Hey — I was on the Derek and Romaine show tonight with Victoria Zdrok. She is very cool. I was also interviewed by Wired today, yay for me!

Sometimes I write crazy things here and it seems like no one notices. And then sometimes I get totally busted for something I wrote. The worst was when a bitchy glossy women’s magazine demanded I retract something I wrote, and the upshot is that I’ll never have to come up with "ten of the same old sex tricks that aren’t too creative or explicit" for that rag again. But not this time. And no — it wasn’t the drug references in my last post, though a reader wrote me "The accidental ingestion — it wasn’t a horrible date-rape drug!?" No, it was pot, smoked close enough to me to have an effect on me (I can’t smoke the stuff, makes me paranoid and forgetful).

I’ll tell you. Remember that hilarious gay guy from the sperm bank? Well, I was at a graduation party for the SFSI graduates and there he was, looking sharp, making funny jokes. He came over to me and said something like, "I read your website, about the sperm bank party and the gay guy." My heart sank. This opening always means I did something stupid. He continued, "Well, I’m not gay." My stomach flipped, though I did notice that he had a bit of a sparkle in his eyes. I realized right then and there that my gaydar is seriously broken. Then I realized that I had a very sexy, very funny, un-selfconscious, well-dressed straight boy on my hands — a rare treat. "Um," I stammered, "that means you’re hot." True, that.

But what the hell happened to me last weekend? Check out the pictures. The Marching Band, an entire band I have a crush on, were being filmed by Lonely Planet on Friday night and decided to make an event out of it — and boy, did they. A double-decker bus with no roof and a keg installed in the upstairs (and all the chairs ripped out of it) sailed the band (and me!) around town, starting in the Mission, crashing Seth Malice’s book signing, went to the Castro, landed in Chinatown where we were actually chased out by police, then wound up at the Lusty Lady holiday party.

It was a blurry night, a much-needed release of drinking and dancing for me — though the memories are still coming back and I have a mild cold from kissing multiple girls. I remember a drummer pretending to "wipe off" my boobs, like, a lot (I was giggling like a hyena). When we got to the Lusty party, the minute Hornboy left my side to get ready for the show I was accosted by Nina, who led me to the curtained-off lap dance area and gave me an outrageous body-rubbing. She had on a gorgeous patent leather corset, and every time she ground her pussy on my leg I thought the heat would burn me, wow. That is an amazing sensation. Then later, when the band started to play, I was led to the middle of the dance area by a beautiful trumpet player, sandwiched by another hot Goth girl, then another hot Goth girl. After, I was sitting upstairs by myself, with no one talking to me for a long time, and I wanted to leave. Back came the trumpet girl, who sat behind me and started kissing my neck, face, lips — and running her hands all over my face, neck, and into my t-shirt, where her fingers tentatively explored and pulled on my nipples.

People were staring. Hornboy was sitting next to me, and he put my hand in his lap, right on his very hard cock. "I’m glad you didn’t leave," she said, and then wandered off. Hornboy (now living up to his name in every way) and I went downstairs to leave, where Nina demanded a kiss goodbye — all soft lips and tongue, all girl. When I got in the taxi I looked like J.G. Ballard’s Crash at the Macy’s makeup counter.

The whole thing with the girls — I’m still reeling. Did it happen to me? I’m not a girl magnet. I fantasize about women often, I’ve had a few female lovers (one even long-term), but I’ve never been that kind of girl — or so I thought. I mean, it is fairly typical for me to bring a girl to a party as my date, and have her wind up on someone else’s lap within twenty minutes. I feel shy, awkward, strange and alien around beautiful women. Gawky and geeky, like I should be wearing glasses and striped socks. Oh wait, I do.

Anyway, the next day I got delivery of the sex machine, but that’s the next post. Think positive thoughts for me in the meantime that my rubber schoolgirl outfit arrives on time for the party tomorrow — it was supposed to be here Monday, rrrrgh. Also, I’m having a hell of a time configuring my Type Pad blog to my Tiny Nibbles site. I decided to go with Type Pad because the interface is a breeze and I can use it for mobile blogging easily, but now I’ve discovered that my service doesn’t do DNS mapping so I can’t domain map, which would keep my blog URL the same — a very vital thing as it is a major part of my search rankings. Anyone know any good hacks? I could do a redirect, but that might screw up my rankings, too…

A few links: hot hip replacement sex, wackadoo alert, a great article about Kinsey, a really very cool online fetish magazine.

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