Hunks in Malls.

I attended a board meeting last week to serve as a corporate secretary, in lieu of my boss who was in the United States. In the middle of the meeting, I suddenly coined a word. It was inspired by this former beauty queen who did nothing during the meeting but raise her petty complaints on flower vases, carpet colors, and maids not being in proper uniform. She was highbrow and condescending. In the minutes that I took, I called her a "cob".

Cob /n/ - (1) a matron whose only purpose and claim in life is her ability to obscenely spend her husband's money and which, per se, makes her feel superior to other human beings; (2) short for condescending old bitch. I.e. The cob living across us sneered at my mother's purchase of a vintage velvet divan.

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I was in Rockwell earlier today to check on their four-day sale. Characteristically, I scoured for sneakers and jeans. There was none there that I liked. I went to Fully Booked and found a special paperback edition of Umberto Eco's The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana and a special centennial edition of Brighton Rock by Graham Greene. I did not have enough cash with me, so I was forced to go down the basement and make a withdrawal via ATM.

One would never thought that being short on cash could be a blessing. As the escalator descended, I easily recognized uberhunk Derek Ramsay. He looked great sporting a beard that has not been shaved in a week, his skin was a shining brown. He was talking on the cell phone and hiding his identity under a baseball cap that is pulled low over his eyes. Nevertheless, if a guy looks, sounds and smells like Derek Ramsay, it must be Derek Ramsay. Well, it really was him.

While waiting for my turn to use the ATM, I tried to work up the courage to ask if I could take his photo or our photo together. I was thinking about this blog and how it would be great to post a personal picture taken with my new SE K800i. Afterwards, he fell in line right behind me, which made me feel okay that the two or three persons in front of me could take all their time using the ATM. Derek was behind me and he smelled great! He continued using the phone and his voice was wow. Him standing behind me was enough to me cum.

I never found the words to ask him for the picture. But I did savor the fifteen minutes or so that I was able to steal glances at his tight body and well structured face. And yeah, I stood behind him on the escalator way up. His tight ass was great from that angle.

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Last Friday (or Thursday, I can't recall now), I chanced upon commercial model and Marcos heir Borgy Manotoc in Glorietta. There was an event there that required a lot of celebrities and quasi-celebrities and Borgy was walking out of a restaurant where he presumably had lunch with female hottie Bubbles Paraiso.

I was a bit disappointed with Borgy. He looked rather thin and regular looking. He is more handsome on TV.

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Anyway, the prized watch that day was Bubbles, who was still sporting a great tan and her tank top and skimpy jeans really showed how enviable her boobs and ass are.

To Bi For 11: Anna Kournikova.

It is by sheer inadvertence that I erred to earlier feature her in this blog. She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. That is why she has earned the reputation of being an unqualified temptation to mankind. As aptly nicknamed by the press, a "Tennis Lolita".

The story of Anna Kournikova is one that is well known. She was a tennis player who started in the game as a kid. Seeing her potentials, her parents brought her from Russia to the United States to enhance her skills and provide her the best training possible. As she started out as a teenager, she dominated her age group. She was far taller than the other girls and could cover a wider area of the tennis court. Her bone structure was also comparably more mature, which gave her limbs greater power. Thus, she won competitions left and right and the world came to know her name. Anna Kournikova.

As a cruel twist of fate, puberty happened. And then the world of men ceased to see her as a sports prodigy but as a muse of sexual desire. She was as pretty as goddess. All of a sudden, people stopped talking about her game and the statistics that became relevant were her breast size, waist line, and how many sets one thinks it would take to fuck her brains out. Or your brains out.

The sad part of it was that Anna allowed herself to be caught in this maelstorm of objectification and gratification. She traded her racket for the swimsuit. So instead of waiting for her appear in court, a fan eagerly waited for the next issue of FHM, Maxim and Sports Illustrated. Correction, Sports Illustrated Annual Swimsuit Edition.

And so the promise was broken. Anna abandoned tennis and tennis abandoned Anna. And now we can no longer see her precocious beauty in court or in a magazine. She has also abandoned us. We mere mortals, for one god named Enrique Iglesias.

Must Blow 23: Daniel Jacob.

I have no intention of featuring him yet in this regular portion of my blog. However, after seeing these shirtless and nearly-naked pictures of him, I simply could not resist myself. I had to feature him here now, if only to serve as a release for the impure thoughts that the digital images invoked in my primal self.

Daniel Jacob was featured as cover and centerfold model for Playgirl in January of 2003. I do not know if he has made another appearance in the magazine since, but the same photoset was published again in the Centerfolds special edition two or three years after.

Aside from posing for Playgirl, Daniel carved a prominent niche in porn world by operating a web site with his fellow centerfold, Pete Maneos. The site offers access to intimate photos, videos, chats and web-cam of Daniel, Pete and a host of their equally delectable hunky friends. I have not visited the site, but reviews say that it is more women-friendly than gay.

Before going the full monty in magazines and the web, Daniel Jacob was first a virile model for Abercrombie and Fitch. He was featured in a number of the label's print advertisements.

I restrained myself from posing today Daniel's photoshoot with Playgirl. The pictures there are hot and very revealing. However, the pictures now accompanying this blog entry prove a stronger point: that Daniel Jacob need not be fully naked in order to trigger taboo thoughts in the eyes of the beholder. Even though clothed, Daniel is dirty and sexy.

My New Daddy.

Michael Von Steel is my new daddy. I like how that sentence reads out in my mind and in this blog. So, indulge me if I write it again. Michael Von Steel is my new daddy. The cadence of words is impeccable that the thought must be true.

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Last night, I was able to buy the May 2006 issue of Men magazine. It features Michael Von Steel (my new daddy, ha ha) on the cover and in centerfold. The pictures are awesome. You can jack off on any picture included in the spread.

Von Steel is a porn actor and model who has done projects both on the gay and the straight path. He was featured in Unzipped two years ago and his dirty pictures litter gay sites in the internet. Before his sojourn into porn, he was in the military.

He is very handsome and his body, although not as ripped or toned as your average porn idol, is very much like a jock. He stands six feet five inches but his more relevant statistic, I gather from the photos, is between six and seven 1/2 inches long. If one meets him in the street, one may even pass him for a rougher Tom Brady, a ramp model, or if in a suit, a Wall Street professional. In short, he is someone you'd want to end up in bed with. Yup, whether your ideal man is an athlete, a fashion model or a white-collar man.

Michael Von Steel very much had me by the throat that the other magazine I bought (Playgirl's April 2007 isuue featuring another daddy material, Niko) still had to be re-opened after being leafed through last night.

To BenBoy, In Reply.


Dear BenBoy,

I just had the opportunity two or three days ago to read your comments on my blog. Thank you very much for sharing your thoughts.

I am glad that our tastes tallied. Immitation is not only a great form of flattery but is also the best compliment. Renato Amoroso, Josh Elliot, Roman Heart and Baywatch babe Billy Warlock, aren't these guys delectable? And the women, too. However, with regard to Tim Hamilton, we would have to part ways. For some reason, although he is such as twink as Renato and Josh, I have never fallen for him. I think it is because I find his features bordering on the girlish. There is no masculinity in him that I could hunger for. Unlike Renato and his boyish smile. Or Josh and his playfulness in his videos. Tim is beautiful, though, I must concede.

Between Tim and his erstwhile off-cam lover, Danny Saradon, I am more inclined to fantasize the latter. Danny has such perfect teeth and crystal eyes that he lights up the screen whenever he steps in. Yes, even before his clothes are shed and his cock pops out.

Yes, we really, actually did it. That is my answer to your question on whether my sexual encounter with the actor I called Dindo ---detailed in my blog, Carnal Tuesday--- was real or simply fantasized. I have been clear in my blog on whether what I wrote was based on a simple dream (as in those chapters involving Julian Fantechi) or prompted by an unfulfilled fantasy, or was real. And for your information, Dindo and I chanced upon each other in the gym about two months after the incident (I called him more than a week after the incident but I had to cancel at the last moment due to work.) and we ended up, inevitably, in a hotel bed. I tried to write about it after the incident but I never got to finish it. There was always work piled up, the energy drained in the gym and the problems with my internet server.

Please send me your blog address so that I could also read your stuff. Cheers!

Kafkaesque.

One dictionary I consulted defines the word "Kafkaesque" as having to do with, characteristic of, or like the Czechoslovak novelist Franz Kafka or his writings. Wikipedia writes that in its quite fluid definition, it is described as "marked by a senseless, disorienting, often menacing complexity: Kafkaesque bureaucracies"; and "marked by surreal distortion and often a sense of impending danger: Kafkaesque fantasies of the impassive interrogation, the false trial, the confiscated passport . . . haunt his innocence".

Whenever I hear the word, the image of Gregor Samsa (the protagonist in Kafka's most famous work, "Metamorphosis") waking up one morning as a "monstrous vermin" easily comes to mind. I associate it with the bizaare. And with something unexplainable yet only because one is --by his own physical, mental, emotional or psychological limitations--- baffled in ascertaining the purpose, reason or logic.

Over the Holy Week, I read and finished Nicholas Murray's biography of Franz Kafka. With little documentation regarding this exceptional author that has survived, this biography is described by critics as "authoritative" inspite of the fact that it relied mainly on Kafka's own writings (particularly letters to his girlfriends, diary entries and published works). Thus, to me, the work is almost autobiographical since the reader gets to know Kafka through his own words. Murray's participation was more of an editor or consultant.

Anyway, after reading the biography, my association to the word "Kafkaesque" was transformed. Whenever I hear or read it, I am reminded of myself. I am Kafkaesque. I am Kafkaesque in the way that it is defined to be "characteristic of or like Franz Kafka".

I am Kafkaesque. Kafka's adult life was marked by the torment he felt in his inability to reconcile his desire to fall in love and be wedded and his longing to be alone. Kafka fell in love to a lot of women (most notoriously to Felice Bauer) and he struggled to nurture such relationships, reciprocate the love that the women lavished on him, and to be able to elevate such relationships to a higher plane. However, no matter how much he wanted to, he failed. Kafka never married because he was apprehensive of losing his personal freedom. Kafka was happy in the company of women but he was far happier in his solitude. He was far accomplished by the writings he is able to produce in his lonesome. And he felt he needed the solitude because of the great demands that his writings had on him. He wanted only to produce the best literature. Believe it or not, no matter how novel, imaginative and pure his works were, Kafka never felt adequate as a writer. He strived for something more.

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Like Kafka, there is an undeniable longing within me to have my own family. A wife, kids, a house, pets, vacations during weekends, buying birthday cakes and balloons, the works. I do not measure that to be the summit of my happiness or personal fulfillment but I want to accomplish that as an aspect of my life. I want a wife so that over dinner I can tell her how my day was and afterwards she will give me the smile that eases all my worries. I want my own kid whose little hands will grasp my long fingers in his periods of growth, uncertainty and sorrow. I'd like to experience that.

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On the other hand, I am happy in my personal freedom, in the fact that I am able to do whatever I wish without having to account to a wife or giving up certain vices so that my children would be better off. My worries are less since I do not have to pay anyone's tuition, or please a wife, or get home early to bring home cake or balloons. Since I am not attached to anyone and no one depends on me, I am able to pursue my personal interests on a wider scale. I can work at my own time and without the pressure of being a breadwinner. I have my time for writing (I am a fiction writer in progress) and reading. How will I read Turow or Coetzee, Eco or Dostoevsky in the midst of the noise of children playing?

And so my life, my predicament, my torment is such. And I have now a name for it. Kafkaesque.

Must Blow 22: Breck Orshal.

One of my favorite Playgirl models is Breck Orshal. He appeared in the magazine way back in 2005, immaculately in a white robe and white Calvin Klein boxer brief. After the robe and calvins were taken off, he displayed to the readers (Or is it more appropriate to call us voyeurs of the magazine since we buy it more for the photos?) one of the longest and thickest dicks ever featured in the magazine in recent years.

Unfortunately, he lost out to Derrick Davenport as 2006's Man of the Year. I can only surmise that it was a close fight.

He did other porn work. He appeared in a pay-per-view gay site, doing videos and photo shoots. One of the things that baffle me about him is his ability to lead a very public double life of gay porn and straight dating. I saw his myspace profile, where he used his real name "Breck Orshal", which included pictures of him and his "inseparable girlfriend". It appears that he uses his porn earnings to finance his college studies (major in architecture) and is now based in Las Vegas. I don't think his girlfriend has googled the image of her boyfriend. I'd like to know how she reacts.

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The photos appearing here did not come from Playgirl but in a gay site whose name I could no longer recall. I downloaded them about a year ago. He was identified as "Gabe".