair of my delicate love line; a black lush from my belly button all the way down to my crotch.  My cock was rock-hard, proudly towering above the trimmed growth of hair.  I didn't like shaving.  I was always happy to have this hirsute body I was given.  I saw no joy in trying to make it look prepubescent.

"Are you going jerk off?" the voice came again and I looked back up towards the screen.  The built-in webcam stared back at me with its red eye.  On the screen, a window showed the stuttering image of... his name was lost somewhere between my brain and my lips.  While this wasn't the first time I allowed him to watch me relieve myself of orgasmic tensions, I always recognized him because of his avatar picture instead of his name.   The website allowed its member to change their names whenever they wanted, you see.   A small privilege which I found strange, if not counter-productive to making friends.  Why all people to change the very thing they use to identify themselves, I will not understand.   Then again, I never liked using handles or aliases.  Even in that social network, I refused to enter something witty or informative like camluvingtop or hairycumgusher.  I used my name.

The other guy, on the other hand, loved changing his name a lot.  When I first met him, he called himself Desert, which I thought was in reference to the image of a Frank Herbert sandworm or Shai-hulud which he had as an avatar image.   A quick chat later revealed it was meant to be a pun; something about wanting to be rained upon by another man soon.  When I bumped into him online again a few weeks later, he was calling himself JacobLovesYou.  I shot him a message in jest, telling him Twilight will forever suck in my book.  He shot back I had my fandoms wrong and that he was referring to a certain island and the Dharma Initiative.  That was his name when we first cammed.  He told me it was a social-experiment, like in the show.  I found it geekily a turn-on and decided to let him watch.   There were many other names after that.  Today, I think he called himself Sixty of Nine, another pun-name inspired by Star Trek:Voyager and what I presume was his favorite sexual position.    But still, as his profile pic, is the hungry open-mawed toothy image of the monstrous sand worms of Arrakis.

He never joined me though.  He would always only watch.

His webcam would be on, mind you.  He would gladly show his face, back lit by the fluorescent bulb on the ceiling and given a bluish tinge by the glow of his laptop screen.  The first time we did this, he was shirtless and having fun getting me more and more aroused by exposing his armpits and licking his lips.  I always had a thing for men's armpits which I never quite understood on a logical level.  Maybe it had to do with seeing someone's hair from a place of the body not normally visible?  The musk and sweat giving the black bush a lively look?  The idea it matched the most-likely maintained bush that surrounded his cock?

I would sit back, shirt pulled over my head but still worn to catch the sweat of my back.  I would have the monitor angled forward, to better catch the area of my crotch, but not so much as to deny me the pleasure of seeing how much he was enjoying the view.  I was used to jerking myself off with either hand, but for camming, the left hand was always what I used.  It allowed my right hand to still quickly type messages if need be, or to use the mouse if I needed to cancel any other messages that might be shot my way, asking for permission to watch as well.  If the net was quiet, however, my right hand would waste no time in helping the left.  There were many other things it could do, after all, to help me reach my peak.  Most had a thing for tweaking their nipples, playing on the swollen points like rubber nibs that were dying to be abused.  At times I would cup my right hand on the upper half of my shaft, teasing the head with rotating twists while my left continued its constant motions.   Or at times, both hands moved in unison, like warm deep fuck that tightened where I wanted it to.   I preferred tugging at my balls, feeling the slack sack  tighten in response.  I would hold the balls from the base, feeling the tension add to the rising tide of pleasure.

I would always be loud.  To the very least, my breathing would be heavy and deep.   My mouth would channel the air in and out, building in speed and frequency as I neared the point of no return.  Other times, I would get verbally expressive, talking to the viewer as if he were in the room.  I'd ask if he was liking the show.  I'd tell him to give me directions.  I'd dare him to do the same on his end.   And when I'd cum, I would moan so loud I was certain that the neighbors could hear and would talk about it for the days to follow.  I would end up cursing how good it felt.  I would call out to God.

And what a majestic mess would I leave in the end.  The spasms would come and with each release, I would arc myself back so much the chair would almost snap.  My legs would straighten beneath the table, at times enough to buckle the laptop backwards.   My hand would be clamped around the engorged shaft, pumping against the purplish head that released each surge of cum.  I would groan in sync with each ejaculation, barely breathing as my mouth gasped for air.     Thick ropes would hang on my skin mingling with the sweat and threatening to drip onto the floor.    I would be spent.  Exhausted.  But so overwhelmed with pleasure I would probably take a minute or two before I could type an "all done."

And yet, he would never join.

Other would have given in, sliding their shorts away and lifting their eager cocks to join my masturbatory show  once I got myself really going at it.  There would be those that would stand by then, wanting to show off their own throbbing dicks and perhaps imagining themselves above me, wishing somehow the monitor was not a screen but a window to where I was.  They would groan and curse and let fly their own explosive releases in time with mine, gasping and laughing and wiping themselves clean amid apologetic "thank yous" and complimentary statements that hide a desire to do it again.

He, however, would simply watch.  He would smile and nod and from where his eyes were focused on the feed, I can see he never allowed himself to be distracted by other things.  He would watch and wet his lips and eventually, silently, without prompting, slide an arm out of his shirt, then slowly lift the shirt over his head, to hang like a deflated backpack around his other arm.  He would then lean slightly closer, perhaps to see the details of my body better, but his hands would never seemingly disappear too long.  He would occasionally scratch his chin, or stretch his arms and expose his armpits to me, then lock his hands together behind his head and hold that position I so love seeing him take while he inhales deeply to a beat matching my own.  Sometimes, he would slide a hand down the valley of his chest, trickling his fingers against the lighter growth of hair that he has there, before dipping it down, past the limits of the camera, perhaps to touch himself.  Perhaps not.  But never long enough to suggest he would be joining me.  Never long enough for his meaty bicep to begin a rhythmic flexing suggested he, too, was jerking off.

I didn't mind though.

Admittedly, there was something titillating about the idea he was watching me.  There was something.. is there a word for the reverse of voyeuristic... that was going on.  His focused dark eyes and gaping mouth would ignite fires within my body, sizzling my nerves to a growing frenzy.  His lush armpits and well-formed chest would edge me further closer to a rising climax, inviting me to bury my face against him as I came.  Perhaps it was the lack of actual activity on his end which enticed me more, allowing me to dream the most perfect sexual trysts that never happened.  Perhaps by simply watching, he became a fantasy.  A perfect virtual fuck.  A personal brand of porn that I alone was ever to own.

"Are you going to jerk off?"

I smiled.  My left hand was already sliding its fingers around the fat base of my cock.  A droplet of precum had already emerged from the hole and threatened to slide down the length of my veiny shaft.  My right hand reached for the keyboard and quickly typed back:

Only if you watch.  And only watch.

by Tobie Abad

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