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June 2019

So far, this summer has been a lot of fun, but damn if I’m not a little tired of being on airplanes.

Since the April post, I’ve flown to London, NYC, New Orleans, Columbus, Las Vegas and Mexico City.  Mykonos cancelled, which I was sort of okay about considering the amount of time and trouble it takes to get onto the island and Tokyo was pushed to early fall.  That one bummed me out a little because I really enjoy the guy I spend time with there and the city itself is just incredible.  I’ve been a dozen times and it always feels like I’m just getting a small piece of a much bigger pie.

The rest of this month has me in South Asia, bouncing between Hong Kong, Bangkok and Koh Samui.  If I can squeeze in some personal time, I’ll extend my ticket and head to Singapore for a few days before coming home.  I had hoped to be doing all of this closer to August, which would have allowed me to see the reopening of the landmark Raffles hotel.  It’s been closed since early 2017 for a total redo and I’m excited to see what they’ve done.  I stayed there several years back and even then, it was classically beautiful- The kind of hotel that’s no longer being built.  If you’re heading there anytime in the future, the only solid advice I can give about Raffles is to skip the Long Bar and their signature ‘Singapore Sling’ cocktail (it’s a lot of mix, a little booze and a ton of money) and just enjoy a proper gin martini.

Strangely enough, the bar was the only part of the hotel that felt inauthentic to me: Lots of tourists flowing in and out and it felt a bit like people clamoring for a margarita at Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville.  I hope they’ve found a way to calm that down.

 

Bummed to hear that The Prom posted their closing notice a few days ago:  I felt like it was the one truly genuine, original musical to hit Broadway this season.  It got knocked out of most awards and as that business tends to go, no trophies, no audiences.  Unless you’ve got a show that already has name-recognition (like Beetlejuice), the business of show is cutthroat, expensive and ultimately turns out more loss than profit.  With a Broadway musical now averaging $10 million to mount, it’s no wonder producers are rushing a slew of movie adaptations to the stage.

Had a chance to catch Laurie Metcalf in Hillary and Clinton before it closed.  She and John Lithgow were superb.  A thin script, but they made it enjoyable with their acting choices and how they played off of each other.  Metcalf is one of those actors who I could probably watch in any show because I know she’s going to make the production better.  Her choices as an actor have always dazzled me.  No one, not even Kevin Spacey, can deliver a better monologue than her.  I’m looking very much forward to seeing her in the upcoming Broadway revival of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.  Metcalf will be a scathing, scary Martha.

So, yeah, I saw Beetlejuice.  Great Tim Burton film.  Massively capitalized by Universal pictures for Broadway ($20+ million).  Extremely talented cast.  Book, lyrics and music…  Hot, steaming, cringe-inducing garbage.  

Not that it seemed to matter to the audience:  They loved the sets, the lighting, the costumes and spent a great deal of the show commenting loudly on them.  I really felt like this whole production was better suited for a theme park or Las Vegas.  If I had to see this show again, I’d have a few drinks beforehand and just whoop it up like the rest of the people around me.  This is the new Broadway.

Caught Network with Bryan Cranston once more before it closed.  Cranston ended up winning the Tony this year for his performance and rightly so…  He was electric.  So much so, that every time he was offstage, the play began to slowly die… Like a balloon that was slowly losing air.  I remained as enthralled with the production design of this show as I was the first time.  At points, there’s so much going on onstage and it’s all done with laser-like purpose, like a good magician directing your attention to what he wants you to focus on.  Network blended technology, time period, inventive blocking and good old fashioned emotional acting into one fantastic performance.  Sad to see it close, but glad it closed with Cranston and not producers trying to stunt cast the role of Howard Beale.

And then there’s the revival of Oklahoma.  I could go on for awhile about how the show caused repeated unintended laughter from me (seriously, it’s not a comedy?) but let’s just say that you’re either going to love this production or absolutely hate it.  It’s the black licorice of Broadway.

This is one of those productions that is so loosely directed, there’s no real voice as to what the intentions of the creative team are.  They leave it up to the audience and frankly, that’s a lazy, cheap way out.  If left to their own devices, an audience will find unintended connection every time.  What would otherwise come across as sloppy, untrained and not ready for Broadway in this show is now being called inventive, brilliant and woke.

Bullshit.  This can be as woke and madlib-meaning as it wants when it’s playing Brooklyn for $30 a ticket.  At Broadway prices, these are the big leagues and I expect direction that doesn’t look like it came from the minds of Red, White and Blaine.  I also expect singers who can handle the music, don’t regularly go flat or sharp and are capable of listening to the actual words they’re singing while connecting them to believable acting choices.

Bright spots were Mary Testa, Ali Stroker and the new orchestrations.  I didn’t mind the new, thinner, bluegrass sound, but I sure did miss the brass section.

 

 

Question: Can you soundcheck someone jacking off in a shower? I mean, if you were in a locker room, could you notice someone stroking their dick over the hum of running water?  What was once a concern of mine is now an open challenge.  While I’ve had a couple of fun post-gym showers that I’ve talked about here, working into full-on fucking in a locker room is not something I’m into.  A proper lady must draw the line somewhere…  Jacking off with wall-mounted conditioner is one thing, but having to remember to bring a whole fuck setup to the gym is quite another.

When I do decide to shower at the gym, I’d say I end up blowing a solo load about 50-60% of the time.  It’s basically- and literally- the creamy frosting on a killer workout.  As I’m not always alone in the locker room, I wonder if the other guys in the space can figure out what I’m doing.  It’s hot to me thinking that they might know I’m jacking off, but can’t really do anything other than listen to it.  A version of ‘look, but don’t touch.’  Scenes like that, being on either side of them, can be incredibly sexy.

It’s also a reason why I love hitting the Korean spas in Dallas:  There’s sex in the air without having the pressure of figuring out who’s fucking who.  It’s all the visual fun of a bathhouse without all the extra calories.  Bathhouse-lite, if you will.  As someone who grew up playing sports and in communal showers, I’ve always been comfortable with my body, never having had a problem with being naked in front of a large group of guys.  As I’ve gotten into great adult shape and figured out what really turns me on, the simple act of walking around naked in a locker room is incredibly hot for me.  Years ago when I wasn’t happy with how my body looked (tall and skinny), I’d wrap a towel around me.  Now, I dry off when I get out of the shower and until I put clean clothes back on, I’m naked.

Are some guys in the locker room keeping an eye on me?  Probably.  I’m cool with that.

 

I feel really fortunate to be able to scratch just about any sexual itch I have, but the one thing that can be problematic is finding a top guy when I’m in the mood to get pounded out.  See, I’m a big guy: 6’3” and 205 lbs.  Muscular, thick legs. Bubble ass.  Unless he just wants to bend me over a bed or go missionary, finding a top who can physically handle me can be tricky.

Enter Tyson.  Early-40s. Beautifully built black guy. 6’6”. 230 lbs.  When he messaged me on Grindr, I felt like gay Jesus was sending me a set of stone tablets. THOU SHALT PROPERLY GET FUCKED…  GAYMEN.

Dude had a staggeringly big dick. Didn’t have my measuring tape with me, but it went way past my gag reflex, which is always a reliable party trick.  He hit all of my hot buttons: Licked my pits, kept his hands on my feet, gave great head and focused on eating my ass in prep for him pounding me out.   Tyson ended up using his spit to lube up his cock, initially putting me on my back and easing that monster into my hole.  It was the kind of dick that was thick and long, so I felt every inch as it was working into me.  This was asshole yoga.

After stretching out and a couple of position changes, he let go and really focused on his own pleasure.  When I bottom, I’m totally all for that top mindset.  I like watching a guy enjoy fucking me, seeing him work himself closer and closer to busting his nut.  At this point, I’d been getting his dick for about 25-30 minutes and as someone who’s definitely not a power bottom, I began mentally patting myself on the back.  I wanted him to finish in doggy, feeling him pull his dick out of me and shoot his load across my back.  At this point, I was on the floor with my ass up higher than my head, he was above me, jackhammering down.  Based on his breathing, I could tell he was close.

Me: ’Hey man, I want to feel that load across my back when you’re ready.’

‘Fuck bro. I’m already putting my nut in yo hole,’ he replied.  Not gonna lie…  That was a hot response.  Not what I planned, but hey, life is improv.

As I felt his body spasm a load into me, I jerked myself off, momentarily wondering if this hotel carpeting I was covering with cum had StainMaster.  #AlwaysTipHousekeeping

Continuing to keep it fun was that he kept gently fucking me after I came, using his cum as lube.  Something tells me he could have easily worked himself back to a hard dick and another pop shot, but at that point my brain was tired, I needed a beer and my ass needed a squirt of lemon juice.

Bottom line, he’s in my phone for future reference, but truth be told, I think I accidentally put him in as ‘Tyrone.’  I don’t think I ever told him my name, so I’m assuming I’m in his iPhone as ‘Ginger Muscle Bottom’ or something to that effect.  I’ve been called worse.

While I don’t tend to tell a lot of stories about the guys I professionally spend time with, I will share something in the next edition about a crazy fun group scene that a client put together recently.  I’m hesitant to work with other escorts for a variety of reasons, but this one turned out perfectly.  More on that later.

I also just realized that in addition to the hot black dude I talked about earlier, my last visit to San Antonio had me hooking up with another hot black guy I met at the gym, then invited him back to my hotel room across the street and pounded him on the edge of the bed for the better part of an hour.  He, like me, was a tall, built dude and sometimes there’s nothing hotter than watching a guy like that get real submissive, real fast.  I’ll get into the details on the next post, but this was the kind of fuck that involved zero foreplay.  Open hotel room door, clothes off, dick has been hard since the elevator ride up and just slam it into his ass.  

 

I don’t expect to post a new edition of 15MM for another few weeks, as I’m heading to SE Asia and will be out of the country for awhile.  You can keep up with my travels and day-to-day shenanigans through my Twitter feed and always feel free to reach out with questions or comments direct at BenjaminNicholasDallas@gmail.com.

If you’re too bashful to ask the truly dirty shit by email, you can anonymously send me questions through my Q&A page.  I try to get through them on a weekly basis, so if there’s something on your mind that you’ve always wanted to know, this is the place to go nuts.

 

 

Have a safe, sexy summertime my awesome readers.  Be well,

 

 

 

 

 

 

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