The Undead, The Dead Economy, And A New Hope

The Old Whore says: The undead continue to thrive, the elderly enjoy their own "Twilight" years and one horny ass man takes inspiration from our president's inaugural address.

. . .

I met this super cute guy at my school who is super goth, super pale and really into vampires. He is tall, thin and wears a ton of guy-liner and is always so fragile looking. I am madly in love with him. He feels the same about me and we are totally exclusive. But when we were hanging out with this girlfriend of his, they talked about how they want to suck each other's blood. She is totally just a chubby poser and is only trying to steal my man. He thinks that I'm being crazy possessive and that they are just friends. In the undead world, sharing blood is just as intimate as fucking. Am I right?

Are you right? Jeez, I'm not sure if you're even mentally stable. The Undead world? Like Cindy McCain in Valium Land? Or like that Mormon-inspired Twilight book? Never mind, I don't care. But it does beg the question—Why do so many young fags want to look like a dead mime? Hasn't that Jenny Jones episode run its course? (Whoops, seems there is a new Cure album out this month; I guess I answered my own question.) Fine, so Dopey the Mope is your new BF and he's sucking the neck of his faghag. Well, never fear. It's a well known fact that the Nelly Nanny never gets laid. This sexual equation is as old as Pythagoras: Goth girl + gay boy = celibate with good personality. She has as much chance of stealing him away as you do of getting a tan line. Just relax and take an iron supplement. And speaking of The Cure's Robert Smith, did you ever wonder how Demi Moore would have turned out without all her surgery?

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I met this hot Latino guy online and have been hooking up with him every Wednesday for the past few months. As a retired gentleman, I have my days free and like to schedule some action before I hit the senior center and farmers markets. He comes over around 8am, whips it out and I get to sucking. I love to service his fat uncut chorizo and it always gives me a lot to wank about for the rest of the week. Recently, he lost his job and now our blow-n-go has become suck -n-stay. I want to be understanding to a young guy out of work, but haven't I already done my part by sucking his dick?

And as the economy continues to nosedive, I'm sure this story will become all too common…well, maybe not your story exactly, but the general concept. Personally, I can't pop wood before noon. It's always been an occupational obstacle for me. But kudos to a guy that can not only deal with the stress of losing his job but also rape your mouth before Regis and Kelly. As for giving him the heave-ho, maybe you can show him how Craigslist has sections other than Men4Men? Explain the difference between Monster and Manhunt? If all else fails, start asking him about his job hunt is going. Nothing drives away a slacker like work talk.

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My new fuckbud is a dirty pig top who loves to work over my hole. When we first met one of the things that attracted me to him was his rough, no bullshit personality. He told me from day one that he was only interested in fisting. He didn't want to fuck, suck or any of that shit. And the first few weeks were heaven. I'd go to his place and let him punch fuck me like Mike Tyson on a bender. He's been so good that I've developed a bit of the 'roids. He is soooo rough, but I love it! My doctor warned me to lay off the ass play for a few weeks but I'm afraid I'm gonna lose my fist fucker! How can I pleasure my top man and not turn my ass into a bloody pulp?

God, this one brings back memories! I remember doing a paddle scene at the Archive Building on Hudson Street in the West Village. We had a certain Broadway personality on a St. Andrews cross and were taking turns smacking his ass while we played Pet Shop Boys 12-inchers and snorted coke off a "Truth or Dare" laser disk...Ah! The glamour! After a few gentle swats I got over-ambitious and delivered a strong backhand, (right foot braced, weight in forward momentum, wrists locked) and smacked his pasty white ass like a dusty rug. His hemorrhoids blew and a bucket of blood rained down from his crack sending us all into fits. I was not even 21; I thought the poor queen exploded. Thankfully, a more level head prevailed and our bottom benefactor was rushed to a sitz bath of warm Epsom salts and rosewater. I recently saw him making Chicken Piccata on Martha Stewart, so don't cry for him, Argentina – hint hint.

As for your butch top man, explain the situation to him and see if you can't find some sort of compromise. Maybe you can act as his assistant, holding back some other asspigs legs as he does his work. Or you can be in charge of enemas and lubes during the pre-show? There is always a way when we work together. It's a change, but its change we can believe in. Take heart in the touching words of our 44th president, "We will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist."

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Previously: Ask The Old Whore Archive