Friday, November 17, 2017

Party Today 12PM

NOONER FUSION today (Friday 11/17), 12PM to 3PM.

Email me at theorgyguy@gmail.com for details.

Please only text me when you're at the building's front door, ready to be buzzed up.  No calls and no questions or comments. All information is in the emails, and this blog is the place to come if you're wondering if the party's cancelled.  

Thank you-thank you-thank you.

Be sure to get your info directly from the host (i.e., my emails and blog), instead of relying on an outside source, like a friend or someone else's sex blog.  

Please do not give my cell number or address to anyone. If you think someone would like the parties, then have them go through the regular process by emailing me.  I don't respond to calls or texts for info.

Note that, upon arriving at the building, please text "Here" to me to be let in; do not ring the bell and don't call.  I'll immediately buzz you in.  The buzzer goes for 6 seconds; please get through both doors on a single buzz and come right up to the 2nd floor.  Please don't follow someone else in; use the text system so I know you're coming up and not making someone in the building feel uncomfortable about letting in a stranger, and so I know you're coming up the stairs.

The building is 449, so be sure you're at the correct building.

Please note the hours.

Thank you, guys.

Saturday, June 24, 2017

How the Pride Parties Are Different, Sunday NOONER, Chris Cornell – Post #76


Note that there won’t be a party on Tuesday 6/27, Thursday 6/29, Friday 6/30, or on Tuesday 7/4.


Ö Ö Ö


This is the 9th annual PRIDE sex party I’ve hosted.  The first one was in 2009. 

There are two main things which make these parties different from the other ones: the number of guys and groups.

The increased number of attendees is a given.  There’s Black Party weekend, New Year’s Eve, out-of-towners during the holidays and a PRIDE-driven uptick in June, but PRIDE Sunday is the big one. 

If you don’t like a dense crowd, this one probably isn’t your speed; but if you are into numbers…and are into my parties…this is the best party I’ll host all year.

The very fact that, at any given party, guys actually come into my home, take off their clothes, jerk off and have sex, is completely amazing to me and a downright privilege…

Sunday’s PRIDE party is even greater.


Doing what I do, for as long as I have, I’m pretty accurate at determining whether or not a guy is a fit for this party, as soon as they come through the door.  Hopefully during the online screening, but there’s only so much you can tell. 

Most individual guys who come fit in well and usually enjoy the experience. 

Some don’t and I can usually tell when I see first greet them.  If it’s a strong sense, I’ll just tell the guy outright.  Some of that depends on what’s happening at the party, at that given moment, on that given night.  Like in hockey, the move you make is determined by the facts on the ice at that moment.

Anyway.

I have no interest in duping anyone or gaining from someone else’s troubles.  I always try to treat people the way I want to be treated, equalize expectations of each other.  Sometimes that means cutting one’s losses sooner than later.

While any given individual coming to a party (who’s screened and been screened) usually leaves with a satiated smile, a group of friends coming to a party together often does not.  It’s very rare for a guy, in a group or not, to actually voice any displeasure, but the signals are there to be read.  And I’m cool with that.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to avoid it; and I assume you do, too.

If four guys arrive together, but who don’t know one another and just happen to have arrived concurrently, that’s great: more guys at the party.  But when four friends come, it usually looks like this:

The leader of the group – the one whose email address I have and who received the info – confidently walks in first, followed by two or three guys who aren’t nearly as sure of the situation as the first guy.    

Heads bobble around, eyes dart in every direction, stupefied smiles…nervous first timers tend to look like Stevie Wonder singing “Isn’t She Lovely” to a room full of birds.  Now picture them in a group.

Again, nervous first timers happen all the time, but as individuals, they usually (usually) do what they need to do to get into the experience, leaving happily.

But groups are different.  They quickly wind up standing in a corner whispering to each other.  Their heads will pop up, look around for a second, then get back to their huddle.  For some reason, individual guys can get past their own misgivings better than those of another.  The one who’s not thrilled is the one who’s deferred to.  In other words, the squeaky wheel gets greased.

It’s often true for couples, too.  They seem to do better when they divide & conquer.

This isn’t to say that it’s impossible for a small group of friends to come and have a great time – I have seen it – but a lot of why I’ve been able to host parties for so long is knowing how to play the numbers.

So just keep this in mind if you’re coming with a group.


Ö Ö Ö

Switching the NOONERs to Fridays from 3PM-6PM has been a success, so for July, we’ll keep that schedule.  The Saturday NOONERs will probably come back after Labor Day, but possibly sooner if I have scheduling needs.

Speaking of NOONERs, let’s try something different. 

One of the guys who came to a party, this week, asked if I’d consider hosting a Sunday NOONER.  “I do most of my stuff on Saturday so I have nothing to do on Sunday afternoons.  On Sunday evenings, I like to be home and ‘tucked in.’”

So we’re having one in July, on Sunday the 9th.  We’ll still have a NOONER on Friday the 7th, because they’ll attract two different groups of guys: those who leave town for the weekend and those who don’t.  No party that Sunday evening.

Ö Ö Ö

I feel like I keep saying this, but just in case, I am soooo appreciative of you guys.  You really are angels.

And you truly are a privilege. 

Happy PRIDE, misters.

Ö Ö Ö

Finally, a nod to Chris Cornell, who recently died and who was the singer for Soundgarden.

1991 to 1994/95 was a real sweet spot in music, youth culture, politics, and in my own life.  I’m in the age group of the grunge rockers, and when that scene hit, my life was also…hitting: graduation from college, moving out of my parents’ house, first real job, first long-time boyfriend, first real love.  At that age, everything is new and, therefore, sort of sensitive to the touch.  In heat and on fire. 

Soundgarden was one of the first of those early 90s Seattle bands.  In relative collaboration with the other grunge-era greats – notably Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Nine Inch Nails, Stone Temple Pilots  -- they not only created the proverbial soundtrack to a lot of our lives; they also gave us an identity.  Granted, it was whiney and entitled (which we were too young to identify), but the enormous power and newness and originality were like a giant wave.   Some got eaten up by that wave, but I think that for most of us, it was a totally outrageous fuckton of fun.

I saw a lot of shows, including Woodstock ’94, but I never got to see Soundgarden back then.  My band played a club on Long Island in 1990, the night before Soundgarden played there, but I didn’t go to a Soundgarden concert (nor any Chris Cornell act), until 2014 at Jones Beach.  I’m so glad I went.

By all accounts, Chris was a really great guy.   A great father and husband, friend, philanthropist of his time and talents as well as his money, and out-and-out fucking rock god.

I’ve found that life is, among many other things, a series of hellos and goodbyes.  Goodbye Chris.  And thank you.

Among so many of his great performances, this one’s my favorite.


Have a positively superlative summer!



The Örgy Guy

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Matchers is Coming Friday 9/23! And About How I Came Out – Post #75


Last blog, I asked you guys to call or email The Center to ask about Matchers.  It was meant to peak the interest of the folks at the front desk, there.  Create a little buzz.

Well I went to The Center, today, to get our supply of condoms, and upon mentioning to someone new at the front desk that I host the event, she happily exclaimed, “Everybody keeps asking about Matchers!” 

Thanks guys!  I appreciate it.

The next Matchers event will be Friday, September 23rd, from 7:30 to 9:30PM (arrive between 7-7:20PM).  Room 310.  Email me at matchers4men@gmail.com for details.  The following date will be Friday, October 21st, same time, same venue, same room.

Here's the blog post dedicated to it.

Gay men don’t have very many places where it’s mostly gay men, where we can meet other guys.  Mostly bars and gyms.  Sex parties, too, but there’s usually not a whole lot of talking going on there.  The Center, of course, but Matchers is the only dating event there, too.

In conceptualizing this event, I’m going with the philosophy used by the members of the band, KISS, which is to create the event that I’m super-excited to attend.  So that’s what I’ve done.

Matchers is going to be a lot fun.  A cross between a talk show and a town hall meeting, where gay men get to share their opinions on a variety of hot topics (politics, social issues, entertainment), then get to fill out forms to select which guys he’d want to get to know better.  Whichever guys pick him, as well, are his matches.

I’m no longer billing this as an event for the exclusive purpose of looking for a partner.  That can feel contrived and uncomfortable, like “Are you my next boyfriend?!”  I’m happier with it being for any relationship, even if it’s platonic.  But ostensibly guys will go to Matchers more for dating than for casual friendships.

Casual sex is usually on gay men’s menus, too, so there’s also that. ;)

More information is coming, so please stay tuned to the blog dedicated to Matchers: matchers4men.blogspot.com.  Or email me at matchers4men@gmail.com.

Thanks again and I hope to not only see you, but to finally get to hear you, at the next Matchers.

Ö Ö Ö

Also last blog, I wrote about how I realized I’m gay.  Guys sometimes tell me that they like my blog (which is always surprising, since I sometimes think, Who reads this shit?), but I received more feedback from this one than maybe ever.  I’m glad.

So I figure I ought to follow it up with, How I Came Out.

I’ve already written about my initial experiences at the Long Island Expressway Exit 49 Park & Ride.  That’s where I…er…cut my teeth.  A dude I met there took me to my first gay bar, a few months after my 21st birthday (when I discovered cruising and became sexually active), called Pal Joey’s in North Bellmore.  That’s the same bar Henry Marquez was at just before he was murdered by Andrew Esposito, for being gay.  That incident led to a fairly large protest, which I marched in.  I also happened to move right up the street, about a year later. 

From the summer of 1990, until Christmas of ’91, I created a gay social life of mostly sex and bars and cars and more sex, apart from my straight life, which was college, working, and being in a rock band.  It wasn’t until January of ’92 when I came out to my family, which was really the high watermark for my coming out process: once they knew, then telling my straight friends would be pretty easy.

My father was a police officer.  Very straight-edge and conservative, but thankfully not religious.  I figured my mother, with whom I’d had many sophisticated supper conversations throughout my teen years (while Dad was working the 4PM-12AM shifts), and since she liked Phil Donanue and Oprah Winfrey, I figured she’d be cooler with it than my father would be.

Nope!

I remember being in my bedroom, getting my stuff together to take a shower, when my mother knocked on my door.  I let her in, she pulled out my desk chair, and said, “I don’t mean to upset you, but I’ve got to ask you a question.  Are you gay?”  My initial reaction – like that very first second – was to look up at the ceiling and start to make a facial expression conveying, “WTF, are you kidding?!” but when I looked back at her, I just gave up and said, “Yes.”  I literally felt weight come off my shoulders.

She was shocked.  I think I followed it up with, “Now we can talk about anything.”  And boy did we!  We talked for about an hour, and I told her things she was totally not ready for.  I’d assumed that the coming out part was like the pinnacle of anything taboo I could talk about with my mother, and that anything else would be easy for her to take, by comparison. 

Nah, she needed time to absorb the mere fact that her son just almost completely changed right before her eyes.  I was too naïve to get that.  She needed a lot of time to deal with it, so I moved out later that month. 

January ’92.  What a winter that was!  What a year that was!  Life is so exciting, dramatic, and seemingly unprecedented when you’re 22.

So my mother needed time.  Before I moved out, one afternoon, I walked into the kitchen and saw my mother lying on the den floor.  Her two hands pressed together, under her head, the way a child would.  She was awake, thinking…worrying.  Obsessing.

She stood up and said she wasn’t “taking this well,” so we sat at the kitchen table and talked some more.  She said some things, which today would be considered “toxic” and “homophobic,” but she was just processing too much information, with too many concurrent emotions, and having an honest experience.  She came around and has been great, ever since.

My father, though.  He was way different.  In a good way.  First of all, he’d been asking my mother for a while about why I’d never had a girlfriend.   Mom would tell him, “If you want to know, just ask him.”  But she didn’t believe I was gay, so she figured s/he had nothing to lose.  Finally, after he’d asked again, she went upstairs and knocked on my door.

My father was a police officer, so he’d already seen so much Life, had great perspective.  His third kid being gay wasn’t the end of the world, even as I feared he would think that way.

After my mother and I finished our first conversation, when I came out to her, I said I was afraid to come down for dinner because by then my father would know I’m gay.  My mother was about to officially confirm it.   That concept was a real trip, and a scary one.  She said she’d go down and speak to him.  I took my shower.

When I got out and returned to my bedroom, my Dad was waiting for me.  I only remember him saying, “It’s OK to come down for dinner.”  No gruffness or attitude, he was understanding.

I knew it was going to be alright.

He died in 2006, and it’s only since then that I’ve realized that my father likely already knew.  He probably picked up on things from when I was growing up.  Like I said, he’d seen a lot of life.

One instance, I thought for sure he was going to find a couple of gay magazines I had in my car.  I woke up at around noon, looked out my bedroom window and saw my car backed up the driveway, with my Dad’s legs sticking out the driver’s side door, his head under the dashboard.  He was fixing the turn signal, which he’d already told me he was going to do, so stupid me for keeping them under my seat.

Our driveway was slanted, so the back end of my car (a metallic orange ’75 Chevy Malibu, which I bought from my father for $1,000) was higher than the front end.  Gravity.  There were two magazines, the kind you find in gay bars, under the driver’s seat. 

This is what I saw when I looked out the window, having just woken up.

I totally thought he would’ve seen them, but since he hadn’t said anything, I’d always figured he hadn’t seen them.  But all these years later, I’m pretty sure he did see them.  And I’m really glad he acted as a catalyst to get the truth out in the open.  Good job, Dad.

The day before my mother asked me, funnily enough, I had just come out to my sister.  The very day before! 

Lori had just given birth to her daughter, on Christmas Day, and I went over to visit in the afternoon.  I think we watched “Blazing Saddles.”  Or “History of the World.” 

But I’d already written her a coming out letter, which I’d brought with me.  I was so nervous, I practically threw it at her as I was leaving, running to my car and speeding away.

I’d always felt super-safe around my big sister, which is obviously why I chose to come out to her, first.  She later said how much she was worried because A) We had just watched Blazing Saddles and she was afraid maybe she’d laughed at something gay and B) I’d think she told my mother.  But of course she hadn’t.

Coming out to my older brother, Vic, worried me more.  I was certain he wouldn’t kick me out of his life, but he was an ex-military, NRA, fundamentalist Christian, conservative, Ted Nugent-loving hunter-of-Bambis.  Even with all of that, I was secure that he’d be at least aiight. 

He lived in Wurtsboro, NY, and we planned for me to visit, that Saturday.  I didn’t want to come out to him, face-to-face; so, like with my sister (and as likely would have been with my parents, had they not asked), I wanted to tell Vic in a letter.  But it was already late in the week, so getting him a letter via regular mail wouldn’t work.  There was no email yet.

I quickly wrote a coming out letter to my brother, rushed to the post office, and had it next-day shipped.  Now that I write this, I’m thinking about how so very little money I had right after I first moved out, but it was less of a price than having to say it straight to my brother’s face.

Anyway, when I got to the house, he said that when he received it, he immediately thought “something was up.”  He was mostly very cool about it all.  I don’t think he ever tried to change me or whatever.  Pretty sure I’d remember that.

It wasn’t easy coming out to my best friend, Larry.  He and I were also in a band, called Tempest Rising.  Larry was a long-haired, crotchety conservative kid, but we were great friends. 

I’d already told our mutual friend, Rob, with whom I’d just moved in to my first place, a house on 25A in East Setauket.  I waited at the corner bar, called Country Corner, while Rob broke the news to Larry, next door at the house.  I sat at the bar with a bottle of beer, and after about a half hour, Larry came in, sat at the next stool.  We didn’t say anything for a few seconds.  I think the first thing he said was, “You know, I used to throw bottles at people like you.”

That broke the tension and, like with what my Dad first said, I knew it was going to be cool.  Larry and I, like most male friends, throw these types of barbs at each other to ease tension and to be playful. 

Larry was, and still is, very conservative.  He used to say, “I just don’t get it.”  Which was fine.  I tried explaining it to him several times, but it got to the point where, since it hadn’t been part of our relationship before, why start now?  We just proceeded with our same friendship and let it play its course. 

The extended family just kinda looked at me sideways, when they thought I wasn’t noticing.  But they were fine, too.  Granted, it’s Long Island, where the general perception of gay is a couple of decades behind Manhattan, but it’s been all good.

That was a loooooong time ago.  Sheesh.  It’s really something, how far we’ve come.

How far we’ve all come.

Ö Ö Ö


Finally, here’s an email someone forwarded to me, which he’d received from someone who’s been to my parties.  I don’t know who it is, but I’m sure glad someone feels this way.  hi - saw your posting on CL. I've always had good luck at parties hosted by Scott. You can email him for details - scott@theorgyguy.com  ...he has an apartment midtown west, charges $20 but worth it. Usually a dozen or so guys, good mix, and hot action, you can get as into it as you want, ok just to hang out as well. Hosts parties several times a week.



The Örgy Guy

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

How I Found Out I’m Gay, Naked Men, and Contacting The Center for Matchers – Post #74



I have a lot of very early childhood memories.  When I openly recall them to someone, the response is often, “How can you remember something from when you were so young? I’m lucky if I remember anything before age ten!” 

I actually recall my mother giving me a bath in the bathroom sink.  It likely burned into my memory because I peed on her, and her subsequent surprise. 

Before I even knew that girls didn’t have penises was when I saw my younger cousin using the toilet.  I exclaimed, “You have two hineys!” It looked like a tiny butt, what can I say?  I was probably four years old.

At around the same age, I liked to take the shirts off my older brother’s GI Joes.  I ‘d pull down the pants, but pull them back up after inspections; I somehow knew it wasn’t acceptable. They had fuzzy hair and beards, which made them somewhat realistic, but I can still recall my disappointment when I touched the smooth area where there ought to have been a dick.  There’s actually a picture of me in our house, sitting on stairs, with a bunch of shirtless GI Joes lined up on either side of me.  I had a very big grin.

Before I knew the differences between male and female, I had this notion that men and women, without their children, would go to watch separate movies specific to their gender.  Only one theater, but two screens, with a giant partition separating the men (on the left), from the women (on the right).  I figured hoped that there would be a lot of nudity, and that women weren’t allowed to see men naked, and vice versa.

My most profound early memory was of seeing a naked man for the first time.  I was seven years old.  This one really rocked my world.

In 1976, my parents took my brother, sister, and I (the youngest) to Washington D.C. on vacation.  That was the Bicentennial year, which was a big deal.  The hotel at which we stayed had.  While at the hotel’s indoor pool with my family, I had to use the bathroom, so my brother took me to one which also had a shower.  Vic opened the door for me, and when I looked in, I saw a very beautiful, dark-mustached, curly haired man (picture 70s porn) drying himself with a towel.  I looked up at my brother, who merely shrugged, so I walked in and to the closest stall.  I knew I wasn’t supposed to stare (we were taught never to stare, but this was especially true because I somehow knew I wasn’t supposed to like this naked man), so I didn’t completely close the stall door, rather I left it open barely enough to see through.  This man was incredible!  While drying himself off, he talked to another naked (!) man in a shower stall. But I couldn’t see him.  I…well I stalled as long as I could, without alarming my brother or this completely naked, grown man that I was taking too long.  Plus I desperately wanted to see the other naked man!  I didn’t get to see him, but the one naked man was enough for me!

Did I mention he was actually naked?

I was hooked.  Completely head-over-heels.  It was the most amazing sight I’d ever beheld.

A year or two after that, in another pool/shower situation, I sat next to a naked man on a bench in the locker area.  He had brown hair and no mustache, as I recall, but since I didn’t have any way to be stealth about it, I couldn’t stare.  But just that he was so close to me sent me through the roof.

This was all pre-puberty, by the way.

Then, at age 12, I had yet another locker room/pool/shower situation.  I attended a swimming event at the local high school (Sachem, on Long Island, from which I later graduated in 1987), with my friend Chad and his gorgeous father, Blaise.  He was so fucking hot, and I’d always dreamed about spying through his bedroom window to see him naked.  But this was real!  This time, I stared right at him, agog.  He was all soapy and his cock was flopping back and forth from being washed.  It was at this point, with my tongue likely hanging out, that he said to me, “So Scott, how do you like it?”  He was referring to whether I liked the swimming event, presumably, and I’m not even sure how I responded.  Quite affirmatively, I imagine.  I was also naked, and when I walked out of the shower room, into the locker area, I had a raging hard-on.  One of the older boys saw that and had a disgusted look on my face.  I quickly realized my “mistake” and covered up.

Very early on, like at age four or five, I began getting the boys on the block to watch me pee outdoors (a couple of girls watched, too, including my cousins) and to blow me (no girls!).  We moved when I was five years old, and I got the new neighborhood boys to go down on me, too.  For several years.  I eagerly reciprocated.

It wasn’t until I was about thirteen or so that the blowjobs had to cease, since by that age we knew it was about being gay.  And no one was allowed to be gay!  So all of my teen years, save for one isolated incident when I was nineteen, were devoid of any sexual contact, which was really when I wanted it.  Right around the time I could ejaculate was when I could no longer approach boys.

Besides, at that age I no longer wanted boys; I wanted grown men.  That was actually true from my earliest years, but I had to settle for other boys, early on.

I had one experience at age twelve when I got an 18-year-old to jerk off for me.  First time I saw cum.  Huge dick.  He looked like Kurt Cobain.  I loved it, but I won’t describe it because I have no interest in writing about pedophilia.  But know that I actually came on to him.

There was no internet until I was 26 years old, so I had no way of finding sex before I was old enough to go to bars at age 21.  And other than one straight porn video I’d seen maybe three times, no porn at all.  There was the park & ride highway rest area, but I didn’t discover that until, ironically, the day of my 21st birthday (I could’ve been going there when I started driving at age 18).  For my birthday, my sister took me to see Phantom of the Opera in the city.  I was still living on Long Island.  She thought we were supposed to meet at the exit 52 park & ride, off the Long Island Expressway, but I thought we were to meet at the exit 49 park & ride.  Cell phones weren’t a thing in 1990, so she had no way of calling to see where I was.  By the time she realized it and made her way to exit 49, I’d already figured out what all those guys were doing there, and made a plan to return, the following evening. 

I waited for Lori, parked near the entrance.  It was a warm June day, so I had my window rolled down and was reading “No One Here Gets Out Alive,” the Jim Morrison biography.  Two dudes in a white Toyota Celica kept circling me, but I didn’t understand why.  Finally, they pulled up next to me and asked for the time.  So I gave them the time, still confused, but kind of realizing they were gay.  They pulled away, but about a minute later, they again circled my car, but this time the passenger was holding up a magazine with a lot of skin.  That’s when I did the Rose/Betty White, “Ooooooh! Now I get it!”  The entire time I was watching Phantom, my mind was still back at the park & ride.  I planned to return, the following evening. 

I did…and so my sex life began.

But there was an exact point when I realized I’m gay.  After a few months of going to “49” every chance I got, I met this one particular guy, whom I’d seen cruising the spot several times, but never hooked up with.  When we finally did meet – and after he gave me an “aiight” blow job – we talked.  I was 21 and I think he was 35.  He drove a black corvette and described himself as a “real” gypsy.  Whatever that meant.  But he said something that really resonated with me, which was there’s no such thing as bisexuality.  Guys who said they were bi were really just afraid to admit to being gay.  Although I’ve subsequently learned that there really are bi men and women, the part about my being afraid made me think. 

On my way home, while driving on the Long Island Expressway, I realized, out loud, “Oh shit…I’m gay!”  I can still see the literal road ahead of me, in my mind’s eye.  You’d think my not being into women at all, and my total and undivided interest in men, would have made it a foregone conclusion.  But it wasn’t.  I didn’t give off enough of a gay vibe, growing up, to be called “gay” or whatever associated derogatory term.  No one told me.  So I made up my own narrative, that it was just a phase; I’d have sex with a grown man once, then with my itch scratched, I’d just move on to women, my true love and sexuality.


The other night, during a party and while standing at my “station” where I check guys in and out, I found myself watching one of my attendees undress.  Now, I rarely, if ever, watch guys get undressed because it can feel creepy and disrespectful.  So I really never do it.  But this guy was very much my type.  It made me think about how the mere sight of a naked man used to send me into outer space, but now I have dozens of them, stripping right next to me every week many thousands over the years and I’m so inured to it that I don’t even notice. 

That’s a shame.

I watched this guy get blown, and I eventually watched him jerk off and cum while he was watching two guys fucking.  The look on his face! 

It’s such an amazing privilege to be able to have normal, every-day-type guys, right off the streets of Manhattan, come into my home, strip off their clothes, have sex, shoot their loads, then nonchalantly get dressed again.  I mean, how fucking awesome is that?  After almost 1,100 parties, over seven years, I am still occasionally awed by it.

I do wish, though, that I were still as blown away as I was when I was a kid.  What a gift sexual attraction is.

Thank you for that gift, guys, and for the opportunities associated with it.  I truly appreciate you, and I hope you appreciate these parties. 

We. Are. Privileged.


Ö Ö Ö

The next Matchers event will be in September.  Since I don’t yet have a date – and since the guy who does the scheduling is mad busy – I’m wondering if you can do me a favor. 

Back in the late 80s/early-mid 90s, I was in a rock band, and when we wanted to play a gig at a certain place that was hard to get into, we used a trick.  We’d get our friends to call the place, asking when our band, Tempest Rising, was going to be playing there.  By the time we called to try to schedule, we not only got the gig, but there was already a buzz started.

I’m hoping one or many of you could either call The Center’s front desk (212-620-7310) or email them (info@gaycenter.org) to ask when the next Matchers event is.  That’s it.  The main person at the front desk already knows what Matchers is, but if you get someone who doesn’t know and asks, just tell them it’s a gay dating event.  I’ve already put in the dates request (every other Friday starting in September), but I know they’re busy/on vacation, so it’d be good to light the proverbial fire under their proverbial butts.

To read about the updated Matchers event, please scroll down or click here.  You can also email me at matchers4men@gmail.com.  I encourage you to send me your ideas for discussion topics at the event.  The types of topics we’ll discuss could be the 2016 Presidential Election, Islamophobia, Marijuana Legalization, Gay Rights, Immigration, Censorship.   All sorts of interesting stuff.  And with a system in place for the guys who attend, to make real contact with the guys they might want to get to know better.  Whether he becomes your boyfriend or just a friend, it’s a fabulous way to start relationships. 

Thank you!




The Örgy Guy