Dick Desire!

Watch This Space! (And This Video!)

2011-12-24T02:04:00.000-08:00

I was shocked, less than a minute ago, to discover that I haven't posted in Dick Desire in more than 2.5 years.

That doesn't mean my Dick Desire cleared up or went into remission; on the contrary, I had a pair of four-dick days recently, and am hatching new plans to make my transformation into full-time cock-suckery spermanent. (Sorry—couldn't resist the pun)!

But rather than waste valuable time telling the tale, what I'll do is post some audio and video of Dick Desire in action, and let readers adjudge whether this blog author should apologize for spending so much of his time on his other blogs at the expense of the original phrase that I used eight years to encapsulate the essential me.

And so, without further ado, I give you evidence that Dick Desire continues to flourish in my life—and, hopefully, in yours, too!

Here's cute li'l me doing what I do best late last Friday night/early Saturday morning...

Am I unbelievably cute for an old guy or what? And how do you like my style?

So that's part 1. Who wants to see more?

Everyone? That's wonderful! But you'll have to wait until next time.*

Tomorrow, say. I've got other promises to keep tonight, but just in case anyone doubted my resolve (or existence), Dick Desire lives!

¡Viva la Causa!

*Okay: One more installment, but only because I wonder if my new 'do makes me look too much like Justin Bieber — especially from this angle!

QoD: Well?

2011-08-30T03:58:00.001-07:00

I only have two questions for you before you watch this video:

How many times does he blow? (I lost count...or went into delirium!) And...
Would you measure the cumulative total amount of semen sprayed in pints, quarts, or gallons?*

*Careful: It could be a trick question since the performer seems to both speak and ejaculate in French. That means the correct answer would be liters.

Then I have but a single question for you after you watch this video.

Well, have you ever seen anyone better at spasming sperm?

I didn’t think so. Here's a link to the site and the artiste, fandecul, to whom you can address fan mail and love letters.

Fandecul really serves as a reminder, in these troubling times, that there are joys in the simple pleasures. And that we may all jack off, but some of us are, indeed, master-bators!

I Have Promises to Keep (And Dicks 2 Lick Before I Sleep)

2009-03-31T08:44:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make before I have even vestiges of the literary integrity necessary to say anything meaningful or true about promises I will keep. So I'll start simply by pointing out that I'm a fraud.

It's not that I'm not a cocksucker nor have any of my confessions been inaccurate.

There really was a gr8cock and a Dex and Drew and Fred and John and I really did suck their cocks like they were M&M's in a warzone and I really love to fuck men from the bottom, "female" missionary position—especially in hotels, where we can rendezvous anonymously, then I work my sexual magic by sucking and/or fucking some lucky new stranger until they just pop.

That's when I get my reward: When I'm covered, inside or out, with my man's semen — AKA spooge, sperm, manjam, baby batter. Whatever you call it, I call it the most precious, addictive substance on the face of the earth — especially when it's clinging to my tonsils or sprayed all over my face, which it too seldom is — that list of homosexy lovers and boner-donors I mentioned in my previous post not withstanding.

It’s not what I’ve included in my blogs that makes my story false and explains why I've made such uncertain progress over the past 5 years that I’ve been aware of my dick desire.

[And I've been aware of it enough to claim it as a screen name for this blog and to register the URL/web addresses, “www.dickdesire.com,” along with “www.str82gay.com,”

“www.bi-guyz.com,” “www.cumpulsion.com,” and “www.jismism.com,” for good measure.

No, it’s not sins that I committed for which I stand in judgment in my own mind.

It’s for what I didn’t do, didn’t even bother to report at the time by mentioning in this blog (oh, did I mention that I totally wuss out on the gay thing every chance I get — mostly because I can blame it on the depression that engulfs me when I wake up tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, not having kept my promises or even attempted a significant power-sharing arrangement between my two warring sides: id and superego, moderated by the shabbiest excuse for an ego I’ve ever witnessed over such a lengthy and disappointing conflict.

Oh, I may have alluded to the breakdowns, but if you’d like me to cite their occurence by chapter and verse, all you probably need do is note all of the gaps in the database, “Dicks, Dates & Details,” that I posted yesterday.

It tells a lot more about how easily I’ve given up making my homosexuality the rightful center of my emotional life for reasons I still don’t fully comprehend. I know it has a lot to do with my daughter Sara, who’s always regarded the clarity in goals and projects that easily stakes claim to the center stage of my life when I start a new prescription for amphetamine as bad pharmaceutically-induced craziness, and I regard it as the best form of craziness there is — outranking even so-called “normal” consciousness and the fear and torpor it plays endless games of “tag” with, for my money.

And my money is what it cost: All of it.

That’s something else I need to confess, lest any sympathetic readers mistake me for a brave or wise man.

Because here's the truth: A war for control of my life is playing out twice-monthly: Jamie is in charge roughly half the time and Jim takes over when neither of them have the will to fulfill the promises that Jamie makes (“28 Guys in 28 Days,” for example, or a new simpler phrase, contained in the e-mail address for the author of this blog: dickaday@gmail.com.)

Because both of us know full well that this experience is not about the drug, dextroamphetamine, at all, except in a marginal way. I've taken it as a prescription medication for more than 15 years now.

It's helped catalyze my brain by increasing the bioavailability of dopamine, prepping my circuits for the psychosexual “awakening” (or at least, the “unforgetting” of my original dick desire I felt as a boy and the homoerotic imprint it left in its high-flying wake.

The truth is that I want to be gay. Or, more precisely, homosexual, because "gay" is a sociological rather than a descriptive term, and I don't usually set off anyone's "gaydar," because I spent all my formative developmental years learning the heterosexual scripts that were standard-issue at the time.

I am a homosexual. I just don't know how to kindle the fire of dick desire that sweeps through my mind every time I see a penis—especially the genitals of attractive young men and boys—if I successfully manage to avoid every possibility that I might actually encounter one.

But why does simple observation spark such a wildfire in my imagination? For the same reason that a small lightning strike can turn a forest into a charred desert overnight: there's too many dead trees and dry undergrowth on the forest's floor. The spark is simply what triggers ignition: the fire burns up what's already there.

And that's why I'm willing to promise one last time to keep my appointments with destiny this week, month, and year.

I promise to suck the cocks of every man who'll take me, regardless of appearance or personal style, until I get so fucking accomplished at seduction, suction, and old-fashioned man-2-man fuck-tion that I have the energy and the joy I’m going to need to ramp up Pink Ink or get a new job and start my new life as a man who wants to be fucked on a more or less constant basis by men I’ve never met before.

That means that I’m going to put homosexual intercourse (oral and anal) at the very tip-top tip of my list of priorities.

I want to give myself the experience of promiscuity at a high-enough level that it will begin to take away some of the sting that burns in my heart when I think of how cool I would have been had I been able to grow through childhood and into adolescence and early adulthood as a proud, gay man, rather than the whimpering straight child-man I tried to be, without notable success.

So let me state that promise again the way promises like to be declared: I will have sex with at least one man a day every day during the month of April — and, hopefully, beyond.

That's my number one priority because my number two priority is transforming my body and personal appearance. I always say I’m gonna do something, but this time I really am — even if getting fit fucking kills me.

How fit? All-the-way fit. Swimmer’s body fit.

That’s why I posted an old photo of me running a marathon at the top of this column, along with this shot of the cute, skinny fellow, at right: Because that's who I'm going to be again. That's the me I've always been proud to be. And I’ll take a runners' high over depression any time—especially now that I've been off cigarettes for almost a week!

And I'll be that much happier and pleased with myself if I can will myself to push Jamie's personality way past the place that Jim’s personality surrenders to despair and accepts defeat.

That’s why I plan to create sexual magic with as many men as I can squeeze in this month: To generate the energy and optimism it’s going to take to transition myself away from where I’ve been to the place I’ve wanted to be since I began this journey: with my own kind.

My First Time(s)

2009-03-06T03:39:00.000-08:00

Date | Name(s) | Details | Rating

04/01/04 Mike I was fried, but determined. I talked a lot. He had to go. 1
07/12/04 Jake, Don and Don BJ 3 guys at a 3 a.m. pool party on Camelback Mountain!
What's not to like? It was like homecumming! 4
07/31/04 Jamie Gee 3 am initiation into the world of PnP M2M sex. Scorecards! Get ya scorecards, heah!! 3
08/12/04 BMT on 15th Ave. Phil tried 2 top. 2 little lube. So he juiced in my face, instead. Big ti 2.5
08/14/04 Larry and Ron 6 a. initiation into the fine points of tops-and-bottoming. Blew both, got blown. 2.5
08/15/04 John Electrician p/u at Bunkhouse. 2
08/18/04 Kyle Young dude, 22, mentor in gloryhole etiquette. ("All I know is that the guy who feeds the money sucks the dick!" Who knew?) 2
08/19/04 Steve Divorced guy from NW PHX, intro to flab. 1
09/04/04 KC in W PHX Made me leave just when I was bustin a move'! 1
09/07/04 Gr8cock Treated me like a who-ah! 3
09/08/04 Unknown 20-something at Zorba's Didn't cum, but seemed to enjoy himself. 3
09/08/04 Unknown 50-something guy at ModernWorld Got so into being glory-holed that he finished off in my booth. Splat! Then he gave me a big, man-bear hug of gratitude and relief. 3
09/08/04 Dex Didn't even think about swallowing until there was nothing left to swallow. 4
09/10/04 MacArthur Arrived with Jamie Gee as the third, large, black hand in a 3-way. 3
10/10/04 Greg the CD Housesitting in PHX. 2
10/15/04 Eric Mammo He SWORE that he could top me. Then tried, but couldn't. He ended up jacking off a big load into my face. 3
10/22/04 Richard. A gay man on a Friday night. He actually made me cum. My first time with a guy! 4
10/29/04 Adam Ad man at Crescent Hotel. Fabulous hook-up! I felt like Jane Fonda in Klute... 4
10/30/04 Bruce Newbie. Then blew 2 (and topped one) at Modern World 3
10/31/04 Chris/Dave Arcadia hot tub party at 3am. Yay! 3
10/31/04 Carrie Poz guy walking along Camelback near closing time. The mutual BJ was awesome. (Too bad he didn't tell me until later that he's positive!) 4>1
11/03/04 Rick/truck driver @ DIN First unpleasant experience. 350...Wheww! 1
11/06/04 Jeff PnP T/B specialist. Took video. 4
11/11/04 Galen Came to DIN after shift. Had a great time! 4
11/28/04 Tony Pass-off from Galen. Talked too much. 2
12/01/04 Ron Ralph's partner. I topped. He came. 4
12/27/04 John Jenifer's husband! Cool dick! 3.5
01/01/05 John Cool, strange neighbor. Great body, dick, & BJ! 4
01/02/05 Dee Asian homeboy who loves 2 give and get. 3.5
01/03/05 Richard USPS 3
01/08/05 Carl We talk and hung out for 14 hours. Poz w/ pripapism! 3.5
02/05/05 MacArthur in my living room. I don't know about me, but he gives an awesome BJ! 3.8
02/14/05 Dee Good enough that he came back for seconds and thirds... 3.5
03/29/05 TempeJake | Tom B Trifecta: 3 guys cumulatively came 4 times, 3 in mymouth and once in a condom that stayed behind. * * **
04/04/05 Unknown | Brian 2
01/25/06 Mike Closeted bi- guy. He came, he saw, he came again. 3.5
03/02/06 Max-33 BiGuy with a big dick that he put to splendid use! *****
03/02/06 Cooper-24 Soul-satisfying suck & fuck encounter with a younger me! *****!!
03/11/06 Anon Sucked a couple of dicks in the steamroom at Chutes. * *
03/12/06 Fred Met Fred at Chutes, then brought him home. Fucked parts of me that have never been fucked before, then finished him off with an intense BJ.

God, have I run this video frame into the ground yet or what?

03/15/06 Jamie Gee Topped him twice and, boy, did he appreciate it! ***
03/19/06 Anon A long black dick popped through the wall in the center booth at MW. What else was I supposed 2 do? ***
03/28/06 Anon Blo-job at MW on a really nice, clean, strong, long cock. ****
03/28/06 Mark 3-hous plus, topping and BJ-ing. ****
04/07/06 Drew Great, cool gay guy with CM and a great cock. He luvved my outfits and drove home his point! *****!!
04/25/07 Michael | TopDadDC Kinky call-boi suck-n-fuck at the Phoenix Wyndham hotel. ****
07/11/07 Dave A retired USN guy, Dave had a little CM that we shared. I sucked his dick but my teeth were rubbing his skin the wrong way, and I retired, I thought, from the Str82Gay thing, giving him my copy of the DVD "Cock Club." Hey, I had to do something. Never let a customer go away dissatisfied.
02/19/09 Alex. Found me on Squirt. I was straight, but thought, “Why not?” Why not, indeed! ****

My Former, (Seemingly-) Heterosexual “Life”

2009-03-03T09:49:00.000-08:00

It's been asked before, so I'll ask it again: What is in a name?

Plenty, if your screen name is “Dick Desire.” Almost as much, if it’s “Str82Gay.” Perhaps a little less, if you introduce yourself — and sign off on gay hook-up sites and articles and erotic mixed-media artworks as “Jamie Jismism” without any trace of smugness or superiority — although from where you stand (and because of what you had to slog through to get here), you could easily let yourself get away with at least a little smugness, now and then.

Still, that’s not who I am — especially since I created the alter egos cited above to define myself and force myself out of the drab unconsciousness that had characterized the last few years of my former, seemingly-heterosexual “life.”

I started with Jamie Jismism. That fit nicely, since “Jamie” was just a short hop from my old, discredited, straight name “Jim.”

As a little kid, I couldn’t get away from “Jimmy” fast enough; it must have seemed too diminutive and possibly even queer, although those distinctions operated, for me, at a level so far below my threshold of consciousness that they might as well have been spinning in the head of someone else altogether. (And, as I eventually came to learn, that is, perhaps, the best way to portray exactly where they were spinning.

But Jamie, Jamie... Now that was a name I could instantly identify with—not because it didn’t smack of gay effeteness. It does, and it almost seems to me to define it—not unlike using the phrase “gay effeteness” in revealing one’s darkest and most buried and shameful sexual secrets before an audience that (at least theoretically) could include every man, woman, and child on this planet—as well as nonhuman civilizations throughout this universe and into as many other parallel systems and alternate dimensions as our internet may ultimately bleed into.

So my “new” name was the easy part. The trickier question was (and still is) what am I supposed to do with it?

I knew with complete certainty that it centered on my sexual identity. That had become clear for me during the months following the total collapse of my eight-year relationship with Colleen Pixley.

I also knew its focus would involve the penis — not only mine, but the penises of other men, as well.

I’d developed an absolute love affair with cocks during the time I’d spent with Colleen, ostensibly and ironically, trying (as it turns out) to turn her on to the sexual power and thrill-quotient of seducing men.

Which men, exactly? Any man. All men. Every man.

And it didn’t weigh on my mind, at all, that somehow I’d lose Colleen over my insistence that she turn herself into a cumslut, simply because I thought she'd take to full-time femme fatale status as naturally and easily as I have. (What's that make me? A homme fatale?)

No. It seemed obvious to me that she would want to be the cumslut I would have been if I had the freedom to choose my own sexual identity from the beginning, rather than blockading the swarm of early childhood memories that only slowly began to return to conscious accessibilty after decades of compartmentalized hiding once she was gone.

So, it was me who set Colleen up to fuck my friend Dale. (God, I was out-out-of mind intoxicated, just feeling and smelling and tasting his sperm inside her when I fucked and trance-talked/interrogated her about it an hour or so later!) And it was my idea, too, to drive to Las Vegas for the make-it-or-break-it seduction/fuckathon that Colleen eventually willed herself to perform on a perfect (near enough, anyway) stranger in a Bally’s suite at the opposite end of the 17th-floor hallway that separated me from them.

Oh, I might have been able to guess, or surmise, or intuit, that dicks and Colleen’s nymphomaniacal response to dicks would become the fulcrum around which my entire life would pivot, and at least, I could hold onto that knowledge as a new reference point for knowing myself, as soon as I puzzled the math and neuropharmacology and anatomy and social psychology of kinky sex I’d somehow acquired over my entire lifetime, all aimed, it seemed as a single goal: of turning Colleen into a whore because I wanted to be Colleen, and if I were, I’d have made myself into the most elegant, decadent, temptress, seducer and satisfier of men in this entire corner of the world.

But the math and neuropharmacology and anatomy and social psychology of helping Colleen to share my vision still left a few dimpled chads no matter how fervently and urgently I did my best to impress total promiscuity as a way of life on Colleen.

[“Triads are inherently unstable,” I’m still able to quote chapter and verse without my lecture notes after what? 28 years? If it was true then, in the mid 1970’s at the Community College of Decatur, Illinois, it felt a lot more true the day I contemplated it in 2003. “All triads (three-person relationships) inevitably devolve into a dyad (two-person relationship) and an isolate.” ]

And you didn’t have Sister Annerenee, the tiny nun from India who lectured on social psych at the school, to ask to clarify that proposition's implications in your own life )“Sister, if a man and a woman—a beautiful woman, 19 years younger than the man, and so beautiful that she has literally—and I myself witnessed this, sister—she literally stopped traffic on both sides of the Las Vegas Strip, sister, at 2 o'clock in the morning. I mean, cabbies jammed on their brakes in the middle of the street and swung open the doors of their taxis — again, on both sides of the street, at the same instant, no possibility of collaboration or collusion, sister—just to get a better look at this beautiful piece of ass — and I probably don’t have to tell you sister, or maybe you don’t know, but Las Vegas is loaded with beautiful pieces of ass!

I’m certainly no expert on all of them, by any means, but I was and am an expert on this one, and she basically seems to have served as Uncrowned Queen of All-American Blonde Pussy for 1995-99, 2000, 2001, and 2002 consecutively. What’s her name? you wonder. I’m glad you asked, sister, because it's a swell time to drop it into our argument: Her name is (or, at least was, back then) Colleen Anne P*xley of Cavendish, Vermont, Tempe, Arizona, and more recently, Dublin, Ireland.

She was the catalyst for virtually everything that happened in my life after April 30, 2003.

That was the day I dropped her at the airport, kissed her goodbye, and never saw her again.

Instead, over the next few days and weeks and months, I examined the broken shards of every serious, straight relationship of my life and realized to my genuine shock and horror that each relationship had crumbled beneath the weight of a singular circumstance that had come spinning into the relationship from where? Me?

Yep!

More 2 come, soon.

And check these links to my other blogs...

Yep!

More 2 come, soon.

It Was Such a Simple Plan...

2009-03-02T00:31:00.000-08:00

It was such a simple plan: Colleen would serve as the beautiful bait. I’d supply the brilliant brains. Or, at least, the boundless energy and fast-burning imagination.

There was one problem, though. Colleen didn’t want to be the beautiful bait. Although she was smart, witty, and articulate with another person (which, for years in our relationship, inevitably turned out to be me), she was bashful, timid, and self-conscious whenever she felt herself to be under scrutiny.

And I may not have helped my own cause much when I pointed out that girls and women who look like Colleen are all under scrutiny all the time.

I didn’t have a problem with her looks, at all. Colleen was so physically pretty, and in so many ways and so many different parts of her anatomy, that the cumulative effect was staggering, especially to a merely moderately-attractive guy like myself.

But before I go any further, let me put up another picture of Colleen to make my point for me. It'll be faster and more fun for both of us. And, who knows? Maybe we’ll both learn something.

And gosh!

Things get more and more fourth-dimensionally strange in the construction of this recapitulation of my psychosexual field over the course of my lifetime.

Because no sooner had I said, “Let me put up another picture of Colleen to make my point for me,” than I realized that it had been there all along, since Blogger is now giving me problems putting graphics anywhere else than the beginning of an entry.

But perhaps that’s my own fault. Maybe I’ve done too good a job at making “Dick Desire!” visually attractive and Blogger wants me to take some of that energy — and most of Jamie Jismism’s enrollment posters for promiscuous homosexuality — elsewhere.

I shan't be swayed. Still, I just gotta figure out how to place multiple graphics, because that's one reason I do the blog, to post my own phallocentric “psychedelerotica.” So, here goes...

Okay, now I understand. My default preferences must have changed or Blogger changed or something happened that I can't even guess about. But I’m back in my element, now: advocating for anonymous, random homosexual hook-ups and uncritical couplings between interchangeable strangers simply because guys have dicks and they love to stick 'em in stuff.

So where was I? Talking about Colleen again? That’s really where the story does start, because my certainty that I could solve all of our problems by somehow convincing her to fuck other men is the precise place where all of the revelations that I have to disclose flowed from.

Or oozed out of.