The Road To Rio: Going For The Lin


The days that Brazil opens it legs wide to welcome the world to the Games of the XXXI Olympiad are just around the corner.

The days that Brazil opens it legs wide to welcome the world to the Games of the XXXI Olympiad are just around the corner.

With just over a year to go before the Olympic Opening Ceremonies take the stage in Rio de Janeiro, I know y’all been thinking it’s way past the time I shoulda began my Olympic-size coverage of the Games. My bad. Especially since I know how many of you check my blog daily just hoping for a post about sporting events of any kind. And while a very few in the minority may feel that August 5, 2016, the day the Games of the XXXI Olympiad are scheduled to begin, is soon enough, since the hot athletes of the world are already sweating their little bodies out to be in line for a coveted berth on their respective nation’s team the least I can do is to provide a bit of coverage of those hot, sweating bodies.

There are less than 500 days to go, and Rio still has a slum or two to raze for its Olympic stadiums, a few million to spend attempting to clean up Guanabara Bay – described by one leading biologist as a toilet – in time for its use as the sailing and windsurfing venue, an estimated (not to mention astounding) 90% of preparations on infrastructure, stadiums, and the like still to be built (the IOC has made an informal approach to see if Rio is not ready in time London could act as an emergency host city), and the equally Herculean task of cleaning up the city’s current image of being the violent crime capital of the world (Brazil pegs in at some 45,000 homicides each year, or 24.8 violent deaths per 100,000 inhabitants, compared with 4.8 per 100,000 in the United States) which took a minor setback in December when 2012 London Olympic Games silver medallists in the women’s 470 sailing class, Hannah Mills and Saskia Clark, were mugged and robbed at knifepoint after a training session in the 2016 Olympic host city. Which may not bode well for the 1016 Games. Except that Brazil is also known for some of the hottest male bodies on the planet, and that hotness factor will soar when the world’s top-rated athletes hit town. And that means despite problems the Games will go on.

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So while it’s still too early to cover Olympian Bruce Jenner’s transition into a lesbian, a world record in its own right – not to mention the dangers of associating with Ryan Seacrest – and while Tom Daley latest efforts always make for a good article, or at least pix of Tom do, since he continues to underwhelm and comes in bottoming to the Chinese divers at international competitions it’s a bit premature to be ejaculating (again) over Tom too. But one of the most delectable pieces of Olympic rice recently made a splash of his own, so this is a good time to check in on China’s most masterful cock swatting athlete, the hunky Lin Dan, or Super Dan as he is known among those who actually consider badminton to be a sport.

Not that Olympic badminton couldn’t use a bit of good PR anyway. Last time around in London, 8 players (from South Korea, Indonesia, and China) were ejected from the Games after being found guilty of “not using best efforts” and “conducting oneself in a manner that is clearly abusive or detrimental to the sport” by playing to lose matches in order to manipulate the draw for the knockout stage. Which is basically how the game is played in China. So while Dan’s recent record is no better than Daley’s – he just lost the Yonex Sunrise India Open during the quarterfinals and started out 2014 104th in the World Ranking – the two-time Olympic champion says he is training hard to be at his best to achieve a record third gold at the Rio Games ‘cuz there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that Lin is China’s cash-cow when it comes to Olympic gold medals and Dan will be landing in Rio regardless of how many matches he loses before then.

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But Dan’s record streak of losses isn’t what’s been making the news in China. Appropriately, the 31-year-old stud’s body is what has China all aTwitter. While Queen Elton was busy trying to convince the pink brigade to boycott Dolce & Gabbana for not being in favor of bionic babies, the gay Italian designers were busy lovingly taking photos of their 2013 brand ambassador in as little fashion as possible and the powers that be In China are not amused. Relesaed last week in book form at a gala reception for Dan in Shnaghai, some of the photos have been deemed to be “oversexualized”, and also “inappropriate” due to Lin Dan’s military status. While the general attitude amongst the proletariat has been, “I’d salute that.”

Available on Amazon in early June at a capitalistic selling price of $57, the photo book depicts Lin as a new icon of masculinity. Styled by Gabbana and photographed by Dolce, Dan appears in a variety of settings, each of which interpret a specific role: from the seducer to the Greco-Roman hero, from the gladiator to the great Imperial Emperor, from the aristocratic dandy to the Neapolitan street urchin . . . in other words, every possible scenario Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana’s homoerotic fantasies could inspire. The book, as well as T-shirts with Lin’s image, are now available in all Dolce & Gabbana stores in China.

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I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy: Eyes Wide Shut

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Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life, is one of those people who kiss with their eyes wide open. Not that I blame him. Considering what he does for a living I wouldn’t’ want to take my eyes off a customer either. But then considering who he does for a living, I’d shut my eyes as tightly as possible as soon as I walked into a customer’s hotel room too. When you are a bar boy, you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Still, he’s in the minority. According to a recent opinion poll, 4I percent of people keep their eyes closed when they kiss. 20 percent admit to peeking. And 8 percent keep their eyes wide open. There was no statistic on how many people open their eyes in the morning and wish they’d not been kissing what they woke up next to the night before. ‘Cuz that can be a real eye opener.

Bar boy or not, the act of kissing itself too is a case of damned if you do, damned if you don’t. On the plus side, a quick, romantic kiss burns two to three calories. Use your tongue and that soars to over five. But wait! There’s more! The bodies of those engaged in kissing produce a substance that is 200 times more powerful than morphine in terms of narcotic effect. That’s why those locked in a lip embrace often experience feelings of euphoria and bliss. Not to mention feeling the growing erection of the guy you’re kissing. Which, in Thailand, probably isn’t a good thing when it turns out the girl you thought you were kissing is a guy. Then again, speaking of opening your eyes . . .

Kissing someone you are attracted to elevates your blood pressure and causes your pulse rate to race faster than a bar boy who just snagged 500 baht for taxi money. But keep smooching and as those morphine-like hormones in your blood rise, your life-expectancy diminishes. Science says that for every 90 seconds of tongue action you engage in, you shorten your life by one minute. No problemo. I’d rather spend time locking lips with a hot guy than living longer without any day of the week. Or every day of the week when I’m in Bangkok. Besides, celibacy is not an easy virtue to carry into the nocturnal hours.

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Being a top, I’m always interested in if a potential playmate bottoms. Especially when I’m paying for it. But if he doesn’t, it’s not a deal breaker for me. I’m not one of those people for whom making love ends with a particular act. For others, cock size is all important. For some it’s about body hair. There are those who want to know if a bar boy is gay or straight, as though there is such a thing as a gay or straight penis. And most of us know of at least one punter for whom skin temperature means the difference between a night of bliss or a night of getting the cold shoulder treatment. Generally, I’m not that picky. There’s always something fun you can find to do with a hot stud. But he does have to kiss. Not necessarily well, but if lips and tongue are not involved, my hand can do the job by itself. So it was probably prophetic that the night I met Noom I never got around to asking him if he kissed before we left the bar. Fortunately for me, he did.

When we returned to my hotel room that night it wasn’t long before our lips met. He’d not even removed his clothes yet, which for Noom is an integral part of walking into a room. That night was more years ago than I care to remember, but I can still perfectly recall our embrace, the sly smile that lit both of our faces, and the almost chaste kiss we shared as the door swung shut. It’s also when I first discovered he kisses with his eyes open. Which I shouldn’t have as I don’t. But I’d already succumbed to the depths of his beautifully expressive eyes, so deeply black they make midnight jealous. So I peeked. And saw an eyeball staring back at me. We laughed. And then he finished walking into the room. I quickly forgot about his beautiful eyes. And got busy kissing all those body parts that couldn’t stare back at me. Although I’m pretty sure at least one of them winked at me.

That quickly became habit. Not the part about kissing all those body parts that couldn’t stare back at me (well, okay that too) but rather meeting eye to open eye while our tongues played with each other. I can’t tell you if kissing with your eyes open or closed is better. But that eye contact, at least with Noom, seemed to be the more intimate of the two. It was, and is, as though neither of us wants to lose focus of the other. And the feel of another man’s eyelashes flickering against yours is extremely erotic to boot. So I’d like to tell you that it was prophetic too that the both of us entered into what became a long-lasting relationship with our eyes wide open. But as the evening progressed (which is the polite way of saying we’d stopped kissing and started fucking), as things heated up, and as those things that had heated up got hotter and hotter, my handsome muscle hunk who kissed with open eyes, firmly clamped his eye lids shut. The smile that had been infusing his face was still there. But it was obviously evident that that smile no longer included any acknowledgement of my presence. Bummers.

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Noom, if you are either new to these tales or of an age where memory enjoys playing its tricks, is straight. Or considers himself to be. Even though he’s had tons more dick than pussy in his life. And I’ve never held a bar boy’s sexual identity against him anyway. Because their dicks never seem to care much about how their mind identifies itself. So when a straight bar boy needs to close his eyes to what is going on so that he can run fantasies through his mind about what isn’t, no problemo. I think having sex with a gay bar boy who loves everything about dick but still closes his eyes when he is with you might be even worse.

In any case, I’m confident enough in myself (read oblivious) that if and when a bar boy needs to fantasize about tits and twats instead of the dick I’m shoving in his face, I can still thoroughly enjoy myself. Or as author and Noble Prize winner Saul Bellow put it: A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep. So Noom went from kissing with his eyes open to stroking himself to a climax with his eyes closed with fantasies that could only be more disgusting than I’d ever want to consider playing in his mind and we both managed to enjoy what we had wrought. The next night was the same; possibly with even more kissing, but ending happily once again in the dark for at least one of us.

When your romance – even for just a night – is based on a financial transaction, no matter how passionate the kisses you exchange may be they’re still bought and paid for. They may include a heavy dose of lust, but its about sex, not emotions, and love never raises its little head. Unless viewed through those rose-colored glasses you insist on strapping around your head. And I can, and have, lived with that too. The ability to ignore facts is a handy trait to master. So while Noom had me at first kiss, it wasn’t until years later that he cemented our relationship with a quick peck on the lips.

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It wasn’t during the throes of passion, we were not naked or soon on our way to being in that state. I don’t even remember what it was that lead up to that kiss. But do remember it was unexpected, in public, and the type of kiss you don’t first think about. It was spontaneous. And natural. It was affection, possibly even love, an expression of emotions that had totally zip to do with sex. And it opened my eyes to the fact that our friendship with benefits had turned into a loving relationship. Even though when sex did enter the picture, the pictures playing through his mind still held not even a bit part for yours truly much less a starring role. No problemo. Just because his eyes stay closed doesn’t mean mine have to, and watching him cum always has been, and is, a picture of delight.

I admit I once considered kissing Noom during those final, climatic moments together. Just to see which eye lid position would win that round. But that’s the problem with tinking too much. We’re often locked in an embrace – lips included – during those times. And his eyes stay closed. So I’m not sure who it is he is kissing then. Not that my dick, which is fully in charge of things by then, really cares. Besides, when he comes, as he comes, his eyes pop open anyway. It’s a mixture of surprise, delight, and satisfaction. And regardless of who it was he was fantasizing about, at that moment it’s just about the two of us. At least until our post-coital kiss. Then his eyes close again and he drifts off to sleep. And I’m not concerned about being someone else’s understudy then because I already know where I stand. I’m his substitute for a pillow.

You’d think whoever that it is who is in bed with us while Noom’s eyes are closed would bother me. But then many think I should also be bothered by whoever it is that Noom is in bed with when I’m thousands of miles away. One is a fantasy, the other reality, of the two the latter should probably be more of a concern. Except that Noom considers what he does as a bidness and is always trying to improve his customer service. Which often means he’s learned a new trick of the trade or two between visits. Then I move from pillow stand-in to guinea pig. He’ll try whatever it is he just learned out on me, then back away watching my eyes for a reaction. An arched eyebrow usually results in his reply, “Customah.” Occasionally, instead, I get a giggle and, “You!”

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Nine times out of ten whatever he’s considering adding to his repertoire is a plus. Which is a good thing since five time out of ten his new tick is something he picked up from me. Still, Noom adds his own twist to whatever it is. It’s a good thing there is a fluidity about his sexual identity, more so that his body is limber enough to allow for a fluidity in positions too. And while I’m not sure that variety really is the spice of life, there’s nothing like a few new unexpected moves to spice up your sex life when that act is one you’ve performed for a decade or more. It’s like being a butterfly even though you keep offing the same bar boy again and again.

So I’m seldom surprised – but always delighted – when Noom adds some new and unexpected twist to our bodies being twisted together underneath the bed sheets. And while he’s never learned the trick of keeping his eyes closed while kissing, he has adapted and switched up his kissing moves, techniques, and skills. Some of which I’ll take credit for. But there are tricks and then there are tricks. And sometimes it’s not about being with a trick. As I discovered one night not long ago when I looked deeply into his lids closed, fantasy playing eyes as he neared his happy ending only to realize they weren’t. Never seen before, his eyes were wide open. And looking back into mine. Our lips may have not been locked, but our eyes were throughout. And the smile that played across his face only had room in it for me.

I have to assume, afterwards, when we kissed, that his eyes remained opened as they usually do. Mine didn’t; my mind was too intent on replaying that fantasy that had suddenly became reality. It’s been the same ever since. But that night, as we cuddled together to drift into sleep, he threw his leg over mine, shifting into a closer position and sans giggle offered a content and dreamy sigh, “You.” Because sometimes it takes time for us to see what our eyes should have been open to all along.

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I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy:  Getting Offed and Getting Off

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